Laughter erupted around me, sharp, merciless, like knives slicing through flesh.
Even Amara turned to look, her expression unreadable.
I scrambled to my feet, the humiliation stinging worse than the cream on my skin and fled the banquet hall.
After washing my face, I checked my phone. A new message had come in.
It was an email with an audio recording attached.
“Amara, when are you finally going to divorce that bootlicker?”
It was Laurence’s voice.
Amara let out a soft chuckle, her tone dripping with frost.
“If I hadn’t fought with you back then, that bootlicker wouldn’t have even had a shot.”
“And you were the one who came up with the plan, making my dad fake an illness so he’d transfer everything and push for a divorce. Who knew that bootlicker would cling on like a leech, even offering to repay the debts for me? Looks like we’ll have to cook up another plan.”
My chest tightened with pain.
So that was it; she’d only married me out of spite for Laurence.
She had staged everything to keep me from coveting her family’s fortune.
It was all just a well-played act.
But what had my son done wrong?
Why did he have to be dragged into her lies and suffer for it?