Please forgive me for my deep love

“I won’t leave Michael for money! What we have is real!”

Half-reclined on the master bed, the girl’s clothes were disheveled, her lips swollen. With a face strikingly similar to Michael’s unreachable ideal, Mariah, she glared defiantly at Cynthia, chin lifted. “You’re the ninety-ninth woman to tell me that.”

Cynthia’s expression stayed placid as she motioned for a bodyguard to lay a stack of cash and two copies of a non-disclosure agreement in front of the girl. “Sign these, and the money is yours to take when you go.”

“Cynthia, everyone knows you’re just Michael’s dog. Do you really think you’re his wife? Michael told me he’s never even kissed you all this time—you disgust him!”

Cynthia showed no reaction to the girl’s venomous words—because they were true.

In Harbor City’s elite circles, everyone knew the open secret: Cynthia was Michael’s wife in name only. In reality, she was his dog. And she had brought it all on herself.

After all, she’d used every dirty trick in the book to marry him.

At Michael’s engagement party to his beloved Mariah, Cynthia had drugged him. In his disoriented state, she slipped into his bed. When the scandal broke, she leaked it to the press, guaranteeing front-page coverage.

In the end, with the help of a conveniently timed pregnancy of dubious origin and the benevolence of Michael’s father, Jeremy, she displaced Mariah. She forced Michael to marry her, driving the heartbroken Mariah to vanish without a trace for years.

For Michael, a man notorious for his ruthlessness, it was the first time he had ever been trapped and humiliated. His hatred for Cynthia was absolute.

The wedding had barely ended when Michael shoved the still-bridal-gowned Cynthia down a flight of stairs, publicly calling it a “tragic miscarriage.”

“You’re only fit to be my dog.”

He meant it. For the next five years, Cynthia was his to summon and dismiss at will—his beast of burden, his servant, his toy for venting lust and rage.

The truth, however, was that Cynthia had been forced into every action by Christina, Mariah’s mother.

The year Cynthia graduated, her grandmother, Patricia, fell critically ill and needed a liver transplant. Destitute and desperate, Cynthia was approached at the hospital by Christina, who oversaw the facility.

“Mariah is still young, not ready to settle down. But the alliance between Michael’s family and ours cannot be broken by us. Cynthia, be a good girl. Do exactly as I say, and you can save your grandmother.”

To save Patricia’s life, Cynthia sold her soul and her dignity. Mariah’s family, meanwhile, reaped a windfall from Michael’s guilt over the years.

The girl sneered now, slapping the documents against Cynthia’s face before trying to sweep past her. A bodyguard blocked the exit.

“Cynthia, just you wait!” Forced to press her thumbprint onto the agreement, Hannah spat the words through gritted teeth before finally being allowed to leave.

Cynthia dismissed the threat as nothing. That evening, however, Michael had the grandmother she depended on seized.

By the time Cynthia arrived, Patricia—shivering in nothing but a thin dress—was trapped inside a massive glass enclosure crawling with venomous snakes. Curled into a corner, the elderly woman was deathly pale, her body wracked with tremors. Paralyzed by cold and terror, she couldn’t even cry out.

Hannah, meanwhile, was curled against Michael, her sniffles and tears a convincing performance.

The moment she saw Cynthia, Hannah shrieked in apparent terror. “Cynthia—oh god—I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again, I promise!”

Cynthia’s heart leapt into her throat, confusion swirling. Before she could speak, a bodyguard’s brutal kick to the back of her knee sent her crashing to the floor at their feet.

“Why did you humiliate Hannah with money, then have her kidnapped and threatened? Cynthia, have you truly grown tired of living?”

“I didn’t kidnap—” Cynthia’s denial was cut short by a vicious backhand from a guard. She sprawled at Michael’s feet, her forehead cracking against the floor, blood welling instantly.

Cynthia knew then that explanations were useless. The only thing that mattered was getting Patricia out.

She scrambled up, not even bothering to wipe the blood trickling into her eye, and pleaded desperately with Michael. “Michael, please, whatever it is, let my grandmother go! She’s old, she’s frail, she can’t take this… Punish me instead! Lock me in there, I’m begging you!”

“Oh, you will be punished. A dog that bites its master deserves to be taught a proper lesson, don’t you agree?”

Michael’s voice was a whip-crack of cruelty, yet he used the tip of his polished black shoe to lift her chin with an almost caressing delicacy. A trickle of blood from her forehead mixed with her tears and dripped onto the leather.

For a fleeting moment, something shifted in Michael’s expression. For five long years, no matter how he abused, tormented, or exploited her, Cynthia had only ever trembled and swallowed every ounce of bitterness and humiliation. He had never seen her look so utterly broken.

“Michael, look—she made a mess of your shoe. Making her clean it seems like a fair apology, don’t you think, Cynthia?” Hannah cooed, snuggling closer.