Before her palm could connect with his cheek, his fingers closed around her wrist like steel.

The dim lighting cast shifting shadows across Alexander's chiseled features, making his expression unreadable.

"You've struck me enough times, Amy. That ends now."

His grip was ironclad—there was no breaking free.

Amy lifted her gaze, her eyes burning with a loathing so intense it could have scorched him where he stood.

"You stole what was rightfully mine and gave it to Victoria behind my back, didn't you?"

She didn't need his confirmation. "Not only did you reject Mr. Pendleton's offer on my behalf, but you took her to meet him instead, didn’t you? Let me guess—you also told him I was just some uneducated housewife, that I’d wasted years playing the perfect Blackwood matriarch, and giving me that opportunity would be a disgrace. But Victoria? Oh, she’s so deserving—fighting her illness, never giving up. Much better to hand it to her, right? Because I’d just squander it?"

Her tone was mocking, but her conviction was absolute.

What was there to question?

Her wedding had been like this. Her heirloom necklace, the same. And now, even the one chance she had fought for—gone.

Locking eyes with him, she spoke with razor-sharp precision. "Alexander, why is it that everything that belongs to me—you always hand it to Victoria without hesitation? Did I slaughter her family in another life? Desecrate her ancestors' graves? Or do I just exist to be stripped bare for her benefit? Who gave you the right to decide my worth?"

Alexander remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, swallowed by the darkness.

"Victoria's condition is terminal. She needs this more than you do."

Her free hand lashed out, striking his face with a sharp crack.

She was trembling with fury, the force of the slap weakened by her shaking fingers—but it didn’t matter. It was all she had left.

"What’s next?" Amy let out a bitter laugh, her eyes never leaving his. "My studio? My violin? Let’s see—what else do I have left that you can rip away and gift to her?"

She paused, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "Oh, I know. The only thing left is my life. After all, she’s dying, and I’m healthy. So why don’t you just slit my throat in my sleep and offer my heart to her on a silver platter? That way, if your precious Victoria takes a turn for the worse, you can always blame me for cursing her, right?"

Moonlight caught the unshed tears in her eyes, glistening like shattered glass.

She hadn’t cried in so long. Not since she decided to divorce him. She had sworn never to shed another tear over this man.

But now, as he stole yet another piece of her future, the dam broke.

Alexander’s gaze faltered as he saw the tears brimming in her eyes.

Almost instinctively, he reached out to brush one away.

Amy jerked her face away, evading his touch.

She clenched her eyes shut, refusing to let a single drop fall.

Drawing in ragged breaths, she forced herself to steady.

When she opened her eyes again, they were dry—cold and clear as winter frost.

She had lost control—just for a moment. But why? She knew exactly who he was. What was the point?

Yet when she discovered what he had done, rage had consumed every shred of reason.

She had fought tooth and nail for that opportunity, clinging to it with everything she had—only for him to snatch it away and hand it to Victoria like it was nothing.

She could still see the triumphant smirk Victoria had given her before leaving.

Amy’s lips curled into a humorless smile.

"Alexander, if there was a knife in front of me right now, I wouldn’t hesitate to plunge it straight into your heart."