Lost in Wine, Lost in Love

The year I went the most insane, all to get back at Adrian Cole.

I stabbed the woman he kept outside eighteen times.

The entire Newport City said Adrian had realized his mistakes, that he cherished me even more than before.

Until the third year of our marriage, when I received an intimate video of him with that same woman.

“Baby, these scars are proof of your love for me. I swear I’ll never betray you for the rest of my life.”

The woman packed her luggage with a bright smile, flaunting herself at me.

“Victoria Hayes, in these three years Adrian has stripped away your claws, pampering you into nothing more than a spoiled kitten.”

“All of this, just so I could come back.”

But what she didn’t know was that someone who has gone insane once, can only become even more insane.

And now, without Adrian’s reins on me, I would show no mercy.

…

The call ended. I stared at the video of the two of them entwined.

My fingers dug deep into the leather sofa.

For three years, Adrian had taken good care of Clara Ward.

The eighteen knife wounds, from her chest to her back, had all been patched up.

The largest scar had been covered with a vibrant butterfly tattoo across her thin shoulder blade—so strikingly beautiful it could steal one’s breath.

“Baby, I’ve missed you so damn much these three years.”

Adrian kissed her, his hand pressed gently against her abdomen as though terrified of causing her pain.

I couldn’t even remember the last time Adrian and I had shared a bed.

He was always taking calls late at night, hiding away in his study, never returning to our room.

The suitcase I had packed for him before his trip still sat boldly beside our bed.

Inside it was our wedding photo—he took it everywhere, and people said he loved me to death.

But was it only so I could witness his lust with another woman?

Hatred burned through me, but I forced myself to stay on the sofa, gritting my teeth as I watched the video until the very end.

When spring faded, Clara leaned close to the camera, smiling triumphantly.

“Well, Victoria?”

“You stabbed me eighteen times back then. Consider this stab my payback—does it hurt enough?”

She had only disappeared from Adrian’s sight for a few moments, yet the man was already panicked, calling out her name and clenching his fists.

The video cut off with a sharp “snap.”

He had seen the camera, his eyes full of rage and dread.

That look pierced me like a knife.

Just like three years ago.

When I was acquitted by the Supreme Court of Newport City.

Everyone said I, Victoria, was insane.

That I lived only for my own pleasure.

Three years ago, Adrian was the person I trusted most.

But in high society, there is no such thing as secrets.

The day after rumors spread of Adrian putting high heels on Clara, she had strutted proudly to my door.

“You’re old, but I’m still young.”

“Victoria, all you’ve got is blood on your hands—what can you possibly compare with me?”

She flaunted herself, holding one of my designer gowns, and in the next instant my knife plunged into her shoulder blade.

I yanked her by the hair. “You know, once you’ve stained yourself with blood, a little more doesn’t matter.”

I stabbed Clara eighteen times, each one careful not to be fatal.

She collapsed in a pool of blood, screaming that I had to pay with my life.

But the Hayes family’s reach in Newport City stretched far and wide.

In the end, all I bore was the label of “self-defense.”

Adrian, sitting in the plaintiff’s seat, watched as I walked out of court with my head held high.

His eyes were bloodshot, his fists clenched, and then—he knelt before me.

“…I’m sorry.”

He was my father’s foster son.

Since he was ten, this madman had been my leash.

Countless times, he tore the knife from my hand or pulled the bullets out of my bag.