Her Stunning Counterattack
The city's lights and shadows settled in my eyes, the muffled thunder of fireworks sending sharp tremors through my heart.
Once, Leo Xavier promised to accompany me through all the seasons' landscapes, but now this sky ablaze shines for another.
The servant stepped in softly, carrying tea; the white porcelain cup steamed, yet could not warm the coldness lingering in the air.
She said Mr. Xavier wouldn't be coming back tonight—her voice delicate, fingers gripping the tray until her knuckles whitened.
I clutched the teacup tightly; the porcelain's chill seeped into my skin, piercing the heart with cold pain.
I asked if he had said when he would return, or who he was with.
I deliberately slowed my words, yet the final syllables still trembled and faded away.
The servant's shoulders trembled faintly, his head bowed even lower as he said Mr. Xavier merely mentioned that once the matter was settled, he would return, without mentioning anyone else.
She urged me not to overthink it, saying Mr. Xavier was probably just busy.
But I knew that 'busy' was nothing more than a hollow excuse.
I tugged at the corner of my mouth, refraining from asking further.
Suddenly, the sterile scent of hospital disinfectant surged back— a cold, rainy day three years ago; Leo Xavier lay on the hospital bed, his face ghastly pale, three ribs fractured, his left leg in plaster, gauze stained with blood.
He squeezed my hand, the sweat from his palm soaking my sleeve; yet he smiled and said it was nothing, that he would still be able to walk beside me for a long time to come.
At that moment, I actually believed it.
The door was pushed open, the cold wind rushing in, stirring the thin blanket draped over me, and I couldn't help but shiver.
Fiona Yates stood in the doorway, supporting her waist; the hem of her off-white coat was speckled with mud, her belly clearly round, glowing with the pride of an expectant mother.
She said you must have heard by now, then lifted her hand to tuck back her hair; the diamond ring flashed on her finger—that was the style Leo Xavier promised to buy me on our fifth wedding anniversary last year.
She told me that Leo Xavier had reserved the western fireworks field for her—that every firework just now bore her name.
I stared at her belly, my voice hoarse, and asked if she came here just to say that.
Fiona Yates smiled, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes betraying her pride, and said, of course, it wasn't just that.
She caressed her belly and said Leo Xavier knew she was pregnant—he never let her lift heavy things, and when the fireworks were set off, he kept protecting her waist.
She met my gaze and shifted her tone, saying she was unlike me who back then still threw tantrums at Leo Xavier despite being pregnant—how tragic that was in the end.
Her words stabbed my heart like an ice pick; I snapped my head up and told her to shut up.
I said the events of back then were none of her concern to speak about.
But she leaned forward, lowering her voice to say she knew I had lost the baby, and Leo Xavier was hurting too.
But he said what's past is past; now she carries his child, and they are the true family.
She reminded me that after holding the title of "Mrs. Xavier" for so long, it was time to give it up.
I clenched my teacup, knuckles white, and said that whether to give it up wasn't for her and Leo Xavier to decide alone.
I recalled how he begged me to marry him, promising he would love me for a lifetime.
She shrugged carelessly, saying one can't take a man's words seriously.
She said proudly that Leo Xavier used to love me, but now he loves only her.
She scanned the living room and fixed her gaze on our wedding photo, saying its presence was an eyesore and that the first thing she'd do after moving in was to take it down.
I sprang to my feet, the tea sloshing over the cup's rim and spilling cold against my pants.
Fiona Yates recoiled half a step in fear, then squared her shoulders and said there was nothing she was afraid of.
She said Leo Xavier had promised her that once the child was born, he would divorce me, and that then this house and everything inside it would be hers.
She urged me to face reality sooner rather than later, warning me not to make a scene and disgrace myself.
I looked at her face, and my heart burned like fire.
Footsteps echoed at the door; Leo Xavier appeared, his clothes damp with rain, hair disheveled.
Fiona Yates immediately changed her expression, tugging his arm with a look of grievance, saying I had lost my temper with her.
Leo Xavier looked at me and said, 'She's pregnant; can't you be a little gentler?'
My heart sank bit by bit as I asked him, 'Who has ever been gentle with me?'
I asked if the fireworks just now were for her. You promised to watch fireworks with me for a lifetime—have you forgotten?
Leo Xavier averted his eyes, saying he knew I wasn't well, but since Fiona was carrying his child, he couldn't let her be wronged.
He said he would explain the fireworks incident later.
I smiled through tears and said, 'You booked the entire fireworks ground to surprise her, took her to the restaurant we used to go to, and slipped the ring meant for me onto her finger—how do you explain all that?'
Leo Xavier's expression changed; he reached out to grab me, saying, 'Don't get so upset, let's talk in the room.'
I shrugged him off and asked if he had stopped loving me long ago, and from exactly when did it begin?
Was it when Fiona appeared, or when I lost the child?
Fiona interrupted, pleading not to pressure Leo Xavier—that love cannot be forced; he loves her now, and I should let them be.
