When tabloids exposed Marcus Sterling's affair with a college student, I brushed it off. As his wife—the woman he pursued for seven years—I trusted him completely. Then, a pregnant girl showed up at our son’s birthday party, and I became the joke of New York’s elite. Marcus begged forgiveness, blaming alcohol and vowing to handle it. I believed him—until five years later, at a spa, I overheard a young woman in the next room complain about postpartum changes, then coo into the phone: "Marcus, if I hadn’t had your baby… I don’t want money—I want you to leave your wife!" My hand froze on the doorknob. By the time I regained composure, I was already filing for divorce. He wouldn’t need to leave me—I was already gone. … The moment I clicked “confirm,” my phone rang. It was Marcus. “Audrey,” he said, his voice casual, almost bored. “Something’s come up. I won’t be home tonight.” I touched my face, tracing the faint pinpricks from the countless injections I’d endured. All for him. Because he once said, “Audrey, a woman’s skin starts to go after thirty. I love the feel of an eighteen-year-old.” So I, a woman who wouldn’t even pierce her ears, subjected myself to needles to please him. And all the while, he had another child with another woman. “Okay,” I said. My calm reply seemed to catch him off guard. He was about to say something else, but I hung up. Then, I sent him a photo of the woman from the spa. Her name was Chloe. “See you at the courthouse,” I texted. Less than half an hour later, he was home. He didn’t look like he did the first time I caught him—there was no guilt in his eyes, no fear. He just calmly lit a cigarette. Then, he opened the door behind him. A small figure came running out. “Mommy!” I glared at Marcus, the words I wanted to scream caught in my throat. He grinned, a smug, infuriating look on his face as he swung our son, Leo, into the air. “Leo, what do you say we have a family fun day today?” “Yay! Fun day!” I knew what he was doing. He was using our son to threaten me. Just like five years ago, when Leo overheard us talking about divorce and had an epileptic seizure. He was convulsing on the floor, his little hand still clutching my clothes, gasping, “Mommy… don’t… divorce… Daddy… please…” The memory was like a knife in my heart. For my son, I had given in. But as we were about to leave, an unexpected guest arrived. Chloe, her eyes red-rimmed, was standing at our door, holding the hand of a little boy. Without a word, she dropped to her knees before me. “Audrey, please,” she begged. “Just give him back to me. It’s Ben’s birthday. He needs his father.” The little boy, Ben, burst into tears. “I want my daddy! I want my daddy!” Leo, whose hand was in mine, went rigid. The color drained from his face. I turned to look at Marcus. I saw a flicker of indecision in his eyes. My heart pounded. I reached for him. But in the next second, he took a definitive step to Chloe’s side. “I’m sorry, Audrey,” he said. “Not today. We’ll do it another time.” A roar filled my ears, and something inside me snapped. After that first humiliating scene five years ago, Leo had been mercilessly bullied at school. Kids would point at him, calling him a bastard, a boy with no father. The torment had driven him to the brink of suicide. I had found him on the ledge of our balcony, and it was only my own hysterical, desperate pleading that had brought him back down. Afterward, Marcus had sent me expensive jewelry and designer bags as an apology. But what good was money when all of New York knew the price my son and I had paid for it? “Marcus Sterling,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “if you walk out that door, my son and I are truly done with you.” He met my blazing eyes, and for a moment, I saw a flash of fear. But then Chloe grabbed Ben and darted toward the busy street. “What’s the point of living anyway!” she shrieked. “To be bullied like this? We might as well be dead!” Marcus’s face contorted in terror. He shoved me aside and sprinted into traffic after her. I fell backward, my head cracking against the stone steps. Blood streamed down my face, hot and sticky. Leo burst into tears, trying to press his little jacket against the wound. Then he turned and ran after his father. “Daddy, Mommy’s hurt! We have to take her to the hospital!” His small body was no match for Marcus, who was busy cradling Chloe in his arms, his face a mask of irritation. Suddenly, the other boy, Ben, started to cry. Chloe held up his arm, showing a faint red mark. “Why did you pinch him?” she screamed at Leo. “He’s just a child! What do you two want from us? If you want to hurt someone, hurt me!” She started slapping her own face, over and over. Marcus, seeing this, lost his mind. His hand flew out and connected with our son’s cheek with a sickening crack. “You’re just like your mother!” he snarled. “Completely spoiled!” He pulled out his phone. “The Garrison disciplinary camp? Yes, I have an unruly child for you. Come and get him. Immediately.” Leo crumpled to the ground, his hand on his swollen cheek, staring at his father as if in a trance. “It wasn’t me,” he whispered. “I didn’t pinch him…” My world dissolved into pain. I scrambled to my feet and threw myself in front of my son. “How dare you hit him! How