Awakened Housewife: Ignore Betrayer's Begs Free Preview

Scarlett Theron pulled into Oakland Villa around ten that night. It was the fifteenth—her ovulation day, a date she'd marked on her calendar weeks ago.

Scarlett already had a daughter, but her husband's parents, Amanda and Richard Stewart, had been gently urging her to have a second child ever since.

In most other families, she might have playfully joked about their eagerness—half-teasing whether they had some special legacy to look forward to. But the Stewarts? As Rivergate's wealthiest family, with a multi-billion-dollar fortune, everyone knew they hoped to welcome another male heir into the family, someone who could eventually be part of carrying on their family's legacy.

When she walked into the bedroom, her husband Vincent Stewart was already in bed, waiting.

He didn't say a word—no "hello", no "how was your day"—just moved into action like they were checking off a chore.

Three minutes later, Vincent rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom to clean up, leaving Scarlett lying there, still in her clothes, feeling more like a tool than a wife.

Vincent emerged a few minutes later, pulling on his shirt with his back to her. "Keep tracking your cycle," he said flatly. "Call me if the test comes back positive."

That was how it had been for all five years of their marriage—him, quiet as a stone, cold as winter.

Their marriage was just a show—something to tell the press and the Stewart elders that everything was "normal".

Scarlett knew about Vincent's other woman, of course. She'd scrolled through every one of his social media accounts, dug through old comments, and finally tracked down the profile of the woman who had Vincent's attention.

Ever since, she'd been secretly following her posts—because that was the only way she could find out where Vincent was, what he was doing, who he was with.

The woman posted constantly—photos of her meals, vacation snaps, birthday parties.

Before they'd started trying for a second baby, Scarlett barely saw Vincent at all. Now, he showed up once a month—just enough to "try" for another baby.

Knowing he was in a hurry to leave, Scarlett scrambled out of bed. "Can we talk for a minute?" she called after him.

Vincent turned, his face blank, like he couldn't figure out why she'd want to "talk". "About what?"

Scarlett's voice dropped, almost a plea. "I want us to be a real couple. You know? Like... have dinner together. Talk. Not just... this."

She gestured vaguely at the bed, at the empty space between them.

She knew deep down their marriage was falling apart, but she couldn't help clinging to the smallest hope. What if this time, he listened? What if he realized she wasn't just a womb, but the woman who'd loved him for eight years, who'd married him even when her family warned her against it, who'd had his daughter and wanted nothing more than to make their family work? She didn't want her marriage to end in failure.

But Scarlett's words vanished into the air. Maybe Vincent didn't hear her. Maybe he just didn't care. He finished buttoning his shirt, clipped on his watch, and headed for the door.

Scarlett hurried after him, but she didn't beg like she used to—didn't grab his arm and beg him to stay a little longer. This time, when he reached the doorway, she stood her ground.

"Vincent," she snapped, her voice breaking, "you come here once a month. You never call me first. We haven't eaten a meal together in... I don't even remember how long. We're strangers who share a house. Is this really a marriage?"

Vincent paused, finally turning to look at her. He didn't acknowledge her tears, didn't seem to notice the way her hands were shaking. "Once you're pregnant with another baby," he said, "I'll move back to Oakland Villa." Then he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him like he hadn't even heard her.

Scarlett stood there, frozen.

Eight years of loving him, five years of marriage—and she'd given everything. When she had their daughter, Vanessa Stewart, she'd suffered an amniotic embolism. The doctors had told the family three times she might not make it. Even then, she'd been willing to risk her life again for a second child—for a son, just to make him happy.

But now, a cold doubt settled in her chest. Was it worth it? All this pain, all this waiting... for a man who didn't even look at her when she cried?

After her shower, she picked up her phone on autopilot and opened her favorite video app. Her "frequently watched" list had only one name—Rina.

She tapped on the profile—and there it was, a new video posted two minutes ago. It was just a photo of two shadows under a streetlamp, but in the corner, two hands were tangled together, both wearing matching couple bracelets.

The caption read, "Two shadows under the light—one's mine, and the other's mine too."

Scarlett's chest ached, but it was a dull pain now, not the sharp, crushing agony she'd felt the first time she saw a post like this. Maybe she was getting used to it.

Every time Vincent left her, he was rushing to be with someone else. But she told herself as long as he still needed her to have that heir, no one could take her place as Mrs. Stewart.

She just had to keep swallowing the hurt, keep playing the part.

—

A month later.

