Chapter 2

In the living room, Madison carefully handed me my phone, its screen still lit with Dylan's name—Giovannis' executive assistant.

"Ma'am," Madison said, "Austin has called... quite a few times now."

I took it, the cold phone pressing against my palm.

I swiped to answer. Dylan's voice came through in a formulaic, emotionless tone. "Mrs. Combs, Mr. Combs asked me to inform you that he will handle the online controversy. Please refrain from going out, accepting any interviews, or especially making any statements online during this time."

I wondered how he would handle it. Was I just going to be quietly disposed of, like some unwanted old furniture?

"Where is he?" Victoria rasped, her voice raw.

"Mr. Combs is in a meeting," Dylan paused, then added pointedly, "A very important one."

So it was more important than his wife being publicly shamed online, branded a scheming bitch, and dismissed as worthless dead weight just taking up space.

It was even more important than our third anniversary, which was nothing but a joke.

"Fine," Victoria said flatly, then hung up the phone.

All my strength instantly drained away. Leaning against the icy wall, I slowly sank to the floor.

The icy chill from the floor tiles seeped through my thin clothes, chilling me to the marrow.

Outside the window, the city shimmered with countless lights, yet not a single one shone for me.

The luxury penthouse in the heart of the city felt as empty as a gilded mausoleum.

Giovanni was rarely home.

Here, it was just me and the icy, ever-present, costly 'Mrs. Combs' label that clung to me.

Beneath that label, Victoria was suffocating.

The phone screen lit up again.

This time, it wasn't a call. It was a message from Giovannis, brief and to the point, just like him

"Stay home. Don't complicate things."

The six words like needles stabbing right where it hurt most.

There was no explanation or comfort, only order.

He was ordering me to hide away like some shameful criminal, so I wouldn't 'complicate things' for him and his precious Brynlee.

So in his eyes, my very existence was just another 'mess' that needed to be cleaned up.

I stared at those words, my fingertips turning white from the force.

Then, slowly, I typed out my reply: [Giovanni, I'm divorcing you.]

But I knew it wouldn't get any reply.

He probably just thought this was another way for me to complicate things—a manipulative ploy.

After all, in Giovanni's world where he ruled with an iron grip, I never even had the right to say "no."

For the next few days, it felt as if the whole world had turned its back on me.

The apartment had become my gilded cage.

The online firestorm only grew fiercer.

The ever-resourceful netizens started digging up every bit of dirt they could find on me.

"Busted! Victoria is from some backwater village! Didn't even graduate high school!"

"OMG! Just a country bumpkin who married up! No wonder she still reeks of that low-class stench!"

"I heard her dad's a degenerate gambler drowning in debt, and her mom ran off with another man! What good could possibly come from trash like that?"

The Combs family must've taken Victoria in out of pity back then—never imagined they were letting a viper into their nest!

"She must have used some dirty tricks to force Mr. Combs into marriage! Poor Mr. Combs, stuck with that kind of woman for three years!"

"Support Brynlee! True love is invincible! Take down the scheming village girl Victoria!"

The trending topics like "Victoria Get Out Of The Rich Family" and "Victoria Outta The Combs" felt like a knife dipped in poison.

My origins—that shameful past I'd fought so desperately to escape—were brutally exposed, every last detail dragged into the harsh light for all to ruthlessly mock and trample on.

And yet, the man who should have stood by my side and who should have at least spoken up for me remained utterly silent, Victoria thought bitterly.

Giovanni's silence was the final straw that broke me.

And it became the perfect fuel for Brynlee's fire.

On the third night, Brynlee went live again.

This time, the backdrop had shifted to Giovannis's CEO office on the top floor of the Combs Group.

Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows stretched the dazzling panorama of the city's glittering skyline.

Brynlee was dressed in Chanel's latest season suit, her makeup impeccable. She sat behind the expansive desk—a symbol of Giovanni's absolute authority—idly twirling a Montblanc pen between her fingers.

That was the limited edition Montblanc I had scoured half the city to find for Giovanni's birthday last year.

The live chat exploded again.

"Holy shit! Office romance? Mr. Combs is the GOAT!"

"Brynlee's totally giving off 'Mrs. Combs doing her inspection' vibes!"

"Now that's some real wife energy—her aura is off the charts! Victoria, take notes!"

"That pen in Brynlee's hand! That's Mr. Combs', isn't it? So sweet!"

Brynlee glanced at the live chat, pursing her lips in a coy smile. "Oh, you guys, stop teasing me," she said with feigned shyness. "Giovanni's... in a meeting. He asked me to wait for him here." She picked up the pen and waved it at the camera. "This? Well, he said his old pen wasn't working well anymore, so he wanted me to help him pick out a new one."

I sneered. Old again?