My bloodied palm struck his face.
"Enough. It's filthy."
His face tilted slightly to the side. He didn't ask whether I meant the blood was filthy—or he was.
Instead, he called for Uncle Johnson, the butler, and handed him the medical kit.
The girl's name was Penelope.
When I tried to dig deeper into her background, I found nothing. Derek had erased every trace of her. If I hadn't moved fast, I wouldn't have even learned her name.
I confronted him. "So you like her that much? You've even sealed off her information from me?"
He sighed. "Esther, what's the point of holding onto this?"
I slammed the divorce papers in front of him again. "Sign it, and I won't have a reason to hold on anymore."
The papers barely lasted two seconds in his hands before he ripped them to shreds.
With a flick of his wrist, the fragments scattered across the floor.
"I told you—between us, there's no divorce. Only death."
I laughed.
And the next second, a bottle smashed against his head.
Red liquid streamed down his face—I couldn't tell if it was wine or blood.
I grabbed the knife from the table and drove it forward.
He caught my wrist mid-strike, locking us in a deadly standoff.