At seven o'clock that evening, Scarlett clutched a fresh positive pregnancy test, her hands shaking with excitement as she hurried back to Oakland Villa. She'd been waiting for this—hoping this would be the thing that brought Vincent home, that made him see her.

But as she reached the living room doorway, she heard Amanda talking—and froze.

"Vincent, you're thirty-two," Amanda said, her voice sharp. "Five years of marriage, and you've only got a daughter to show for it. You two 'try' once a month? How's Scarlett supposed to get pregnant that way? If she can't do it, just have that woman you're seeing have the baby. As long as it's a boy—as long as he's a Stewart—I'll accept him."

Vincent's voice cut in, firm, "That's not the same, Mom."

Amanda huffed. "Why not? A grandson's a grandson!"

Scarlett held her breath, stepping back into the hallway. For a second, she thought he was defending her—defending their marriage. After all, she was his wife. No matter what he did outside, she was the one who'd carried his child, who'd almost died for his family.

Then Vincent spoke again, and her blood turned to ice.

"Mom, do you remember when Scarlett had Vanessa?" he said, calm like he was talking about the weather. "She had an amniotic embolism. Having a baby's risky."

Amanda scoffed, "Don't give me that! She's a jinx. Other women have five kids without breaking a sweat, but Scarlett? Her first birth had us all over the news for three days—bad luck, that's what she is!"

Vincent didn't argue with the "jinx" comment. He just said, "Scarlett's already been through it once. She can handle the risk. But Sabrina's still young—I can't ask her to go through that."

Sabrina. The name hit Scarlett like a punch to the gut. She stood there, the pregnancy test crumpled in her hand, tears burning her eyes but not falling.

She'd known Vincent didn't love her. She'd known he was cheating. She'd even known their marriage was a lie. But she'd clung to one stupid hope—that having another baby would tie him to her, that she'd always be Mrs. Stewart no matter how much Vincent played around outside.

But the truth was worse than she'd ever imagined. To Vincent, she wasn't a wife. She wasn't even a person. She was just a vessel—one that had already proven it could survive the danger of childbirth, so he didn't mind risking her again. Sabrina, though? She was the one he cared about. Sabrina was the one he wouldn't let get hurt.

Scarlett tuned out their conversation, thrown back to Vanessa's birth—waking up weak and raw-throated in the ICU. She thought about the nights she'd spent alone, crying because he didn't call. She thought about the way she'd tracked the mistress' posts, just to feel like she still knew him.

Scarlett'd risked her life for the Stewarts, and they didn't even care if she lived or died.

Clutching the pregnancy test, she realized—it was time to stop.

Today was supposed to be their monthly "try" day, but none of that mattered now. Her heart—what was left of it—had broken in that instant.

There was no point in keeping this baby. If no one else cared about her, she had to care about herself.

Just as she turned to leave, the housekeeper, Freya Miller, rounded the corner. "Mrs. Stewart? You're back already?"

Scarlett forced a small smile. Maybe today was the day she finally said it out loud. The day she asked for a divorce.

Scarlett slipped the pregnancy test into her pocket and walked into the living room. The sound of Amanda and Vincent's voices died instantly—like they'd been caught talking about something they didn't want her to hear.

She didn't bother greeting them. Not like she usually did—with a smile, a "how was your day", an offer to make coffee.

For years, she'd tried to be the perfect wife—kind to her in-laws, quiet when they criticized her, always putting Vincent's needs first. She'd thought if she just tried hard enough, he'd notice. He'd care.

But reality had slapped her awake. Even if she gave them her whole heart, the Stewarts would just step on it. Five years of giving and getting nothing in return? That was enough.

Vincent knew clearly he’d come back to take care of their "monthly business", and he glanced at her, then nodded at Freya. "Freya, see my mom to the door."

Scarlett stood there, silent, but there was a new coldness in her eyes—something Amanda and Vincent had never seen before.

Everyone loved Vincent. He ran the family business like a genius, was polite to his elders, loyal to his friends, fair to his employees. People always said Scarlett'd been lucky to marry him—like she'd won the lottery. But only Scarlett knew the truth—all that kindness, all that charm? It stopped the second he walked through their bedroom door. To her, he was just cold. Distant. A stranger.

And she was done with it.

As Amanda turned to leave, she paused when passing by Scarlett, and then she snapped, "If you can't give the Stewarts a grandson, how do you plan to face the family ancestors?"

Once, Scarlett would've bowed her head, mumbled an apology, let Amanda's words sting.

But not now. She turned to look at Amanda, her gaze sharp. "Amanda, we're both women. You know having a son isn't just my responsibility."

