Chapter 1

My name was Celia Voss, and I had been married to Tristan Gray for three years.

To the world, I was the lucky woman who had married into wealth and secured a perfect life. My husband was handsome and accomplished, my mother-in-law, Lenore Gray, was gracious and proper, and we didn't need to worry about money.

But only I knew the truth. This family was rotten to the core.

That night, my pregnancy nausea was so bad I couldn't sleep. I got up to grab some water. As I walked past the study, I caught the sound of breathless, seductive moans slipping through the barely open door.

My heart dropped like a stone.

Tristan was cheating on me. That was the first thing that flashed through my mind.

I was trembling, my blood rushing. All sense of reason and dignity went out the window. I shoved the study door open without thinking.

The sight before me made my blood run ice-cold. I felt frozen, chilled to the bone.

Mother and son... What they were doing was unspeakably filthy, utterly depraved.

When they heard me, both of them turned to face me. There was no panic, no shame, not even a flicker of guilt in their eyes.

All I saw was their sinister, violent glares, like predators caught in the act, and their undisguised murderous intent aimed straight at me.

Lenore slowly straightened her clothes, wiped her mouth, and flashed me a twisted, icy smile. Her voice dripped with poison.

"Now that you've seen this, you can't live," she said.

*****

Tristan rose to his feet. The eyes that once showered me with tenderness and sweet words were now nothing but cold and empty. He walked toward me, the sound of his shoes echoing, heavy, suffocating, like death itself closing in.

"Celia, don't blame me," he said, his voice low and sharp. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for knowing too much, for seeing what you shouldn't have."

I staggered backward, my legs so weak I could barely keep myself upright. My hands wrapped protectively around my barely-there bump, where a tiny life, just two months old, was growing inside me.

"I'm pregnant..." I sobbed, my voice shaking, tears blurring my vision. "This is your child, your own bloodline. You can't kill me... Please, I'm begging you, let me live, let the baby live..."

"His bloodline?" Lenore cackled, as if I'd told the most ridiculous joke, her gaze dripping with malice. "The Gray family doesn't need your bastard. Tristan belongs to me. He always has, and he always will. No one gets to take him away, not even a child."

I still wanted to beg for mercy, to struggle, to do all I could to shield my unborn child.

But Tristan had already lunged at me, clamping one large hand over my mouth to silence me, while his other arm coiled around my waist. He dragged me to the backyard of the villa like a lifeless dog with no strength to resist.

On the lawn in the backyard, a deep pit loomed before me, freshly dug, the earth still damp. It was clear they'd prepared everything in advance. They'd always intended for me to die here.

The stench of fresh earth filled my nose, and terror washed over me like a flood. I thrashed wildly, my tears blurring my vision, but my screams were trapped in my throat.

They hurled me into the pit, and cold, wet earth landed on my body, my face, and my stomach.

One shovelful.

And another.

The dirt piled up, crushing my chest and stealing my breath. Suffocating pain, burning hatred, and boundless despair consumed me.

Right before I blacked out, I used the last bit of strength I had to spit out the nastiest, craziest curse I could think of.

I swore that if I survived this, I would make Tristan and Lanore pay with their blood. I would destroy them utterly and ensure they never found peace in any life to come.

Darkness swallowed me whole...

Tristan and I met through someone's introduction.

Back when he was chasing me, he was gentle, thoughtful, patient, and so attentive. He remembered all my favorite things, tolerated every little quirk, stayed up all night to look after me when I was sick, and always showed up first whenever I was feeling down.

I grew up in a family that was never really whole. My parents barely spoke to each other, and I was always craving affection. All I ever wanted was a real, warm home.

So when Tristan got down on one knee with a bouquet and asked me to marry him, I said yes without a second thought.

I thought I was finally marrying true love.

I thought from now on, I'd always have someone by my side.

I thought my life would be my happily ever after, smooth, perfect, and full of joy.

The wedding day arrived in grand style. The venue was packed with guests, drawing the whole city's attention. Everyone was congratulating me, saying how lucky I was.

But during the toast, I saw something that made my skin crawl and still haunted me to this day.

My mother‑in‑law, Lenore, held Tristan's hand tightly, their fingers intertwined, her gaze fixed intently on him, unwilling to look away for even a moment.

That look was never the tender care and concern a mother had for her son, but rather the possessiveness, obsession, and disturbing intimacy a woman felt toward a man.

What really made my blood run cold was when she gave Tristan's chest a light, flirtatious pinch.

The way she did it, so coy, so soft, so suggestive, was exactly the kind of move between lovers.

Tristan didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in and whispered something in her ear.

Lenore's cheeks flushed instantly. She playfully swatted him, looking for all the world like a lovestruck girl.

One of the relatives nearby laughed and teased, "Mr. Gray is such a good son, so close to his mom. What a loving family!"

I pushed aside my unease, desperately convincing myself that I was overthinking it, that my mind was in the gutter, that they were just a mother and son who happened to be close.

But after we got married, all my illusions were shattered completely.

Lenore claimed Tristan had always been frail and needed constant care, so she made sure to share the same room and bed with him every night.

Whenever Tristan showered, she'd go in to help him wash his back.

When he changed clothes, she never even tried to give him privacy. She'd personally help him get dressed.

At night, their door was never fully closed, and weird, jarring sounds would drift into my room, keeping me awake and making me shiver all over.

I endured it time and again, consoling myself that it would pass if I just held on.

But one day, I couldn't take it anymore. I quietly confronted Tristan about it.