On the very day I was discharged from the psychiatric facility, my husband, Victor Vance, dropped a bombshell without any warning: "The day Chloe ran over your mother, I was the one who hired the defense attorney for her." My father, the most elite surgeon in Boston, was driving the car. He added with chilling indifference: "And I personally forged your psychiatric records." During three years of torture in that asylum, not a single moment went by without me remembering the horrific sight of my mother being crushed beneath Chloe’s car. And yet, my husband chose to defend her killer. My father chose to lock me in a madhouse. I gripped the edge of the seat, my voice trembling as I demanded, "Why? Why would you do this?" My father averted his eyes. Victor was the one who answered, his tone terrifyingly casual: "The reason is simple. You already had everything, Clara. Chloe has had to live with the stigma of being an illegitimate child her whole life. She’s suffered enough." "I'm giving you two choices now. Either you make peace with Chloe, or you spend the rest of your life in that asylum." ... The sudden, brutal truth hit me so hard the world spun. It felt like my chest was stuffed with cotton, suffocating me. Victor reached out, his hand sickeningly gentle as he wiped away my tears. He continued: "Actually, when they injected you with sedatives back then, we took the opportunity to press your thumbprint onto the settlement agreement." "But the dosage was too high. You only found out you were pregnant after the miscarriage. We were out celebrating Chloe’s freedom that night... we forgot to check on you." I remembered. After my mother was killed by Chloe, I ran toward the police station, heavily pregnant and desperate for justice. Instead, a needle pierced my skin. As the sedative took hold, I felt warm blood slowly trailing down my legs. I was forced to press my inked thumb onto a piece of paper. But no one told me that piece of paper traded my baby's life for three years of freedom for a murderer. My face was ice-cold. My throat was hoarse from crying. "Why are you only telling me this now...?" My father glanced at me through the rearview mirror and sighed. "I was afraid you wouldn't calm down and repent while you were in there. Now that you've learned to behave, even if you know the truth, you won't hurt Chloe." Repent? When I first learned the truth about my mother’s death, I merely slapped Chloe across the face. That single slap bought me three years of imprisonment. Endless handfuls of bitter pills that made me vomit violently. Electroconvulsive therapy that repeatedly stripped away my consciousness. It was all their revenge. All for a single slap. I let out a devastating, hysterical laugh and lunged at my father in the driver's seat. The car swerved violently across the road. "Clara, are you crazy?!" Victor roared, pinning me down in his arms with brutal force. "I am crazy!" I screamed, my voice tearing. My mother’s body wasn't even cold before my father promised his mistress a lifetime of devotion. Then he teamed up with my husband to let my mother's murderer walk free. I should have gone crazy a long time ago! When we arrived at the house, they locked me in the basement. My father held up a photo of him and his mistress, demanding I call her "Mother." I spat fiercely at his feet. "Never." Seeing the stubborn defiance in my eyes, he sighed in frustration and answered a ringing phone. Before leaving, he warned me: "Linda is going to treat you like her own daughter. You need to learn some respect!" Roaring, I snatched the photo album and hurled it across the room. It shattered. A shard of glass sliced across Victor's cheek, and dark blood began to well up. He didn't flinch, but his brows knitted together in deep disgust. "If you keep up this attitude toward Chloe, I don't mind sending you back in there!" Seeing the mixture of blood and tears streaking my face, the man finally crouched down to meet my eyes: "If you can just let the past go and accept Chloe and her mother, everything will go back to normal." "Whether you want to return to this family is entirely up to you." Dropping those words, he stood up and slammed the heavy basement door shut. But neither of them knew. When they signed my discharge papers, hidden between the pages were two documents I had drafted: a divorce agreement and a formal severance of family ties. This "family" that only loved a homewrecker and her illegitimate daughter—I didn't want it anymore. Later, Chloe sent me a friend request on social media, intentionally granting me access to her feed. On the exact day I was locked in the asylum, Victor had taken her to an exclusive auction to pick out diamond jewelry. I still remembered my first day in that hellhole. Unable to endure the inhumane torture, I had desperately managed to sneak into a bathroom and call him. The first time, he declined the call. The second time, it went to voicemail. The third time, his phone was turned off. I was caught using a contraband phone. What followed was a high-voltage session of electroshock therapy. After that, I finally learned to "cooperate" with my treatment. I never tried to escape again. My fingers continued to scroll down the screen, my eyes burning. On the day of my mother’s funeral, my father had dressed in a tuxedo to attend his mistress's birthday banquet, publicly announcing their relationship. And they had specifically