Not a Love for Faint Hearts

The next day, she took all the money she had left and bought herself a burial plot. The contact person for the cemetery? Maxwell.

Staring at the phone number she had memorized so perfectly, she suddenly felt pathetic.

Zoey let out a bitter laugh, shut her eyes, and without another word, she blocked Maxwell.

With her own funeral arrangements settled, she went back to the villa.

But the moment she arrived at the gate, she froze. Her personal belongings—her clothes, her books, her memories—were all scattered on the ground like garbage.

Before she could even react, a sticky-sweet voice pierced right through her chest.

"Maxwell… are you sure everything here belongs to me now?"

Maxwell chuckled lazily, then kissed the woman on the lips.

"It's all yours. You're the lady of this house now."

Neither of them noticed Zoey standing frozen at the door. Her body felt stiff, her limbs numb, like she'd been plunged into ice.

She dug her nails hard into her palms, trying to ground herself, to look less pathetic. But before she knew it, she was already charging forward.

On the ground, photos of her and Maxwell—every single one—had been ripped to shreds, fragments scattered like snow.

But what stabbed her heart the most... was the sight of her parents' urns, tossed into dirty, stagnant water, stained and filthy.

"Who did this?!"

Zoey's fists clenched so tight her nails nearly pierced her skin. Rage flared, burning through her.

Nancy yelped, startled. She darted behind Maxwell, her voice trembling with manufactured fear.

"Maxwell… she's so scary. She won't… hit me, right?"

Maxwell's expression didn't even flicker. He simply tightened his arm protectively around Nancy, his voice cool, edged with irritation.

"I did it. Got a problem? This is my house. You've already signed the divorce papers. If you don't like it, get out."

A sharp pain stabbed through Zoey's chest. But when she looked up, her face was calm.

"The divorce isn't finalized yet. This is still my house." She glanced at the woman clinging to his arm. "And her? What's she supposed to be? Should I call the cops?"

Her words struck like a match. Fury flashed in Maxwell's eyes. His brow furrowed, and the disgust in his gaze nearly spilled over.

"Zoey, what happened to that famous pride of yours? Where's that dignity you're always flaunting?" His laugh was cold, bone-deep.

Zoey didn't respond. She bent down, picked up her parents' urns, and without a word, turned and headed upstairs.

Then, right in front of Maxwell, she grabbed all of Nancy's luggage and threw it down the stairs with brutal force.

Nancy's eyes went bloodshot in an instant. She shrieked, crying and wailing, threatening to leave.

Zoey slammed her bedroom door shut, locking everything—and everyone—outside.

She was exhausted. So exhausted.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down silently. This house… this was the last thing her parents had left her before they died.

And Maxwell knew it. He knew exactly why she'd never wanted to leave. Because this was her home.

But now… her hands trembled weakly. Even the last bit of strength in her seemed to dissolve. She was nearing her limit. She could feel it, down to her bones.

Dragging herself up, she began pulling out everything from the past ten years—the memories, the relics of a marriage she once believed in.

The red dress he gave her for her birthday? Turned out it was just a freebie from buying Nancy a custom couture gown.

And the wedding ring… the one she'd cherished for ten years… the one that had always felt a little too loose.

She finally looked closer.

Inside the band—tiny, almost invisible—were engraved initials. Not hers.

NW. Nancy Westbrook.

Her breath caught. Her vision blurred. It felt like a thousand needles piercing straight into her heart.

How stupid could she have been? How could it take her ten years to finally see it?

Maxwell never loved her. Never.

Her body couldn't take much more. Her heart, barely holding on, seemed moments from giving out.

While Maxwell was out, she quietly dragged everything—the clothes, the gifts, the memories—into the garden and burned it all.

She had barely closed her eyes to rest when her phone suddenly rang.

Then she heard his voice. Cold as ice.

"Zoey, Callie's in trouble. You need to get here. Now."

Her mind snapped awake. She bolted out the door, panic gripping her throat, her heart pounding as fast as her feet could carry her.

Callie Bradford. The child she'd adopted after nearly dying from childbirth. The child with leukemia.

After Maxwell had completely severed ties with her, she had no choice but to send Callie to the orphanage. But every week without fail, she went to visit.

Callie was always so obedient. No matter how much pain she was in, she'd gently hold Zoey's hand and whisper, "Mama, it doesn't hurt."

Zoey could never have her own child again. Callie was her family. Her flesh and blood in every way that mattered.

She stepped on the gas, pushing her car to its limits.

By the time she screeched to a stop and shoved open the orphanage door...

A shrill burst of laughter echoed across the crowd.

"Hahahaha! Maxwell, you were right. Look at her. Just like a dog. One word from you and she comes running."

It was Nancy. Her eyes were bright with malicious delight.

Zoey scanned the faces around her—smirks, sneers, ridicule.

In that instant, everything clicked. She understood.

She turned to leave. But Nancy lunged, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her back.

Zoey struggled, tried to break free. But before she could, Nancy shoved her.

Her body tipped, weightless for a second, then crashed into the lake.

Filthy water surged into her mouth, her nose, her lungs. Her limbs flailed like a drowning frog.

Above the water, Nancy stood, triumphant, her smile gleaming with vicious satisfaction.

"And you dare call me a mistress? Who the heck do you think you are?"

Zoey drifted in that lake for an hour. An hour that felt like eternity.

And when she finally crawled out, trembling, soaked, freezing—the first thing she did was stumble toward Nancy.

Her entire body shook. Her fingers curled into a fist.

Then, with every last ounce of strength left in her…

She slapped Nancy.