"Zayn, let me go."

The banquet hall was buzzing with people, but Phoebe and Zayn were hidden behind the balcony curtains.

"I was gone for what, a minute, and you're already cozying up to Tommie? Can't handle being alone?"

Zayn's long legs easily pinned Phoebe in place.

Her face paled, humiliation washing over her.

She'd already explained—there was nothing between her and Tommie. But Zayn never listened. He never did.

Phoebe was done with this. If he wanted a fight, she'd give him one.

She threw the words at him like daggers: "Yeah, Tommie looks like he's got more to offer than you. I mean, you always bail halfway through. Maybe you're just compensating. I could hook you up with a great urologist—they even do discounts for frequent visits."

Zayn's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding. "Then I'll make sure you know exactly what I'm capable of."

His hard chest pressed against her, his hands relentless.

Her skin flushed under his touch, her restrained reactions only fueling his aggression.

Three years of marriage, and all he'd ever done was take. There was no love. Because he'd never loved her.

He'd dragged her to this party, then left her alone. And now, just because she'd spoken to Tommie, he was humiliating her in the worst way.

Phoebe bit her lip, pushing against him with all her strength. But it was no use—he was too strong.

She was trapped, her body betraying her as his skilled hands roamed her most sensitive spots.

"Enjoying yourself?" His lips brushed against hers, his voice low and taunting.

Phoebe shook her head. No, she didn't want this. Not here, not like this.

Her eyes pleaded with him, but she didn't realize how much her vulnerability only spurred him on.

Zayn's lips captured hers, his kiss rough and demanding. When that wasn't enough, he trailed down her neck, his mouth hot against her collarbone.

One hand gripped her waist, the other hiked up her dress, his touch growing more aggressive.

He wasn't gentle—never had been. At home, she'd often ended up in tears, begging him to stop. But now, her body was betraying her, her resistance crumbling.

Phoebe's legs trembled, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as she leaned into the kiss.

The sight of her, lost in desire, made Zayn's throat tighten. But he pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"What, still not enough? You're insatiable."

The words snapped Phoebe out of her haze, shame flooding her. She shoved at him, but Zayn just laughed, his hands finding her most sensitive spots again.

Phoebe's body trembled as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

"Ah... mmm..."

The sudden, unmistakable sound caught the attention of a few guests near the balcony.

Someone turned their head, curiosity written all over their face.

"What was that noise?"

"Sounded like a cat."

"A cat? More like a cat in heat."

"Let's go check it out."

Footsteps grew louder, and through the gap in the curtains, Phoebe saw three women approaching.

Three meters... two meters... one meter...

If they pulled back the curtains, everyone would see her with her dress hiked up to her waist, completely exposed.

Fear flashed in her eyes.

She realized Zayn's only goal was to humiliate her, to make her the laughingstock of the party. The shame washed over her, and any love she had for him vanished in an instant.

Zayn had been watching her expression closely. The desire in her eyes had turned to pure disgust.

He froze, unable to meet her gaze.

Just as the women reached for the curtains, ready to pull them open, Phoebe shut her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable humiliation.

But at the last second, Zayn yanked the curtains aside and stepped out, shielding her completely.

The fabric draped over her, hiding her from view. Her heart pounded as she clutched the curtains tightly.

She heard Zayn's icy voice.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, Mr. Monroe! We thought there was a cat out here."

A heavy silence followed. Phoebe couldn't see, but she could imagine the look on Zayn's face—cold, intimidating, and utterly unapproachable.

His presence alone was enough to make even the most seasoned socialites shrink back, let alone these three women.

"Our apologies, Mr. Monroe. We'll leave you to it."

Their footsteps faded into the noise of the party.

Zayn turned back to Phoebe, his expression mocking.

"Continue," he said, reaching for her.

Phoebe's eyes burned with humiliation.

Without hesitation, she slapped him hard across the face.

The sharp sound echoed in the air.

"Zayn, you're disgusting," she spat, then pushed past him and stormed out of the balcony.

She headed straight for the restroom, splashing cold water on her face.

In the mirror, her flushed cheeks glistened with water droplets, her beauty undeniable. She looked like a delicate flower kissed by morning dew, radiating a mature allure.

If Zayn saw her like this, he'd probably accuse her of trying to seduce someone again.

Not ready to face his sarcasm, she stayed in the restroom for over half an hour before finally stepping out.

The party was still in full swing.

Phoebe scanned the room but didn't see Zayn anywhere.

Just as she wondered where he'd gone, a familiar, deep voice spoke beside her.

"Looking for Monroe? He just got a call and left in a hurry."

Phoebe turned around and saw Tommie.

The man was dressed in a custom-tailored black suit that accentuated his tall, lean frame—easily over 6'2". His sharp features were softened by the silver rimless glasses perched on his high-bridged nose. He was smiling at her, all charm and ease.

Just because she'd chatted with him on the balcony earlier, Zayn had humiliated her like that.

Phoebe swallowed the bitterness and nodded at him, forcing a polite "Thanks."

Only Millie could make Zayn react like that.

Late at night, a man and a woman alone—what else could they be doing?

Already, she could feel the sideways glances and hear the hushed whispers.

"That's Mrs. Monroe? Didn't expect her to be prettier than a top-tier actress."

"Pretty? So what? Without substance, she's just a decorative vase. I heard her dad used to work on construction sites, then won the lottery, bought some shops, and got lucky with land deals. Made a fortune in a few years."

"Seriously? Blessed by the money gods? So how'd she end up marrying Monroe?"

"By climbing into his bed, obviously. You know how it is—poor people get desperate. Once they strike it rich, they'll do anything to marry into wealth. Zayn was with Millie, the Jiang heiress, back then. She almost lost her legs because of Phoebe, had to go abroad for treatment. And Phoebe? She just slid right into her place."

"Ugh, shameless."

Phoebe heard every word.

Her family had been working-class, and yes, her father's luck had changed their lives. That's how she'd transferred to a prestigious school, where she'd fallen for Zayn.

She'd planned to confess her feelings after graduation, even aimed to get into the same university as him.

But one accident had shattered all her plans.

Zayn blamed her for Millie's injury, and the so-called "climbing into his bed"?

They had slept together before marriage, but it wasn't her doing. Someone had set her up.

And Zayn had pinned that on her too.

Phoebe took a deep breath. She'd been hearing this for three years. At first, she'd tried to explain, but it only invited more ridicule. Eventually, she stopped bothering.

She'd thought time would prove her innocence.

But she was wrong. The more she endured, the more people walked all over her.

Phoebe suddenly turned and glared at the women gossiping about her.

They froze under her fierce gaze, the whispers dying instantly.

Phoebe smirked coldly.

See?

People like this only respect you when you bite back.

When you're quiet, they see it as weakness and push harder.

But when you bare your teeth, they back off.

Thanks to that jerk Zayn, three years later, she finally got it.

"Pfft! Bunch of trash."

She tossed out those words, not even bothering to look at the ugly expressions on those high-society faces, and turned to leave the banquet hall.

...

She wasn't planning to go back to the Monroe mansion. Instead, she was heading to Azrael's place.

Phoebe stepped out of the hotel, walking while pulling up a ride-hailing app on her phone. Just as she was about to call a car, a large hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind. At the same time, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her into the dark alley next to the hotel without a word.

She was pinned against the wall, the overwhelming stench of alcohol making her head spin.

"Always acting so proper, huh? Guess it was all an act."

Phoebe was about to struggle, but hearing that voice, she froze.