scheduled their wedding for tomorrow. It was Chloe’s birthday. And my mother's death anniversary. That evening, Victor brought a tray of food down to the basement. He tried to feed me with a spoon, just like he used to, but I turned my head away. He looked surprised, his expression darkening: "Are you still throwing a tantrum?" During my three years in the asylum, I had survived only by fantasizing about his gentleness. But now, my heart, which once desperately craved his warmth, was completely frozen. The slightly softened atmosphere instantly plummeted to sub-zero. Victor angrily smashed the bowl onto the floor. "We brought you out because we thought you had finally learned to behave! I didn't expect you to still be this stubborn!" "What happened back then wasn't Chloe's fault! Your mother was the one acting hysterical, calling her a homewrecker! She brought that ending upon herself!" My heart seized with a agonizing pain. I clearly remembered Chloe backing her car up and running over my mother’s body again and again, a sinister, victorious smile twisting her face. Warm blood had splattered right by my feet. When I tried to charge at her, Victor had tackled me to the ground, restraining me while whispering empty comforts into my ear. "The ambulance is coming, don't be scared..." It turned out that while he was holding me, he was probably thinking my mother deserved to die. I gave a self-deprecating laugh and threw the signed divorce papers at his chest. "Is she not a homewrecker? Let's get a divorce!" Victor froze for a moment, then let out a cold, incomprehensible sneer. "A divorce? You know I hate being threatened." "But I think you should know—right now, you are the mistress!" As soon as the words left his mouth, a legally stamped marriage certificate hit my chest. The woman listed as his legal wife wasn't me. It was Chloe. Even though I had already decided to divorce him, tears still spilled from my eyes. It had been a massive lie from the very beginning. In this moment, my signed divorce papers felt like an absolute joke. Seeing my silent tears, Victor thought I was regretting my decision. In a rare display of patience, he offered an explanation: "This was your father's idea. After all, you had everything, and Chloe and her mother suffered a lifetime of grievances. Besides, a piece of paper means nothing." "Be a good girl. As long as you can accept Chloe, I can eventually give you back your rightful title as Mrs. Vance." Before I could respond, his phone rang. It was Chloe. He left the basement and didn't come back. He flew her overseas that very night to pick out her birthday present. They sat on a beach waiting for the sunrise, playing the piano piece that was once "our" song. The deep affection I used to know so well was now being showered on another woman. Something inside me was collapsing entirely. When Chloe posted photos online, the comment section referred to her as "Mrs. Vance" and ruthlessly trampled on me: [A man's heart is wherever his money is. She's lucky they didn't just throw the crazy bitch out on the street.] [Clara and her mom probably slept their way to the top anyway. No wonder no one cares that one is dead and the other went insane.] Victor chose to stand by and watch. I knew what he was doing. He was proving to me that if I didn't obey, I would be nothing but a rat in the gutter, forced to watch their happiness from the shadows. He wanted me to take back the word "divorce." But I never would. The next morning, I was violently awakened by deafening celebratory music echoing outside my door. My mother’s memorial portrait and belongings had all been thrown out, replaced by festive wedding decorations. When I emerged from the basement, disheveled and gaunt, the guests cast bizarre, mocking glances my way. "Isn't that the crazy daughter? How did she get out of the asylum?" "Her dad is getting married, and her sister is celebrating a birthday—a double blessing! Of course she had to come show her support, hahaha!" "Isn't she embarrassed to be seen around Mr. Vance? Looks like there's a new Mrs. Vance in town." ... Chloe, dressed in a magnificent haute couture gown, walked over arm-in-arm with Victor. "Sister, you've suffered so much. Even though you've always hated me and my mother, we're a family now. Let's try to get along." On the woman's wrist rested the Vance family heirloom bracelet—a piece reserved exclusively for the legitimate daughter-in-law of the Vance family. Victor had given it to her long ago. Chloe wore a sweet, harmonious smile, but her manicured nails dug viciously into my arm. Wincing in pain, I shoved her away. "Congratulations. I'm going to pay my respects to my mother now." "Stop right there!" I had barely taken a step when my father’s furious roar stopped me. "You are forbidden from mentioning that woman in front of Linda and Chloe!" Victor grabbed my arm, his patience wearing thin: "Today is a joyous day. I won't allow you to cause a scene." But today was also the anniversary of my mother's death. I stubbornly pulled away. In the blink of an eye, a swarm of reporters suddenly surrounded me. Chloe rushed over and dropped to her knees in front of me, crying beautiful, delicate tears. "Sister, I know you're grieving your mother. But you can't deny that she was mentally unstable before she died! She intentionally rammed her body into my car... she slandered me..." "My mother spent her whole