Every step I took felt heavier, every glance thrown my way like a slap to the face.
Mockery filled the air, thick and suffocating. I could barely hold my head up from the shame.
I tried to rise, but my legs buckled beneath me. My vision blurred and everything turned black.
“Are you okay? Low blood sugar?”
A voice cut through the haze, gentle yet unfamiliar. A hand reached out, offering a slice of cake.
It was Laurence Astor, Amara’s childhood sweetheart, the first man she ever loved.
Eight years ago, when the Lancaster family hit rock bottom, he broke up with her and left for abroad.
Amara, devastated, agreed to marry me.
Later, when her father fell gravely ill, all their savings were drained and the company had to be sold off.
I thought we had built something real through those years of hardship.
But now I realized my son and I were the only ones who had truly suffered.
“No need. Thank you.”
I avoided his hand, forcing myself to stand through the dizziness.
And just as I regained my footing, someone kicked me from behind. My face fell right into the cake Laurence had been holding.
Laughter erupted around me, sharp, merciless, like knives slicing through flesh.
Even Amara turned to look, her expression unreadable.
I scrambled to my feet, the humiliation stinging worse than the cream on my skin and fled the banquet hall.
After washing my face, I checked my phone. A new message had come in.
It was an email with an audio recording attached.
“Amara, when are you finally going to divorce that bootlicker?”
It was Laurence’s voice.
Amara let out a soft chuckle, her tone dripping with frost.
“If I hadn’t fought with you back then, that bootlicker wouldn’t have even had a shot.”
“And you were the one who came up with the plan, making my dad fake an illness so he’d transfer everything and push for a divorce. Who knew that bootlicker would cling on like a leech, even offering to repay the debts for me? Looks like we’ll have to cook up another plan.”
My chest tightened with pain.
So that was it; she’d only married me out of spite for Laurence.
She had staged everything to keep me from coveting her family’s fortune.
It was all just a well-played act.
But what had my son done wrong?
Why did he have to be dragged into her lies and suffer for it?
I wandered back to the hospital room in a daze, the bag of chicken sandwiches warm in my hand, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.