Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room filled my vision.

The burns on my back and arms throbed with a piercing, agonizing pain, but the most excruciating torment came from the hollow emptiness in my womb.

"Finally awake?" a nurse muttered.

She ripped the gauze off my arm without a single word of warning.

The stinging agony of tearing flesh made me flinch.

"Oh, so now you know what pain feels like?" she sneered, her eyes brimming with absolute disgust. "With a jealousy that toxic, you deserve every bit of this. If Captain Julian wasn't so forgiving, you'd be sitting in a jail cell right now!"

I looked at her, offering no rebuttal.

In this world, people are always eager to believe the weak, eager to buy into tears. Celine's pathetic, fragile face was the ultimate free pass.

"Where is my phone?" I asked, my voice dry and raspy.

The nurse rolled her eyes, pulled my phone from the bedside drawer, and tossed it onto my blanket. "See for yourself. The whole world knows exactly what kind of psycho you are now."

I picked up the phone. The second the screen lit up, a frantic barrage of notifications and missed calls flooded in.

On social media, the number one trending headline glared back at me: [Fire Captain's Jealous Wife Commits Arson, Nearly Burns Innocent Woman to Death].

Clicking on the hashtag, the top post was a video of Celine recording from her hospital bed.

In the video, she wore an oversized hospital gown, deliberately leaving a few smudges of soot on her pale face.

Her eyes were red and swollen, her voice trembling: "Please, everyone, don't blame Elara... She just loves Julian too much. I don't blame her for locking me in. As long as she can find peace, I don't mind getting a little hurt. Please don't cyberbully her; she just acted on impulse..."

What a masterful, manipulative performance of playing the ultimate victim.

The comment section had already exploded, swarming with vicious curses aimed at me.

"This evil bitch should get the death penalty! So heartbroken for Celine!"

"How did our firefighting hero end up marrying such a twisted, psychopathic woman?"

"Lock her in a fire and let her burn to death! Disgusting!"

In my past life, I cried until my tears ran dry over these baseless accusations.

I desperately tried to explain myself to Julian, tried to prove my innocence to the world, only to in return earn his deepening disgust and, ultimately, a gruesome death.

A violent kick blasting the ward door open shattered my thoughts.

Julian stood in the doorway, his face livid, his gaze so dark and murderous it seemed he wanted to swallow me alive.

Seeing him, the nurse immediately switched to a respectful demeanor, slipped out of the room, and shut the door behind her.

Julian took giant strides toward my bed. His eyes didn't hold a single ounce of a husband's pity—only endless, bottomless revulsion.

"Are you satisfied now, Elara? If I hadn't arrived exactly when I did, Celine would have been burned alive because of you! Do you have even a shred of humanity left in you?!"

Leaning back against my pillows, I quietly stared at the face of the man I had once loved so much I lost my own soul.

During our junior year of college, Julian's parents died in a tragic car crash. The devastating blow left him bedridden with severe illness.

His first love, Celine, deemed the lifeless man a burden and ruthlessly abandoned him.

Back then, I had been harboring a quiet, unrequited love for him.

It was me who stayed by his bedside day and night. I bathed him, fed him his medicine, and stayed up with him through every agonizing night he broke down.

Step by step, I supported him until he stood back up to become the highly respected fire captain he is today.

Yet, ten years of my blood, sweat, and tears couldn't compare to a single look back from his first love.

Since Celine's return from abroad, all it took was one phone call from her, and he would slam the door and leave without hesitation—even on our anniversary.

All it took was a single tear from her, and regardless of the truth, I was flawlessly framed as the villain.

"I've told you. I didn't start the fire, and I didn't lock the door," I stated flatly.

"Enough!" Julian slammed his fist violently onto the nightstand, rattling the water glass. "How long are you going to keep lying?! Celine confessed herself that you tricked her into going there! And the evidence at the scene clearly shows the door was locked from the inside! Who are you still putting on this innocent act for, Elara?!"

He took a deep breath, looking as if he were using every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from strangling me. "Celine is in the next room getting psychological counseling right now! She wakes up screaming from nightmares! And you? Look at you. Cold-blooded and remorseless!"

I'm cold-blooded?

I almost laughed out loud.

I had just lost my baby. My back was burned into a mangled, bloody mess.

Yet, all his heartache was reserved for the murderer next door who only got a little soot on her face.

"And so?" I raised my eyes, meeting his glare head-on. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Julian froze for a split second, clearly caught off guard by my eerie calm.

Typically, whenever he lost his temper, I would pathetically cling to his hands, crying and begging him to believe me.

But now, there wasn't a single trace of warmth left in my eyes.

"I want you to apologize to Celine," he recovered, his tone brokering no argument. "Record a video, apologize to her publicly, and confess your crimes. For the sake of our marriage, I can keep the police out of this. This is the last bit of dignity I'm willing to offer you."

His version of dignity was forcing me to cement these fabricated charges against myself, turning me into a pariah hated by all of society, just so he could beautifully play the hero protecting his first love.

I looked at him, a glint of mockery flashing in my eyes.

"Julian." I called his name. "Let's get a divorce."