life doing good deeds, only to be framed as a homewrecker by your dead mother..." As she spoke, she conveniently dropped a psychiatric evaluation certificate from her designer bag. It had my mother’s name printed on it. Instantly, the guests gasped in collective shock. "I didn't realize both the mother and daughter were clinically insane! And they abused Chloe and Linda for years!" In just a few sentences, they had successfully painted my mother and me as deranged bullies. Seeing Chloe's pitiful, victimized act, Victor's face turned thunderous. "Clara, I can't believe you and your mother teamed up to abuse them! How could you be so cruel?!" My father's face was flushed red with anger as he pointed a finger in my face: "You ungrateful wretch!" Everything in front of me twisted into a grotesque nightmare. I swayed dizzily. "No, my mom was perfectly sane..." Before I could finish, my weak body was pulled into Victor's embrace. A cruel whisper sounded in my ear: "I hold the deed to your mother's childhood estate." "Clara, look into the cameras and clarify that Chloe's mother never destroyed your family. Be a good girl." His voice was terrifyingly gentle, yet so cold it sent uncontrollable shivers down my spine. Before she died, my mother had fought tooth and nail to secure that historic estate, just to leave me with a safety net. It was the only piece of her I had left. I used the last ounce of my strength to hiss: "You bastard!" The moment the words left my mouth, a barrage of news alerts lit up everyone's phones like a virus. [SHOCKING! The historic estate formerly owned by the late Mrs. Sterling is currently listed for auction at Sotheby's for a dirt-cheap starting bid!] Meeting my horrified gaze, Victor stroked my hair with absolute confidence. "What's more important? A dead woman's reputation, or her final worldly possession? Make your choice." Tears poured from my eyes like a broken dam. I almost burst out laughing. The threatening face of the man standing before me could no longer be reconciled with the Victor Vance I once loved. A flash of hesitation crossed Victor's eyes. Perhaps he remembered how hard I had cried the day my mother died. "Just clear their names, and I'll divorce Chloe and marry you." But Victor, I don't care about marrying you anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut in total despair. Stumbling as I pushed him away, I faced the flashing cameras. "Chloe's mother was never a homewrecker. My mother suffered from severe mental illness and fabricated lies about them. I apologize..." Instantly, the internet erupted. My mother and I were nailed to the pillar of public shame. On the exact anniversary of her death, she was branded a "crazy bitch." Victor stood emotionless, while my father—with his arm wrapped around his mistress—let out a sigh of relief. Just then, Chloe let out a piercing scream, waving her phone in the air. "Sister! How could you hire thugs to dump garbage and feces all over my mother's bridal suite?!" The video showed the luxurious, opulent bridal suite completely smashed to pieces and defaced. The moment the video played, a brutal slap struck my face. Victor's eyes were bloodshot with rage. "Clara! Do you have any idea I was about to remarry you?! And because you were forced to make a simple clarification, you threw a tantrum and did this?!" "If this is how you're going to act..." He turned and exchanged a glance with my father. His resolve hardened. "Then we don't need to keep that estate!" The disgust in the man's eyes deepened. He dialed the auction house on speakerphone. "Sell the property for a hundred dollars! First come, first served!" "No!" He pinned my thrashing body down as I screamed until my vocal cords tore: "Victor Vance! I don't want to remarry you! Give me back the estate!" Victor suddenly froze, his face registering pure shock: "Is our relationship really that worthless to you? Stop using angry threats to manipulate me!" "Think whatever you want!" My eyes were blood-red. I snatched a set of car keys from a valet table and ran out without looking back. The man stared deeply at my retreating figure, only snapping back to reality when Chloe gently called his name. When I arrived at the childhood estate, my mother’s memorial shrine and offerings had been kicked all over the floor. Her portrait was splashed with blood-red paint, carved with vulgar obscenities. "Stop it! Leave it alone!" But before I could finish, the urn holding my mother's ashes was knocked off the table, shattering into pieces on the hardwood floor. "Miss Chloe gave us special instructions! She wanted you and your mother to become one!" With that, the hired thugs swarmed me, pinning me to the floor. They grabbed fistfuls of the ashes and forced them into my mouth. "Mmm... No!" I struggled violently, but it was useless. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes. After the thugs finally left, I coughed up a mouthful of blood. My heart was completely, utterly dead. Moving like a machine, I lit a match, tossed it onto a pile of dry wood, and watched the roaring flames consume the house. Victor Vance, may we never meet again in this life. Three hours later, when Victor and my father arrived at the estate holding sacrificial bouquets, a panicked neighbor screamed at them: "The old house suddenly caught fire! I think someone burned to death inside!"
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