Chapter 3Exposing My Husbands Blood Debt

Jonathan didn't seem to notice the ice forming in my veins.

He was already on the phone with his assistant, enthusiastically dictating the final details for the gala.

“Make sure Vicky’s seat is right next to mine, we have terms to discuss. And swap out the centerpieces in the main hall. I want roses. Everything should cater to her preferences tonight.”

He remembered everything about Vicky Kensington.

He forgot that I was violently allergic to rose pollen.

I watched the subtle, unconscious curve of his lips as he spoke about her.

Suddenly, a sickening thought rooted in my mind.

When exactly had they become so close?

Was it after Norton died... or before?

I remembered the early days of her obsession. Jonathan had seemed so profoundly annoyed by her. No matter how many expensive watches she sent to his tiny office, he would turn her away with a stone-cold face.

“Ms. Kensington, have some self-respect. I am a married man. I love my wife, and that will never change.”

Back then, he used to tell me about her antics like they were punchlines. He called her an empty-headed socialite, a girl who looked like a million bucks but didn't have a single thought in her pretty head.

But as the years went on, her name started slipping into his vocabulary more frequently. The annoyance faded, replaced by something dangerously ambiguous.

I had been too drowning in my grief over Norton to notice the shift.

Looking back now, the timeline was terrifyingly clear.

Jonathan hadn't just forced me to sign that settlement out of ambition. He did it because, deep down in some dark, unspoken place, he had already started falling for her.

A creeping, suffocating pain wrapped tightly around my chest.

Through the blur of my tears, I saw Norton’s unclosed eyes.

Not this time. I was done bleeding for him.

I grabbed the crystal vase from the nightstand and hurled it as hard as I could at Jonathan.

“I will never settle with Vicky Kensington, Jonathan! Never!”

The vase shattered against the wall behind him, but not before clipping his temple. A thin line of blood trickled down his skin.

He didn't flinch. He just looked at his reflection in the mirror, wiped the blood with his thumb, and calmly poured a glass of water. He pressed two painkillers into my palm.

“Don't be dramatic, Natalie.”

His voice was smooth, patronizing.

“A tantrum at twenty is cute. At thirty, it’s just pathetic. I am handling this situation. Your job right now is to play the role of Mrs. Mercer and not make a mess for me to clean up. Do that, and you can have whatever you want.”

As he spoke, he tapped out a quick text.

Ten minutes later, a private jeweler was ushered into the room, presenting a velvet box containing a multi-million-dollar ruby necklace.

Jonathan lifted the heavy stones, holding them up against my collarbone.

He finally smiled. A genuine, appreciative look.

“Stunning. It suits you perfectly. Wear this to the Kensington gala tonight, and you’ll eclipse everyone in the room.”

I looked at the rubies. If I remembered correctly, Jonathan had attended a private Sotheby's auction in Geneva last month. He won two pieces.

One was this utterly pedestrian, overly flashy ruby set.

The other was a masterpiece, a legendary diamond choker literally named The Everlasting.

I guess his "Everlasting" love was never meant for me.

Taking my silence for submission, Jonathan clasped the necklace around my neck and patted my head like a well-behaved dog.

“See? Isn't this better? We have to look forward. I won't let you suffer for nothing. Once the merger closes, I’ll take you to Bali for a month. Just the two of us.”

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. He reached for it so quickly he knocked a manila folder off the bedside table.

The papers spilled across the floor.

At the top of the medical brief, stamped in bold red letters: SCHIZOPHRENIA - INVOLUNTARY COMMITMENT PROTOCOL.

Jonathan always had a contingency plan.

This was his Plan B.

If I didn't play the good wife, if I refused to smile at the woman who murdered my child, he was prepared to have me locked in a psychiatric ward to discredit me.

How utterly tragic.

This was the reality of the "perfect marriage" the world envied.

When love burns out, all that is left is a boardroom calculation—a brutal weighing of assets and liabilities.

And the most tragic part?

He thought I was completely trapped.