Amanda's eyes widened in shock. She was used to Scarlett being meek—easy to push around. But this? This was defiance. Amanda didn't back down either—she raised her hand and slapped Scarlett hard across the cheek, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Is that how you talk to your elders? Apologize!"

She glared at Scarlett, sure she'd back down. Amanda knew how much Scarlett loved Vincent—knew she'd do anything to keep him, even humiliate herself.

But now, she no longer wanted to swallow her pride and compromise. Since none of them had ever valued her efforts or her life, she refused to comply with anyone anymore.

Scarlett didn't apologize. She didn't even rub her cheek. She just stared at Amanda, her jaw tight, then stepped forward, her hand raised to hit back.

Before she could, though, a strong hand grabbed her wrist—hard. Vincent's voice was low, angry, in her ear. "Scarlett, are you done acting out?"

She looked up at him. His face was handsome, the same face she'd fallen in love with eight years ago—but now, it just made her sick. The coldness in his eyes fell on her and stung her like a needle.

How could he be so cruel?

He didn't love her, he cheated on her, and he treated her coldly—those were already bad enough. But how could someone be so cruel as to treat her like a mere baby-making machine?

What's worse, he even demanded a second child, completely disregarding the risk of amniotic embolism she faced during her first pregnancy. Wasn't that practically trying to kill her?

Just thinking about all this, Scarlett couldn't help but feel a sickening wave of nausea.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Vincent shoved her wrist away. "I don't have time for this today," he said, cold as ever. "We'll talk about the baby next month." He took Amanda's arm and started for the door, like Scarlett wasn't even there.

Amanda looked over her shoulder, a smug smile on her face—as if to say, "See? My son's on my side. You're just an outsider."

Once, that smile would've made Scarlett cry. Now, it just made her tired. She'd gotten used to Vincent choosing everyone but her.

"Vincent," she called out, before he could reach the door.

She'd made up her mind, and she wasn't backing down. When she'd fallen for him, she'd jumped in with both feet, even when her family told her not to. Now, she was jumping out—for good. Eight years of loving him had drained her. She had nothing left to give.

He saw no value in her and never invested in their marriage. He only wed her out of a sense of obligation when she got pregnant.

Their union was a grave, but Scarlett was the only one buried there.

It was long past time for her to see things for what they were.

Vincent stopped, but he didn't turn around. Scarlett thought he was listening to her and took a deep breath, her voice steady. "I don't want to be married to you anymore. Let's get a divorce."

Saying it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

But then Vincent's phone rang. He answered it, his voice softening—something he never did for her. "Yeah, I'll be right there," he said, then hung up. He didn't even glance at her, just led Amanda out the door, leaving Scarlett standing alone.

Her big "liberation" speech? It hadn't meant a thing.

Only when the door shut behind them did Scarlett let out a bitter laugh.

Freya came back a minute later, after seeing them out, and found her standing there, looking distracted. "Mrs. Stewart?" she said, gently.

Scarlett shook herself out of her daze and walked to the sofa, sinking into it. "Freya, can you make me something to eat? I'm starving."

Once, she'd cooked every meal herself, hoping Vincent would stay for dinner. Even when he only showed up a few times a year, she'd spent hours in the kitchen, making his favorite dishes. But he never cared.

Now, she just wanted to eat—something for herself, not for him. She remembered who she used to be—a girl spoiled by her parents and brother, someone who never had to cook or clean, someone who was loved for just being herself.

After dinner, Scarlett went upstairs to the study and pulled out a sheet of paper. She was going to draft a divorce agreement.

She didn't need Vincent's money—her family was comfortable, and she was a pediatric surgeon, good at her job. She could give Vanessa a great life on her own.

But five years of being quiet, of not fighting for herself? That had only gotten her hurt. So this time, she was fighting.

In the agreement, she wrote—Vincent would split half of his post-marriage income with her, and pay two million dollars a month in child support for Vanessa. But then she paused. Vanessa was four years old—who did she want to live with? Scarlett hadn't even asked her.

She folded the unfinished agreement and put it in her bag. She needed to see her daughter.

After Vanessa was born, Vincent had bought a small villa, Ravenshade Villa, for them, away from Oakland Villa. Scarlett had stayed home with her for four years, then gone back to work at the hospital.

Six months ago, she'd taken a training position at a big hospital in Oakridge—so she'd been even farther from Vanessa. The last two times she'd seen Vincent, she'd been so desperate to fix their marriage that she'd focused all her energy on "trying" for a second baby.

She'd swapped shifts with coworkers, pulled three all-nighters in a row, just to get a few days off to see him.

