Aunt Yvonnne, unable to bear the pain, followed him in death.
Owen blamed me for both lives.
He was convinced it was my threat that had killed his parents.
From then on, whatever love he had for me turned to ashes—leaving only hatred behind.
In the eight years that followed, he brought home ninety-nine lovers.
And when Julia appeared, I knew my mission had utterly failed.
Three days ago, the system erased me.
This time I’m living on borrowed time—granted only because I begged for it.
I pleaded for one last chance to say goodbye—one last chance to divorce Owen, and to finally free my soul.
By the time Owen led Julia into the bathroom, I had already filled the tub with warm water for her.
The water was laced with his favorite ebony-scented bath gel. The air itself was thick with it—Owen's signature indulgence.
However, my obedience didn’t earn me a kind word, only the full weight of his fury.
As soon as Julia entered the bathroom, Owen yanked me onto the bed with force, his body pressing me down.
“Sheryl,” he sneered, “do you really enjoy serving my mistresses that much?”
“If you just say you love me, beg me to send her away, I might actually grant your wish.”