I looked at them and said, I have been with him for seven years, from having nothing to achieving success and fame. I have given so much—are you asking me to let you have him?
I confronted Fiona, asking if she felt no shame in stealing another woman's husband while carrying his child.
Fiona's face turned pale; she clung to Leo, claiming I was bullying her.
Leo frowned as he looked at me and said, 'Fiona is pregnant; how could I let you say such things about her?'
He said if this went on, he would take me upstairs to rest.
I watched him protect Fiona Yates, and the last flicker of hope crumbled.
I took a deep breath, wiped away my tears, and said there was no need for him to escort me; I would walk by myself.
I said from today onward, everything between us was over.
I turned and walked upstairs; each step felt like treading on the edge of a blade.
Behind me, I heard Fiona Yates's triumphant voice and Leo Xavier's hesitant footsteps.
I did not look back.
The Leo Xavier who once loved me desperately was dead and gone.
My hand, clutching the stair railing, whitened with strain; the grain of the wood dug into my palm painfully, yet it was nothing compared to the torment in my heart.
Every step on the stairs measures the past seven years—when he waited for me downstairs in the dorm with hot milk tea in college, held me crying when his startup failed, whispering that having me was enough, and on the day we got our marriage certificate, he said, 'Willow, I will never betray you in this lifetime.'
These scenes pierce my mind like shards of broken glass, each piece stained with blood.
Pushing open the bedroom door, the familiar scent washes over me.
On the nightstand sits the seashell ornament we bought during our beach vacation last year, the wardrobe holds the gray suit I bought for Leo Xavier, and the pillowcases are embroidered with the initials of our names.
But now, all these tokens once filled with love have become bitter irony.
I walked to the dressing table and stared into the mirror — eyes swollen red, face pale, the corner of my lips set stubbornly, like a defeated deserter.
My finger traced the photo taped to the mirror — taken on our third wedding anniversary, I leaned into Leo Xavier, laughing, while he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, his gaze tender.
I reached out and pinned the photo to the table, my fingertips icy, mirroring Leo Xavier's coldness toward me now.
From the doorway came Leo Xavier's hesitant voice, calling my name, Willow.
I didn't look back; my eyes stayed fixed on the lipstick he brought me from his business trip last month.
Footsteps approached, his shadow falling into the mirror.
He was silent for a moment, then said the earlier incident was his fault—that I shouldn't have been wronged.
I picked up the lipstick, twisted it open and closed again, and said, 'Your faults have never been just this one.'
He came to my side, tried to touch my shoulder but stopped mid-air, saying he knew I resented him, yet Fiona was pregnant with his child, and he couldn't just ignore that.
I looked at him in the mirror and asked, 'What about me?'
I remembered when he proposed, saying he would make me the most important person—does that still hold true now?
His Adam's apple bobbed as he whispered that feelings can change; he didn't mean to deceive me.
I cut him off, saying, 'You've simply fallen in love with someone else, haven't you?'
I said, from the moment you started coming home late, when messages from Fiona Yates appeared on your phone, when you stopped watching movies with me, and forgot our anniversaries—I should have known you'd changed.
His face darkened as he said he never intended to hurt me, only that the problems between us needed time to resolve.
I laughed, tears streaming down once more, and said, 'Putting the ring you gave me on her finger, spending the time meant for me with her, using the fireworks show promised to me as a surprise for her—is that what you call solving things?'
I asked him if he really thought I could accept all this just by holding on.
He stepped forward, grasped my wrist, and said it wasn't what I thought. We've been together for seven years; how could he not love me?
I pulled my hand away, leaving a red mark on my wrist, and told him to stop saying those things.
I said whether you love me or not, I can feel it myself.
I said if you truly loved me, you wouldn't let Fiona Yates flaunt herself or always shield her when we argue.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Fiona spoke softly, saying she had made soup and asked Leo Xavier if he wanted some, then asked me as well.
Leo Xavier's body stiffened as he glanced toward the doorway.
I pulled my hand back, wiped away my tears, and told him to go—don't keep his "precious" waiting impatiently.
He furrowed his brow, as if about to say something.
I cut him off, saying I was tired and wanted to rest, and asked him to close the door behind him when he left.
He stood there for a long time before finally turning and leaving.
The moment the door closed, I crouched by the bed and wept, clutching the pillow until it was misshapen, tears soaking the fabric, exuding a faint musty smell—eerily like our decaying love.
After crying for a long time, I slowly stood up, walked to the wardrobe, and opened the bottom drawer.
Inside lay the iron box Dad left me, which Mr. Collins had handed over last month.
I placed the box on the bed, the copper key burning hot in my palm.
I had never dared to open it, always sensing it held Dad's secrets and the past I was too afraid to confront.
But now the family is broken, Leo Xavier has changed, and I want to know if Dad's car accident was truly an accident.
The key slid into the lock; with a gentle turn and a soft 'click,' the box opened.