She'd never stopped to think—if he really cared about having another baby, he could've come to her. But he'd been too busy with Sabrina.

Scarlett hailed a cab to Ravenshade Villa. It was just after nine, and she couldn't wait to hug her daughter. As she got out of the cab, her phone pinged—a notification from the video app. "Rina, someone you follow, has posted a new video."

Her heart sank. Even now, even when she'd made up her mind to leave, that woman's posts still found a way to hurt her.

Scarlett told herself she didn't want to look—didn't need another knife twist to her chest—but old habits were hard to break. Her thumb tapped the screen before she could stop it.

The video was just a single photo, same as before—Vincent kneeling down in front of Sabrina, his head tilted like he was hanging on her every word. The caption read, "Had a few drinks, caught a chill, called you up... and you showed up. This right here? This is perfect."

A sharp, sudden pain lanced through Scarlett's chest. If they were that in love—if they were so desperate to play "couple"—then fine. Let them have each other.

She was done fighting to be the "bigger person". All she wanted now was a divorce—her daughter, her fair share of the assets, and nothing more to do with the Stewarts.

She stuffed her phone into her pocket and pushed open the front door of the villa. Lily Turner, the nanny, looked up in surprise.

"Mrs. Stewart?" she said, setting down the dust cloth in her hand.

"Where's Vanessa?" Scarlett asked, her voice tight with anticipation. It had been weeks since she'd held her daughter—too long, thanks to her training and Vincent's endless excuses.

"Vanessa is upstairs, playing with her Barbie dolls," Lily replied.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Vanessa's voice echoed from the second floor. "Mom?"

Scarlett's heart ached. She practically ran up the stairs, dropped to her knees, and pulled Vanessa into a tight hug, covering her daughter's cheeks with kisses.

But when she pulled back, ready to gush about how much she'd missed her, she froze. Vanessa was wiping her face over and over, scrubbing at the spots where Scarlett had kissed her until her skin turned pink.

Scarlett's throat tightened. The questions she'd planned to ask—Did you miss me? How's school?—died on her lips.

She stared at Vanessa, her eyes stinging, a mix of hurt and confusion swirling in her chest.

Before she could find her voice, Vanessa bounced on her toes, suddenly eager. "Mom, you're back just in time! I was gonna call you! I'm starting kindergarten soon, and I wanna go to Sunshine Kindergarten." Her eyes lit up like she'd just talked about a trip to the toy store.

Scarlett frowned, confused—she'd never heard of Sunshine Kindergarten before—but she couldn't bring herself to dampen Vanessa's excitement. It was just kindergarten, after all. If it didn't work out, they could switch later. "Okay, baby," she said, forcing a smile. "Sunshine Kindergarten it is."

Vanessa cheered, jumping into the air. "Thank you, Mom! You're the best!"

Watching Vanessa's grin, Scarlett hesitated. How could she ruin this moment by bringing up divorce? By asking if Vanessa wanted to live with her?

She reached down, her hand brushing her stomach—still flat, still a secret—and took a deep breath.

"Vanessa," she said, her voice soft but serious, "do you want a little brother or sister?"

Vanessa's excitement faded for a second. She twisted a strand of her hair, then nodded. "A little brother."

Scarlett's chest hurt. "But what if Mom's scared?" she asked, her voice cracking. The amniotic embolism from Vanessa's birth was years behind her, but the fear—of bleeding out, of leaving her daughter—still woke her up at night.

Vanessa looked at her like she didn't understand. "Then Mom shouldn't be so selfish," she said, matter-of-fact. "You had me, didn't you?"

It was like a punch to the gut. Scarlett stood there, her face going pale, frozen to the spot.

She'd spent four years up with Vanessa at 2 a.m., feeding her, rocking her, calming her nightmares. She'd skipped work events to watch her first steps, her first words. And now Vanessa was calling her selfish for being scared to risk her life again?

After a long, terrible silence, she managed to whisper, "Aren't you scared of losing Mom?"

At this moment, she just wanted to know from Vanessa if there was still any love for her.

Vanessa rolled her eyes, already turning toward her bedroom. "Ugh, I'm gonna go to bed." She ran into her room and slammed the door shut.

Scarlett stood at the top of the stairs, feeling like she'd turned to ice. Vanessa—her baby—had just brushed off her fear like it was nothing. Then, through the closed door, she heard Vanessa's voice, bright and excited again.

"Sabrina! I can go to Sunshine Kindergarten now!" Vanessa gushed, like she was talking to a best friend. "After work, you can pick me up, so you won't be tired anymore!"

