"Ten days after giving birth, you’re still lying there? Get up and cook!” My mother-in-law poured a full pitcher of ice water over my face while my husband stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. “You’re a useless wife,” she sneered. They thought I was too exhausted to fight back. They had no idea whose name was on the deed—or what I was about to do next…

By the time I walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, the smell of burnt toast hung in the air.

Roberta was sitting on one of the imported Italian leather barstools, sipping my eighty-dollar-a-pound imported espresso, while Wade sat across from her scrolling through a sports news app on his tablet.

"Finally," Roberta sneered, setting her cup down with enough force to clatter against the quartz countertop. "It takes you half an hour to dry off? Look at this kitchen! There are dirty bottles in the sink!"

"I told you she was lazy, Mom," Wade muttered without looking up from his screen. "Hey, Ivy, while you're making the eggs, order two bags of that luxury coffee bean online. We're running low."

I didn't answer. I walked over to the stove, picked up a frying pan, and set it gently on the induction cooktop.

My incision was throbbing, a dull, rhythmic pulse of pain that reminded me of every insult, every dismissive comment, and every micro-aggression I had swallowed over the last three years.

"Did you hear my son?" Roberta barked, crossing her arms. "Move your legs! I want three eggs, fried in butter, with crisp bacon. And make sure the toast isn't burnt like the piece I tried to make myself."

"Wade," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Wade sighed dramatically, setting his tablet down. "What, Ivy? Do you need a manual on how to crack an egg now?"

"Your card was declined at the golf club yesterday," I said smoothly, turning around to look at him. "You told me you spent two thousand dollars on a client lunch."

Wade’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of panic before his face hardened into anger. "The card system was down! I told you that! Why are you bringing that up right now in front of my mother?"

"Because," I said, leaning against the counter, "I checked the itemized statement this morning before I came out here. You didn't spend two thousand dollars on a client lunch, Wade. You bought a diamond bracelet at Cartier in the Gold Coast. And you didn't buy it for me."

Roberta gasped, though her reaction looked entirely rehearsed. "Well! A successful man is allowed to buy gifts! Maybe if you were a proper wife who looked after her husband instead of lying in bed all day, he wouldn't need to look for appreciation elsewhere!"

I looked at Roberta, then back at Wade.

Wade didn't deny it. He didn't offer an excuse. He simply leaned back in his chair, a smug, arrogant grin spreading across his face.

"You think you're so smart, Ivy," Wade sneered, crossing his arms just like he had in the bedroom. "So what if I bought a bracelet? I run this household. I work sixty hours a week while you sit on your ass playing tech founder. You should be grateful I come home to you at all."

"You run this household?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I do!" Wade snapped, slamming his hand onto the island. "This penthouse, that car in the garage, the life you live—it's all because of my standing in this city! You're nothing without me, Ivy! A plain, neurotic woman who can't even handle a simple C-section without whining!"

"Wade, darling, calm your temper," Roberta chimed in, though her eyes were gleeful. "Just tell her to sign over the secondary bank account authority today like we discussed. That way, you can manage the household expenses properly while she recovers her... fragile sanity."

I almost laughed out loud.

They had planned this. The sleep deprivation, the psychological pressure, the ice water—it was all an orchestrated attempt to break me down until I handed over full financial control of my estate to Wade. They thought a new mother, isolated and bleeding, would sign anything just to make the cruelty stop.

DING-DONG.

The sharp, loud chime of the private elevator echoed through the foyer.

Wade frowned, looking toward the hallway. "Who the hell is that at ten in the morning? Did you order more baby supplies without asking me?"

"No, Wade," I said, wiping a stray drop of tap water from my collar. "I didn't order baby supplies."

I walked toward the foyer, keeping my back straight despite the burning pain in my side.

"Ivy! Get back here and finish my eggs!" Roberta yelled after me.

I opened the heavy mahogany front doors.

Standing in the private elevator vestibule were six people. At the front was my Uncle Arthur, wearing a bespoke navy three-piece suit, his expression colder than arctic ice. Beside him stood Dr. Elena Rostova, my personal physician, holding a medical trauma kit, along with two burly estate security officers in black uniforms and a certified locksmith holding a heavy leather tool bag.

"Uncle Arthur," I said softly.

Arthur looked at my wet hair, my pale face, and the faint spot of blood seeping through the side of my white robe.