Chapter 1

After my husband Derek Kingsley had sex with his secretary Vivian Clarke 100 times, he forced me to sign the divorce papers.

He even personally pulled the plug on our son's ventilator.

But I wasn't one to back down—I leaked company secrets, drove him to bankruptcy, and took a knife to his chest.

That blade was blocked by Vivian Clarke.

I was taken away by the police.

A year later, he had already made a comeback and had a child with Vivian.

When we met again, I was cleaning the house.

Derek mocked me:

"What gives you the right to be here? Does the Harrison family know you've been to prison? Otherwise, you wouldn't even be fit to lick their shoes!"

I laughed coldly. Me, unworthy?

I've never been to prison.

Besides, today wasn't just the day my husband Brandon Harrison became CEO of Harrison Group—it was also our son's first birthday party.

I had every right to be here.

Seeing my silence, Derek became even more animated. He blocked my path:

"Serena, I really didn't expect you to still have such smooth skin after a year in prison. You must have bribed those guards quite a bit, huh?"

"What can a woman use to bribe them? Her body, perhaps?"

He deliberately drew out his words, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

The implication was crystal clear.

After all these years, his mouth was still as vile as ever.

I casually picked up a fruit knife from the table beside me. Vivian immediately went on alert.

She spread her arms wide, shielding Derek completely.

Just like that year.

"Serena, I know my presence made you resentful back then. If you have a problem, come at me! Derek has nothing to do with this!"

I toyed with the knife in my hand, then slowly picked up a pear from the side and began peeling it, one cut at a time.

Back then, Derek and I had been together for four years before we got married.

My family and I spent money and effort supporting him, helping his career climb steadily upward.

But on our fourth wedding anniversary, a female secretary joined the company—Vivian Clarke.

From that moment on, he came home later and later. Midnight became 3 a.m., and eventually he stopped coming home at all.

My son and I huddled together at home, until one day my son was diagnosed with leukemia.

During his chemotherapy at the hospital, Derek never once came to visit.

The only time he showed up was when I went abroad on business—he took that opportunity to pull the plug on our son's ventilator.

I rushed back from overseas, but I didn't even get to see his whole body. All that was left for me was a handful of ashes that would scatter with the slightest breeze.

And Derek, the "model husband" in everyone's eyes, was having an affair with his secretary in a hotel room on the day of our son's funeral.

At this thought, I imagined the pear in my hand was Derek and stabbed the knife in viciously.

If today weren't such a special day, I would have driven this knife straight into this scumbag's chest without hesitation or mercy.

Derek watched my angry but restrained expression and laughed again. In his eyes, I was just a servant in the Harrison household.

Even if I wanted to hurt him, I wouldn't dare.

I was about to leave, planning to settle accounts with this pair of cheaters after the party ended smoothly.

But then a little boy grabbed something and threw it at me.