Scarlett's breath caught. Sabrina? Why is Vanessa talking to Sabrina?

"And Sabrina," Vanessa continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "don't have a baby with Dad, okay? Mom said having babies is super dangerous—you bleed a lot and you might die. Let Mom have the little brother. She already had me, so she's not scared."

A pause, then Vanessa sighed. "I miss you. I wanna hear your stories and cuddle with you..."

Scarlett leaned against the wall, her legs giving out. So that was why Vanessa wanted Sunshine Kindergarten—because Sabrina worked nearby? That was why she'd brushed off Scarlett's kisses, why she'd called her selfish? Because Sabrina had wormed her way into Vanessa's life, into her heart, while Scarlett was busy working and trying to fix a marriage that was already dead.

She had faced the divorce with one final, unshakable certainty—her daughter would always be hers. The truth—that Vanessa had already sided with the stranger—felt like a betrayal all its own.

All her sacrifices—her time, her love, her near-death experience—had been for nothing. No one cared. Not Vincent, not Amanda, not even her own daughter.

After a while, Scarlett dragged herself downstairs. Lily saw her ashen face and started to ask, "Mrs. Stewart, are you—"

"Just leave me be," Scarlett said, waving her off.

As soon as she stepped outside, she pulled out her phone and called Vincent. It rang four times, then went to voicemail. She called again. And again.

Normally, she'd give up after two tries—too scared of annoying him—but tonight, she was desperate. She needed to talk to him. She needed to scream.

Finally, Vincent answered, his voice sharp with irritation. "I'm busy. What do you want—"

"I need to see you," Scarlett cut him off, her voice cracking. She was practically yelling, all her composure gone. "Right now."

Vincent sighed, annoyed. "Whatever this is, we can talk next month, when we meet."

He hung up. The dial tone buzzed in her ear, loud and mocking. Scarlett stared at her phone, tears pricking her eyes, but she couldn't cry.

This was Vincent—always shutting her out, always making her feel like her feelings didn't matter.

Five years of this. Five years of being ignored, of being a ghost in her own marriage. She was done.

But she wasn't leaving without a fight—not for custody of Vanessa. Even if Vanessa was closer to Sabrina now, Scarlett had to try.

She was Vanessa's mother. She'd given birth to her. She wasn't going to let Sabrina take that away.

Just as she made up her mind, headlights flashed. A Rolls-Royce screeched to a stop at the gate. Scarlett looked over—there was Vincent in the driver's seat, and Sabrina in the passenger's, holding a bouquet of pink roses.

Their eyes met through the windshield. Silence hung between them. Once, she would've frozen, scared to make a scene. Now? She didn't care.

Vincent got out of the car, acting like he didn't even see her, and walked around to open Sabrina's door.

"Vincent, we need to talk." Scarlett called out.

He ignored her, reaching for the door handle. Scarlett rushed over, slapping his hand away. "Vincent, you can sleep with whoever you want—fine. But Vanessa is my daughter. How dare you let some stranger turn her against me?"

Finally, he looked at her. He was taller than her, and he loomed over her, his voice cold as ice. "Sabrina's a better mom than you'll ever be."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Vincent pushed her aside and pulled open the car door.

Scarlett stood there, stunned. It took her a long time to react, and only then did she catch a glimpse of the subtle implication in his words.

Did he really mean that? Did he want Vanessa to call Sabrina "Mom"?

The car door swung open. Vincent held his hand over the roof to shield Sabrina from hitting her head, then offered her his arm.

Their fingers laced together as she stepped out—and Scarlett had to look away. Once, that small, intimate gesture would've made her cry for hours. Now, she just felt numb.

She was calm, surprisingly so. Maybe it was because she'd finally accepted the truth—this marriage was over, and Vincent had never loved her. All she wanted now was an answer.

"Vincent, what did you mean by that?" Scarlett asked, her lips trembling. Her voice was shaky, not from fear, but from the anger bubbling just below the surface.

Sabrina stood beside Vincent, her arm still looped through his. Under the moonlight, their shadows stretched across the pavement, merging into one.

Vincent acted like Scarlett wasn't even there. He started walking toward the villa, pulling Sabrina along with him.

Scarlett had lost count of how many times he'd ignored her like this. Her heart was already broken, but when it came to Vanessa—her daughter—she couldn't back down.

She found a burst of strength she didn't know she had, ran forward, and grabbed Vincent's wrist.

"Vincent, answer me!" Scarlett shouted.

