Mockery Turned Majesty: Her Rise After Divorce

Before Rena had a chance to process what was happening, Waylon flung her onto the strip of grass beside the road.

A couple of steps away, he stood there with chilling composure, methodically wiping the fingers that had just touched her.

"Were you after money, or were you hoping to crawl into my bed?" Dropping his gaze, Waylon spoke with sharp disgust in his low voice. "Next time you feel like dying, pick a place farther away. Don't stain my tires with your mess."

After tossing out those words, he turned on his heel and started toward the car.

From where she sat, Rena gave a disbelieving laugh. "Are you seriously insane?" she snapped back. "If your head's messed up, go find a psychiatrist. Paranoia, bipolar, whatever you've got—get it treated early and quit lashing out at random people!"

Up ahead, his tall figure stalled for the briefest beat.

Around him, the bodyguards' hands flew to their holsters on pure reflex, yet Waylon merely tipped his head, gave a dismissive, contemptuous scoff, and pulled open the car door.

Within moments, the black Lincoln vanished into the darkness like it had never been there.

"Psycho." Muttering under her breath, Rena dusted the grass from her clothes and started to rise, only for something in the bushes to snag her attention—a metal sign, half concealed beneath the tangled leaves.

Its surface was black as midnight, wrapped in dark gold thorns that coiled around a bleeding cross.

That emblem belonged to the ancient Blood Cross mafia family, clearly marking the area as private.

Anyone who trespassed here died.

Only then did Rena understand exactly who that man had been, and a cold shiver slid down her spine.

That sickly pale, colorless skin. Those deeply shadowed eyes. And that frigid, exhausted look that seemed to have gone numb to the entire world.

The man had been Waylon, Qremvale's dreaded godfather—the one who held half of the Western underworld's economy in his grip.

Stories painted him as volatile, merciless, and vicious enough to make grown men shake.

Yet she knew the truth was stranger than rumor, because she had seen his medical records with her own eyes. He suffered from severe hemophobia and had an excessive fear of germs.

Never once had she imagined this place belonged to him.

Staring at the dimming taillights, Rena lowered her gaze to her completely uninjured hands as she absently rubbed her throbbing ankle.

She had trespassed on his land, called him insane to his face, and still made it out breathing.

Compared to everything else, maybe her luck tonight hadn't been all that bad.

Bracing herself against the car door, she took a slow breath and forced her racing pulse to settle.

Just then, the phone tucked inside her coat pocket started ringing.

Reaching in, Rena pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

The caller ID read, "Honey."

Once, that name alone had been enough to fill her chest with warmth.

Now, it did nothing but turn her stomach.

The call cut off on its own.

Almost immediately, a message alert chimed through the silence.

"Rena, where the hell are you? It's late, and it isn't safe out there. I'll come get you," Jase texted.

Staring at the message that pretended to be full of concern, Rena let a mocking smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

Come get her?

If she mattered to him, why hadn't he gone after her when she left?

And why did he only think to send that message after an hour had passed?

Ignoring the message, she flung the phone onto the passenger seat and turned the engine over.

Not long after she pulled away, the phone vibrated once more.

A new text from Jase lit up the screen. "Mom and Dad are waiting for you to come home. We're all getting worried. Enough with the stubbornness. Come back already."

A cold, humorless laugh slipped from Rena's lips.

His parents had never liked her to begin with.

That vicious Maggie, who had shredded her family photo and spat filthy insults at her mother, didn't deserve respect from her.

Worried about her?

What they really worried about was having someone to prepare their meals.

Right on cue, her phone lit up with a new message from Cassie.

"Rena, where the hell are you? Get back here right now! We're starving over here! Are you seriously making the whole family sit around waiting for you? Have you lost every shred of conscience?"

To the Bailey family, she was nothing more than an unpaid, top-tier housekeeper, someone they could bark at, blame, and humiliate whenever the mood struck.

Once she married into the family, she had even let the household chef go so she could personally manage Maggie's delicate stomach and look after Jase's daily meals. From that day on, every dish that reached their table had come from her own hands.

Over time, she had pampered their tastes too well, and somehow even that had become one more blame pinned on her.

A moment later, her phone started ringing again.

Jase was calling.

Easing the car over to the side of the road, Rena finally answered.

"Rena, you picked up at last," Jase remarked, his voice tight with forced patience. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. But you know Mom's getting older, and her health hasn't been good. She can't go too long without eating. When exactly are you coming back? We're still waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" Rena gave a hollow, mocking laugh, its brittle edge unmistakable. "Or were you really just waiting for me to come back and cook for you?"

A strained silence crackled over the line.

Then Cassie's shrill voice cut in, sharp enough to sting through the speaker, "Jase, why are you wasting your breath on her? Just tell her to get back here right now! If she refuses, she can stop thinking about coming back—this house is closed to her forever!"

On the other end, Jase muffled the phone, seemingly turning to reprimand Cassie. A moment later, he came back on the line. "Rena, that's not what Cassie meant," he said, his tone softening. "Hunger's getting to her—she's not thinking straight. You know how much everyone loves your cooking. Food from outside isn't clean, and Mom's stomach has always been delicate, so—"

Before he could finish, Rena interjected with a cold, biting laugh, "Then how did your family manage before I ever showed up? What did you people eat to stay alive? Or did you always go around shamelessly begging other people to feed you like this?"

"How could you even say something like that?" Irritation sharpened Jase's voice. "We're a family. Of course it makes sense for you to look after the house. Do we really need to fight over this right now?"

Family?

Since when had they ever treated her like one of their own?

A deep, bone-weary exhaustion washed over Rena, leaving her too drained to keep arguing.

Everything she had poured into them over the past five years had meant absolutely nothing.

No—at the very least, genuine kindness should have been worth a shred of gratitude.

Instead, every sacrifice she had made for Jase and his family had circled back like a blade and cut into her.

By now, those five years had more than paid back the debt she owed for him saving her life.

"Jase," she called out.

Mistaking her quiet tone for surrender, Jase eased up at once. "Rena, you've always been the sensible one. Just come home, apologize to Mom, and we'll pretend none of this ever happened."

Her voice came out calm, almost chillingly so. "Let's get a divorce."