Inside, there was only a stack of yellowed letter paper and a contract wrapped in a plastic bag.
I picked up the contract; the date was ten years ago. Party A was Dad, and Party B was Mark Clark—Mr. Collins said Mark had taken over Dad's factory.
The contract stated that the two had partnered to open a factory; Mark Clark managed the finances, and Dad oversaw production.
The last few pages had several sections circled, marked with "abnormal accounts" and "unclear flow of funds."
I then picked up the letter paper; it was written by Dad, the handwriting messy, as if hurried.
The letter said that if I was reading it, it meant he might be in trouble.
He said Mark Clark was cooking the books in the factory, that he had discovered it, and the other party threatened him not to speak out.
He feared it might harm me, so he hid the contract and evidence here, urging me to protect myself, not to seek him out, nor let him know I possessed these things.
He said that when I grew up, if I had the strength, I should uncover the truth; if not, I should live well and forget it all.
The letter ended with Dad's signature, dated the day before his accident.
My hands began to tremble, and the letter slipped onto the sheets.
It turned out Dad's car accident wasn't an accident—it was caused by Mark Clark!
Outside the door came Fiona Yates' oddly sweet and cloying voice, saying Leo Xavier had sent her to check on me and that she'd even stewed some bird's nest.
I hurriedly returned the contract and letter to the box, locked it, hid it beneath the bed, and then went to open the door.
Fiona Yates held a white porcelain bowl, her face adorned with a forced smile, saying that the bird's nest had been stewed for her by Leo Xavier, urging me to drink some.
I stared at the bird's nest in the bowl, sensing calculation hidden in her eyes, and said no, I had no appetite.
I tried to close the door, but she blocked it with her hand.
She lowered her voice with a threatening edge, saying I should still drink it, or else Leo Xavier would be worried.
She reminded me—she didn't want him to think I was still angry with her, right?
I looked at her swollen belly, and then recalled Dad's letter; a cold shiver swept through my heart.
I'm telling you again, I won't drink.
I slammed the door shut with force, but she resisted fiercely; the bird's nest in the bowl sloshed over, splashing onto the back of my hand, burning so sharply I recoiled.
Her expression shifted; she accused me of not knowing what was good for me, said Leo Xavier was siding with her, and told me to stop pretending to be noble.
She said this home would be hers sooner or later and warned me to be sensible and get a divorce soon, before she made her move.
I looked at her snarling face and suddenly found it laughable; I asked if she truly thought she would succeed.
I asked her what her relationship with Mark Clark was.
Fiona Yates' face instantly drained of color; the bowl crashed to the ground, shattering into fragments, the bird's nest spilling across the floor like a pool of blood.
She stepped back, eyes wide with panic, and asked me how I knew Mark Clark.
She insisted I was talking nonsense—that she didn't know him.
I closed in on her, asking why she was so terrified at the mere mention of his name.
I demanded she confess: what was her true relationship with Mark Clark, and whether my father's car accident was connected to them.
Her body shook; she tried to flee, but I caught her wrist.
I gripped her hand tightly, my nails digging nearly into her flesh, telling her she couldn't run; if we didn't make things clear today, I would call the police.
She screamed, shaking off my hand, crying out for Leo Xavier to save her.
Footsteps sounded from downstairs. Leo Xavier hurried up, and upon seeing us struggling, immediately pulled me away.
He said, 'What are you doing? Don't you see she's pregnant?'
Fiona Yates threw herself into his arms, crying, accusing me of madness, asking if she knew Mark Clark, and even threatening to call the police to arrest her.
She adamantly insisted she did not know Mark Clark.
Leo Xavier looked at me, his eyes full of disappointment, saying how could I treat her this way, even inventing baseless accusations.
He even asked me if I had lost my mind because of our matters.
I watched him shielding Fiona Yates, and in that moment, all my last remnants of hope vanished.
I said I wasn't fabricating accusations; Fiona Yates knew Mark Clark, and my father's car accident was connected to both of them.
I said, Leo, if you still have an ounce of conscience, then uncover the truth. If not, then there really is nothing left to say between us.
He frowned, his voice irritated, telling me to stop making trouble. Mark Clark was an old friend of his father's, and he was a man of good character.
He said I might be hallucinating from the overwhelming pressure.
I laughed, tears streaming down my face, and said that everything I said was nothing but a hallucination in his eyes.
I said I had truly misjudged him.
I turned and walked into the room, closing the door to shut out their voices.
Leaning against the door, I slowly sank to the floor, clutching the copper key in my hand, the cold metal biting into my palm with aching pain.
I know now that from this day forward, I can no longer depend on Leo Xavier.
I will uncover the truth behind my father's death myself, and make Mark Clark and Fiona Yates pay the price; no matter how arduous the path, I will not give up.
The fireworks outside the window had ceased, the night sky returned to pitch black, yet the fire within my heart had only just been kindled.
This story of betrayal and revenge has only just begun.
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