Last night, when I had a heart attack, Michael was on his way out to stargaze with Daniela.
Even as I collapsed, frothing at the mouth, he didn’t flinch—just stepped right over me.
Before I blacked out, I heard him tell the housekeeper, “Disinfect the whole living room. Daniela is coming home tomorrow, I don’t want her to smell anything foul.”
Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I turned to leave again.
But he grabbed my wrist, staring at me coldly. “Apologize.”
“Wha—”
Before I could even speak, he yanked me down, forcing me to kneel in front of Daniela.
My knees scraped against the shards of jade, leaving blood stains on the pale floor.
Seeing the mess, Michael released me with a look of disgust.
“You broke her bracelet on purpose and injured her. Don’t you think an apology is the least you owe her?”
Since marrying Michael, “I’m sorry” had become my most-used phrase.
The soup I cooked was too bland, so I apologized.
Worried that he might feel uncomfortable after drinking, I sent him a message, disrupting his peace. I apologized again.
I stumbled upon a text from Daniela, inviting him to a hotel. And once more, I found myself saying, "I'm truly sorry for invading your privacy..."
With blood in my mouth and pain in my bones, I straightened up, resigned.
Bowing 180 degrees to Daniela, I offered three deep apologies.
Then I looked at Michael with cold, empty eyes.
“Is that enough?” I quietly asked.
His chest rose sharply, eyes fixed on the blood at the corner of my lips.
“Ashlyn,” he sneered, “Your precious old man isn't here to protect you anymore. Who are you pretending to be so pitiful for?”
Before I could answer, the family doctor arrived.
Brushing past me like I didn’t exist, Michael led him straight to Daniela’s side.
While Michael’s world revolved entirely around Daniela, I walked swiftly out the door.
I had barely stepped outside the villa when—a car horn sounded twice.
Beep—beep!
I saw a silver sedan parked just beyond the iron gate and quickened my pace, hope rising in my chest.
But before the gate could open, two bodyguards emerged from the shadows.
They grabbed me roughly and dragged me back into the villa.
Inside the study, Michael had me tightly bound, arms restrained behind my back.
Without warning, he ordered someone to drive a needle—thick as a child’s arm—into my vein.
From behind the half-open door, I heard the doctor speaking nervously.