Chapter 3

After that fiasco in the study, I completely abandoned all attempts to discipline the three children.

Not only did I stop trying to control them, but I also handed them a supplementary black card with a staggering limit, proactively encouraging them to buy the most expensive, most destructive toys imaginable.

With a warm motherly smile, I told them they were the most special people in this house, which meant the rules simply didn't apply to them.

It didn't take long. Fed by my strategic indulgence, these three inherently vicious bastards fully mutated into lawless little monsters.

They escalated their torment of the household staff and turned their bottomless appetite for destruction directly toward Gideon's most prized personal possessions.

Whenever Gideon's face twitched in absolute agony, hovering on the brink of an explosive meltdown, I would make a perfectly timed entrance. Armed with the very shackles he had locked around my neck for years—"charity," "tolerance," and "love"—I shoved his fury ruthlessly back down his throat.

Watching him practically choking on his own blood in frustration at home, only to step outside and desperately strap that saintly skin back on for the cameras... gave me a thrilling, unprecedented surge of euphoria.

Late at night, when the sprawling villa fell dead silent, I sat alone in the dim guest room, my face bathed in the cold blue glow of my laptop screen.

On the very first day Camilla moved in, I had covertly installed micro-cameras in every blind spot of this house.

At this exact moment, the screen was playing footage from 2:00 AM: Inside Gideon's treasured study, he had Camilla bent roughly over his antique desk. The two of them were grinding and tearing at each other like animals in heat.

I watched the cheating bastards with cold detachment, encrypted the high-definition files, and hit "send" to my legal team. Then, I dialed my divorce and trust attorney.

"It's me," I hushed, my tone like ice. "The asset dissolution and trust liquidation protocols we discussed? Trigger them. Time it for the exact day the Medical Board announces its election results. At that precise second, I want every single joint account and transferred asset tied to Gideon Crawford frozen and bled utterly dry."

This election was the ultimate climax of Gideon's decade-long ambition.

The title of Chairman of the Medical Board didn't just carry the highest authority in the American medical community; it meant absolute control over billions of dollars in charitable foundation funds.

This was the summit of power he had been clawing his way toward for years, using my flesh and blood as his stepping stones. Win this, and he would fully metamorphose into the king of a medical empire—at which point, he could finally, ruthlessly kick away the useless stepping stone that was his wife.

Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad. I truly couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he plummeted from the clouds straight into the abyss.

A week later, the grand ballroom of the plaza hotel was ablaze with dazzling light.

It was the final keynote event for the Medical Board election, doubling as a massive, high-profile charity gala. The titans of American medicine, the political and business elites, and a horde of blood-sniffing media had turned out in full force.

Dressed in a flawlessly tailored bespoke suit, Gideon stood radiating charisma under the center-stage spotlight. On the massive screens behind him, tear-jerking montages looped right on cue: Gideon wading through slums, covered in mud, saving impoverished children.

"Medicine," he spoke smoothly into the microphone, "is not merely about the precision of a scalpel. It is about the redemption of the soul. For ten years, I have dedicated myself to pediatric charity. Though my wife, Beatrice, and I—due to some... profoundly regrettable physical circumstances—can never have children of our own, it did not break us. We adopted three pitiful, orphaned children who lost their parents, and we gave them a home filled with love."

Right on cue, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. In the front row, a few glamorous socialites were even dabbing at their eyes.

Gideon's eyes, practically overflowing with fake compassion, locked on to me in the audience with sniper-like precision.

"Today, I want to dedicate my deepest gratitude to my wife, Beatrice. It is her silent, selfless support and sacrifice behind the scenes that has allowed me to unconditionally devote myself to this great cause. Please, welcome my incredible wife to the stage."

The blinding spotlight instantly swung to me. Hundreds of eyes followed the beam, locking onto my face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Camilla standing in the shadows at the edge of the stage. Her arms were crossed, an unconcealed sneer of mockery playing on her lips. She probably assumed that I—the idiotic woman whose last drop of usefulness was about to be squeezed dry—was going to walk up there and weep with gratitude for this man, just as I had for the past ten years.

I kept my spine ramrod straight. Step by step, with unnatural composure, I ascended that brilliantly lit stage.

Gideon smiled, his eyes brimming with manufactured devotion, and opened his arms to pull me into a passionate embrace.

I angled my body slightly, seamlessly dodging his touch, and stepped straight to the microphone.

A hush fell over the ballroom. Hundreds of eyes were glued to me, waiting for the "great wife" to deliver a tear-jerking, heartfelt speech.

Instead, I pulled a flash drive from my clutch and handed it directly to the A/V technician working the side panel. Then, I slowly turned to look at Gideon. A genuine, liberated smile finally curled the corners of my mouth.

"My husband, Gideon, is indeed an 'extraordinary' man." My voice echoed crystal clear through the state-of-the-art sound system. "But he is far too modest. He has kept so many of his true 'magnificent achievements' hidden from the public eye. Therefore, tonight, on this defining evening of his career, I would like to show all of you something... the truest, most authentic version of Gideon Crawford you have ever seen."

The pristine smile on Gideon's face abruptly froze. His pupils contracted in sheer panic as his primal instincts detected a fatal loss of control.

But I didn't give him a split second to intervene. Looking toward the tech booth, I snapped my fingers.

"Please. Direct your attention to the screens."

Instantly, the gentle background music and heartwarming charity montages vanished from the massive LED screens behind me. In their place, a razor-sharp, high-definition night-vision video flared to life—complete with the very audible sound of heavy, breathless panting.

The very first frame displayed the "Charity Doctor"—who had just been preaching about the redemption of the soul—bending Camilla over his antique desk. Half-naked, the two of them were viciously tearing at each other's clothes, rutting with ravenous, animalistic hunger.