He stopped, finally turning to face her. His eyes were cold, no trace of warmth or even recognition. He twisted his wrist, easily yanking it free. "You're too busy with work," he said, like he was explaining something to a child. "Vanessa's still little—she needs someone to take care of her. When you get pregnant again, Sabrina will look after her."

That was how it always was with Vincent—no discussion, no input from her—just orders. But this time, Scarlett wasn't going to let him decide Vanessa's future.

When Scarlett'd left for her training six months ago, she'd hired a wonderful nanny for Vanessa—someone she'd interviewed three times, someone Vanessa had loved.

But last month, she'd found out Vincent had fired the nanny weeks earlier.

While Scarlett was working herself to the bone, Sabrina had moved into this villa, playing "mommy" to Vanessa, acting like she was part of the family.

Scarlett had kept quiet then, too scared to rock the boat, too hopeful that Vincent would come around.

Yet she never expected that, without her even noticing, her daughter would be taken away from her too.

How could she just walk away gracefully now?

"I can take care of my own daughter," she said, her voice rising. "I don't need Sabrina—or anyone else—to do it for me."

Vincent didn't even glance at her. "That's final."

Something snapped in Scarlett. For five years, she'd been the "nice girl"—the quiet wife, the obedient daughter-in-law. No more.

"I said, I can do it myself!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the quiet street.

The air was thick with tension. Sabrina stepped forward, her voice soft and innocent, like she was trying to calm things down. "Vincent, why don't you talk to Ms. Theron first? I'll go check on Vanessa."

Vincent nodded. Sabrina turned to walk away—and that was when Scarlett snapped. "Sabrina, stop."

Sabrina froze, then turned around. Before she could say a word, Scarlett's hand connected with her cheek. A loud slap rang out.

Vincent's eyes widened. He lunged forward, shoving Scarlett aside so hard she stumbled, and caught Sabrina in his arms. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with panic—something he'd never shown Scarlett, not even when she was in the ICU after Vanessa's birth.

Sabrina held her cheek, tears spilling down her face. She looked so small, so helpless—like she had no idea why Scarlett would hit her.

Vincent fussed over her, brushing her hair back, asking if it hurt. Scarlett felt no guilt. Sabrina had stolen her husband, her family, her daughter—she deserved that slap.

Then, the sound of bare feet pattering down the stairs. Vanessa came running out of the villa, her hair messy, one shoe missing. She didn't even look at Scarlett—she ran straight to Sabrina, wrapping her arms around Sabrina's legs.

"Sabrina, does it hurt?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Want me to blow on it?"

Vanessa had been about to go to bed, but she'd seen Vincent's car through her window. She'd rushed downstairs, hoping to see him and Sabrina—and instead, she'd seen Scarlett hit her.

Scarlett stood off to the side, watching her husband and daughter coddle the woman who'd ruined her life. She could almost hear her heart shattering into a million pieces. But she refused to believe it—refused to believe that her little girl, the one she'd loved more than anything, would choose a stranger over her.

She reached out, her hand shaking. "Vanny—" she started, using Vanessa's nickname.

Before she could finish, Vanessa spun around. Her face was red with anger. She ran up to Scarlett and started hitting her with her tiny fists, her nails digging into Scarlett's legs. "Bad mom! Bad mom! How could you hit Sabrina? You're a terrible mom! I don't want you anymore!"

Scarlett froze. Her face went pale. In that moment, she knew—all the custody she had been so desperate to fight for was nothing but her own wishful thinking.

Neither her husband nor her daughter needed her at all.

She felt like a complete joke. A sad, pathetic joke. And to make it worse, she was pregnant with Vincent's baby—for a man who didn’t love her in the slightest, having a baby she'd once hoped would fix everything.

She didn't remember how long Vanessa hit her, or what she said. All she heard was "terrible mom", over and over, that word was enough to kill all the hopes she had left.

Finally, she let out a bitter laugh. She didn't look at Vincent or Vanessa. She just turned and walked away.

Behind her, Vincent and Vanessa surrounded Sabrina, continuously showering her concerned words. No one called out to her. No one cared that she was leaving.

As she turned the corner, she couldn't help but glance back. Vincent and Vanessa, who she had once cherished the most in those five years were on either side of Sabrina, each holding one of her hands. They walked into the villa together, laughing, like they were the perfect family. Like Scarlett had never existed.

Scarlett smiled, but it felt like her chest was being crushed. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Five years of loving them, of sacrificing for them, had drained her dry.

She'd always put them first. Now, it was her turn.