dare you accuse him of something he didn’t do!” But Marcus only had eyes for Chloe and her son. He didn’t even glance at me. A van screeched to a halt beside us. It was from the camp—a notoriously brutal institution known for physical abuse, where a student had committed suicide just last year. My sweet, gentle boy did not deserve to be sent to a place like that. I spread my arms, shielding Leo. “Get away from him!” I screamed, feeling like a wild animal. “I’ll die before I let you take him!” Marcus’s gaze fell on the gash on my forehead, and for a second, his expression softened. But Chloe, with tears streaming down her face, pleaded, “Audrey, you’re only hurting him more! He’s misbehaving, and you’re stopping him from getting the discipline he needs!” That was all it took. Marcus’s resolve hardened. He grabbed me and threw me aside, letting the large, rough-looking men drag my son into the van. “Mommy! Mommy, save me!” Leo’s screams tore through me. He reached for me as I scrambled after the van, only to trip and fall hard onto the pavement. To the onlookers, I was the villain. They saw a man protecting a crying woman and her child from a screaming hysteric. They saw a mistress making a scene. Phones came out, recording my broken sobs. “Look at her, no shame. The other woman, and she’s the one crying.” “She’s psycho. Someone should call the cops and have her locked up.” … I sat there, numb, as their insults rained down on me. In the distance, Chloe was nestled against Marcus like a delicate bird, her eyes filled with contempt. Her lips formed a single, silent word. Pathetic. A flicker of pity crossed Marcus’s face, and he started to reach for me. But Chloe slumped against him. “Marcus,” she whimpered, “my head hurts.” He immediately turned his attention back to her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to his car. As they drove past, Chloe shot me a look of pure triumph. At this point, who even cared? I went home. I packed. I hired private security. All that was left was to rescue my son. But at midnight, Marcus, who I had assumed would be gone for the night, walked in. He was drunk. He grabbed my chin, his grip tight. “Audrey, what’s with the long face?” he slurred. “I’ll keep Chloe and Ben set up somewhere else. They’re not a threat to you. Why can’t you just compromise a little?” Compromise? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I had compromised five years ago. And where did it get me? He had a whole other family. On her social media, Chloe had just posted a picture of the three of them celebrating a birthday, their backs to the camera. Meanwhile, my son was trapped in that cold, cruel camp. Marcus’s hand moved to my cheek, his eyes still holding a familiar trace of desire. “Audrey, let’s have another baby. A daughter. Once you have both a son and a daughter, you won’t want to leave me.” He pushed me down onto the bed, his hot hand sliding up my thigh. I slapped him. Hard. He froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you crazy?” I shoved him off me and threw the divorce papers I’d prepared onto the bed. “I want a divorce.” His parents had never thought I was good enough for him anyway. Now that he was a cheater, there was no reason to continue this sham. His face turned ugly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he’d finally had enough of me. For the first time, he didn’t try to talk me out of it. “You’re sure?” “Positive.” His eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed a pen and signed his name with a vicious slash. “Audrey Sterling,” he growled, “don’t come crawling back to me.” I didn’t bother to reply. I just took the papers, grabbed my bags, and walked out the door. The next morning, I sent the security team into the camp. Ex-special forces are efficient. They had Leo in less than ten minutes. In just one day, he looked like he had been through hell. His eyes were vacant; he didn’t even call me ‘Mom.’ My heart shattered. I rushed him to the car, desperate to get him to a hospital. But as we pulled away, a black SUV cut us off. Marcus and Chloe got out. “Get out of the way!” I screamed. “I have to get Leo to a hospital! You—” Before I could finish, Chloe dropped to her knees, sobbing. “Audrey, please, give me back my son! I can’t live without Ben! I’m begging you!” She started slamming her forehead against the pavement. I stared at her, horrified. “What are you talking about? What does Ben’s disappearance have to do with me?” “Audrey!” Marcus roared. “You’re still lying? You hired men to break into a school! What else are you capable of?” I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. He was attacking me over his mistress’s child, without even noticing the state of his own son. Leo started trembling, his face growing paler by the second. I knew I couldn’t wait. I scooped him up and tried to get back in the car. But Marcus, his eyes dark with suspicion, snatched Leo from my arms. “I’m asking you one last time, Audrey,” he said, his face a mask of cold fury. “Where is Ben?” Tears streamed down my face as I saw how roughly he was holding our son. “I don’t have him!” I cried. “We’ve been together for ten years! Is this really what you think of me?”
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