My Wife Made Me a Scandal,So I Faked My Death and Took Her Empire Down

Divorce.

I could cover Mom's medical bills myself.

I could work to pay off every cent I owed.

Even if it took the rest of my life.

Even if it drained every last drop of my energy.

That was still better than spending another day suffering at Prudence's side.

When she heard me, a flicker of shock crossed her face.

But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by that familiar look of arrogant control.

She pulled Jackson behind her and looked down at me like I was something beneath her shoe.

"Solomon, stop being ridiculous."

"You know how destroyed your reputation is right now."

"Leave me, and your life is over. Permanently."

"Just do as I say. Apologizing to Jackson is for your own good."

My life was already in ruins—ruins she had made.

How much worse could it possibly get?

This time, I wasn't backing down.

I refused to meet her eyes, refused to see that fake affection she wore so well.

I shook off her hand and walked out without looking back.

My phone buzzed the entire way. Message after message from Prudence.

She still didn't know I'd discovered everything.

She kept up her act—earnestly urging me to apologize to Jackson, insisting it was all for my benefit.

I ignored every one. But when I rounded the corner, two men stepped into my path.

"Solomon Henson. You're being detained on suspicion of assault. Come with us."

They showed me footage of me hitting someone. The terms were simple: kneel and apologize, or pay $300,000 in settlement fees.

Prudence, ever eager to protect her image as a devoted wife, transferred the money without hesitation.

I'll handle everything for you, she said.

I was still wondering what game she was playing when the lawyer placed a phone in front of my face.

"Mr. Henson, we've just received word from the hospital. Your mother is in critical condition. She needs $300,000 for emergency surgery."

"Conveniently, that's exactly the amount Mr. Pruitt is demanding in compensation."

"So—would you like to apologize to Mr. Pruitt? Or would you prefer to watch your mother die?"

Mom's face filled the screen. Pale. Gray. Barely breathing.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Prudence played the loving wife, promising to solve all my problems.

And then she used my mother's life as leverage to force me to my knees.

She was the real actress here.

Performance after performance—each one dripping with false devotion.

My chest seized. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

But in the end, I closed my eyes and made the only choice I could.

"I'll apologize."

I couldn't let Mom die because of me.

Under the weight of their mocking stares.

Through the hum of their cruel whispers.

I bent my knees and lowered myself to the ground.

Jackson stood there with that smug, victorious expression. Fresh hickeys dotted his neck—marks that hadn't been there before.

He leaned in close, voice soft and taunting.

"A-list celebrity, kneeling in apology."

"Solomon, how are you ever going to show your face again?"

"Whatever. Your life was over a long time ago anyway."

"I've got better things to do—Prudence just sent me a gift I need to unwrap."

I watched him walk away.

Then I dragged myself back to the Seaside Villa, hollow and broken.

The moment I stepped through the door, Isabel Lambert rushed toward me, panic written across her face.

"Sir, where have you been?"

"The hospital called. They said... they said your mother just passed away."

"I went to ask what happened. They told me the surgery payment was held up. That's why she didn't make it..."