After leaving Ravenshade Villa, Scarlett walked alone for a long way. As memories of the past five years flooded back, she realized she had long known she shouldn’t waste herself away in a relationship like this—she had just been unwilling to face the truth all along.

But now, she's finally come around. From now on, she's choosing to put herself first.

Scarlett took a cab back to Oakland Villa. She went straight to her study, pulled out a sheet of paper, and started drafting a new divorce agreement.

Fifty-fifty split of their assets. No alimony. And—she paused, her hand shaking—she was giving up custody of Vanessa. If her daughter didn't want her, what was the point?

She folded the agreement neatly and left it on her desk. Then, she got in her car and drove back to Oakridge, where her training was. She didn't stop until she reached her apartment there.

The next morning, she woke up early and went to the hospital.

Her college friend, Melinda Olsen, worked in the OB-GYN department. Melinda knew a little about Scarlett's marriage. She was shocked when hearing Scarlett's insistent decision to have an abortion.

"You've been trying to get pregnant for months," Melinda said, staring at her. "Why give up now? Even if things are bad with Vincent, you could keep the baby. It's yours, not his."

Scarlett sat across from her, calm and resolute. "Melinda, I'm a woman. The most important thing we have is the right to choose—to not have a baby just because someone else wants it. My life matters too. I've made up my mind. Please, schedule the surgery for this morning."

The old Scarlett was gone. The one who begged for Vincent's love, who let Amanda walk all over her, who put everyone else before herself—she was gone. From now on, she was going to love herself. She was going to live for herself.

And the people who didn't love her back? She was done with them. For good.

When Scarlett opened her eyes again, she was lying in a hospital room, the sterile smell of antiseptic hanging in the air.

Melinda popped her head in a few minutes later, checking her vitals and reminding her to stay in the hospital for two more days of observation. Even after discharge, she'd need to take it easy for a full month—no strenuous work, no stress.

Scarlett nodded along to every word. She'd already made up her mind—she was going to take that month seriously. Her body was hers, after all—not a tool for the Stewarts, not something to neglect. For the first time in years, she was putting herself first.

Once Melinda left, Scarlett picked up her phone, half-expecting to see a missed call or text from Vincent. Nothing. Not a single notification.

She shouldn't have been surprised—last night's fight, her leaving, the surgery—none of it mattered to him. To the Stewarts, she was just a blip on their radar, easily ignored.

But for Scarlett? It was a turning point.

Finally seeing them for who they really were—selfish, cold, ungrateful—was a relief, not a heartbreak. No more late nights overthinking, no more clinging to false hope. Just clarity.

Old habits tugged at her, though. She found herself opening the video app almost on autopilot. The first recommendation? A new post from Sabrina, tagged with "Someone you may know". The video showed Sabrina holding a small hand; even from the back, Scarlett recognized Vanessa's curly hair instantly. The caption read, "There's no feeling like being needed." And the background? The living room of Ravenshade Villa—Vincent's "secret" villa for Sabrina.

Scarlett let out a soft, tired smile. She'd once cried over posts like this, stayed up all night replaying them in her head. Now? She long-pressed the screen and tapped "Not Interested". The days of secretly stalking her husband's mistress were over.

After leaving the hospital, Scarlett hired a part-time caregiver to help with meals and chores, then spent the entire month resting.

A month later, she paid the caregiver, slipped into a crisp white dress, applied a light layer of makeup, and drove back to Rivergate. It was the fifteenth—her and Vincent's "scheduled" night for trying to conceive.

Truth be told, Scarlett had never enjoyed those nights. Vincent had always treated it like a chore, rushing through it so he could leave for Sabrina as soon as possible. But tonight, she wasn't there for a baby. She was there to hand him the divorce papers.

She arrived at Oakland Villa at seven. Freya greeted her warmly and offered to make dinner. Scarlett ate a quiet meal alone, then headed upstairs to the study. The divorce agreement was still on the desk, exactly where she'd left it a month earlier—untouched, unread. Vincent hadn't been home once in that time.

She waited until nine, her patience wearing thin, when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat—maybe he'd finally show up. But when the door opened, it was only Freya.

"Mrs. Stewart," Freya said, looking uncomfortable, "Mr. Stewart just called. He said he's tied up tonight and won't be coming home. He asked if you could come back next month instead."

Scarlett let out a bitter laugh. Next month? She'd shown up this month, but who knew if she'd even be in Rivergate by then. She was tired of waiting—tired of being trapped in this gilded cage of a marriage.

After a moment's pause, she stood up. "When he does come back," she told Freya, "tell him I left something for him on the desk. It's important."

Freya nodded. "I will, Mrs. Stewart."

