Chapter 1

When my husband, Timothy Sanders, told me we should get a temporary divorce for the sake of the child his first love was carrying, promising he would remarry me in a grand ceremony once the baby was born, I believed him.

And I waited for five years.

I watched them build a perfect family with a son and a daughter, becoming the enviable model couple everyone admired. Meanwhile, I turned into the biggest joke in our social circle.

Everyone mocked me for being past my prime, cast aside like a worn-out wife.

It wasn't until the first birthday party for my twins that he cornered me against the wall, his eyes bloodshot, demanding in a frenzy. "Cora, who are these kids you have with?"

I folded my arms and smiled charmingly, "Mr. Sanders, we got divorced a long time ago. They can't possibly be your children."

At that moment, as I stared at his overcome-with-regret face, I knew my revenge had only begun.

*****

The crystal chandeliers in the ballroom cast their light on me, but nothing burned hotter than the fury in Timothy Sanders's eyes.

He gripped my wrist so tightly that it felt like he was about to crush my bones.

The guests around us stopped talking, all eyes turning to our corner, the air thick with the thrill of watching a drama unfold.

"Cora, say it one more time," Timothy said through clenched teeth, his voice cold and full of hate.

I raised my other hand and calmly loosened his grip, his fingers pale from the force.

My movements were slow and relaxed, carrying a touch of teasing defiance.

"Mr. Sanders, are you really that dense?" I smiled, a flawless curve playing on my lips. My voice was soft, but everyone in the corner heard it loud and clear. "I said, they are not your children."

His face turned ashen in an instant, and he nearly stumbled, as someone had sucked the life out of him.

My mom, Mabel Jenkins, finally snapped out of her shock and rushed over, screaming. "Cora, are you crazy? How could you talk to Timothy like that?"

She yanked me behind her, putting on a sycophantic grin, practically groveling as she nodded and bowed to Timothy.

"Timothy, don't listen to her. She's being spiteful. She's been bitter these five years you weren't around, so she went and found two kids to mess with you," Mabel said.

I watched my mom put on her little act, my heart growing colder with every second.

So this was my real mother. She'd throw my dignity under the bus to suck up to the rich and powerful.

Timothy clung to hope like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline, a spark lighting up in his eyes.

He stepped forward, trying to take my hand. "Cora, I know you've had it rough. It's my fault for making you wait so long."

His tone grew gentle, almost hypnotic, as if he was trying to draw me in. "Come home with me. Let's stop all this drama, okay? As long as you send these two kids away, I'll act like nothing ever happened."

Rage ignited within me. They were my own flesh and blood, the only solace I had through all those endless, lonely nights.

I shook off my mom's hand and stepped right up to Timothy, locking eyes with him, seeing right through his lies. "Timothy, get this straight.

"First, we're divorced. Wherever I choose to call home, it's none of your concern. Second, my kids are everything to me. Anyone who tries to mess with them will have to deal with me."

I gave my mom a cold, resolute stare, and she instinctively stepped back, unsettled by the unwavering resolve in my eyes.

Timothy's expression turned grim. He probably never imagined that the Cora who always obeyed him would turn into someone he barely recognized.

Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the ballroom. Esther Hunt walked in.

She wore a white dress, her long hair falling over her shoulders, a gentle smile on her face as she held a little boy around three years old in her arms.

Next to her was a little girl who looked a lot like Timothy, her features echoing his.

The four of them looked like the perfect family, so harmonious and happy.

Esther scanned the room, her gaze finally settling on me. There was a subtle glint of triumph in her eyes, almost too faint to notice.

With her daughter in tow and her son cradled in her arms, she made her way over to us with effortless elegance. "Timothy, I'm sorry I'm late." Her voice was so soft and sweet.

As soon as the little girl saw Timothy, she let go of Esther's hand and rushed over to wrap her arms around his leg. "Hi, Daddy."

Timothy instinctively bent down to pick her up. But his eyes never left me.

His gaze was a storm of emotions, including regret, resentment, and a possessiveness lurking beneath it all, something he himself hadn't noticed.

The little boy in Esther's arms called out in his soft, milky voice, "Hi, Daddy."

Timothy's body went stiff.

I watched the scene play out, the smirk on my lips growing even colder. The show was getting started.