Scarlett grabbed her bag and walked out of Oakland Villa, the night air cool against her face. She got in her car and drove, no destination in mind—just needing to get away. Eventually, she found herself parked outside a building with bright lights—Rivergate Grand Hall. A crowd of well-dressed people was spilling out, laughing and chatting.

Then she saw them.

Vincent and Sabrina, flanking Vanessa, each holding one of her hands. The three of them were smiling, their heads tilted together like they were sharing a private joke. Vanessa was bouncing on her toes, talking a mile a minute.

"Sabrina, you were so pretty up there! Like a fairy!" she gushed, swinging Sabrina's arm. "Your piano playing was amazing—can you teach me when I'm older? Please?"

Sabrina was wearing a floor-length white gown, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, looking like she'd just stepped off a red carpet. She bent down and leaned forward, booping Vanessa's nose playfully. "I'd love to—anytime you want."

Vanessa cheered, then turned to Vincent. "Daddy, isn't Sabrina the best?"

Vincent's eyes softened—the kind of softness Scarlett had never seen directed at her. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, she is."

Just one word, but it was enough to tell Scarlett everything.

Vanessa beamed. "When I grow up, I wanna be just like her!"

Scarlett watched through the windshield, her chest tight. Vanessa had never looked at her that way—never admired her, never begged to be like her.

She thought back to the years she'd spent as a full-time mom—covered in spit-up, up at 3 a.m. with a fussy baby, giving up her career as a pediatric surgeon to stay home. She'd stopped wearing makeup, stopped playing the piano, stopped being Scarlett—all to be "Mom" and "Mrs. Stewart".

To Vanessa, she was just the woman who cooked her meals and folded her clothes. Sabrina was the exciting one—the one who played piano, wore pretty dresses, and made her dad smile.

At the entrance of the hall, Vanessa held out her arms, whining. "Sabrina, carry me! Please?"

Vincent stepped in quickly. "Vanessa, Sabrina's wearing a gown—it's not easy. Wait till we get to the car, okay?"

Vanessa's lower lip stuck out, her eyes watering. Sabrina saw her pout and immediately knelt down, lifting her into her arms. "It's okay, sweetie—I don't mind." She smiled at Vincent, like they were a team.

Vincent's face softened even more. He walked behind them, carefully lifting the hem of Sabrina's gown so she wouldn't trip on the steps. This was the man who ruled Rivergate's business world with an iron fist—who never apologized, never bent, never showed weakness. And here he was, fussing over a woman's dress like a doting husband.

They climbed into Vincent's Rolls-Royce and drove away, laughing. So this was his "busy night"—a concert with Sabrina and Vanessa, playing happy family.

Scarlett laughed too, a cold, hollow sound. She sat in her car for a long time, watching the empty parking spot where they'd been, until her phone rang. It was Spencer Jenkins, her supervisor at the hospital.

"Scarlett?" his voice came through the line.

She composed herself. "Hi, Spencer."

Scarlett majored in pediatric surgery. After being a full-time mom for four years, she returned to the workforce and was working as a junior doctor at the hospital.

"Good news—your training can end early. You can come back to work next week, if you want."

Scarlett hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to stay in Rivergate, where every street corner reminded her of the Stewarts. "Spencer, what about that volunteer program? The one doing health checks for kids in the countryside?"

There was a pause. "You mean the rural clinic gig? It's tough—long hours, basic facilities, and it won't do much for your resume. We have spots, but no one's pushing you to take it."

"I want to take it," Scarlett said firmly. "Think of it as a break. I need some time away from the city."

Spencer could hear the resolve in her voice. "Alright. You can go for two months. I'll send you the details tomorrow."

—

A month passed in a blur. Vanessa had started kindergarten, and without Scarlett around to "try" for a second baby, Vincent was getting pressure from Amanda and the Stewart elders. On the fifteenth, he showed up at Oakland Villa earlier than usual—before six.

Freya was shocked to see him. "Mr. Stewart, you're home early!"

Vincent didn't explain. He just headed upstairs, pausing to tell her, "If Mrs. Stewart comes back, send her to the bedroom."

Freya nodded, watching him go. He walked right past the study—didn't even glance at the desk where the divorce papers sat—and went straight to the master bedroom. He was only here for one thing—to make sure Scarlett got pregnant. Nothing more.

After a shower, he put on a pair of sweatpants and waited on the bed, scrolling through work emails. Seven o'clock came and went. Eight. Nine.

Three hours later, he was starting to get annoyed. Just as he was about to call Scarlett, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Finally.