The Ex's Nightmare

It was the coldest winter in Boland when I fell in love with my best friend's older brother—that gentle, refined Jeffrey Tucker.

To protect me, he not only betrayed his family but also stepped in front of acid thrown by an enemy, his back still scarred to this day.

I thought we would love each other forever.

Until just before our wedding, a pregnant noblewoman showed up at our doorstep.

"Are you Ms. Smith? I heard Jeffrey turned against everyone for you?"

The woman said with a sneer, tossing a prenatal report on the table.

"He told me a girl who ran with street gangs like you would never fit in. His kindness to you was just an act."

I slapped her in response.

As she shrieked, Jeffrey grabbed my wrist before I could strike again.

I didn't cry or scream. I just looked at him, calm as ice.

"Jeffery, let's break up. You're really filthy. Maisie is pregnant. The Tucker family needs a clean heir. And your past is too dirty."

He stared at me coldly.

Even after I cooked for him and toned down my edge, he still saw me as the mob girl.

Maisie Sanderson huddled against him, one hand dramatically cradling her belly, a smug smile on her lips. "Jeffrey, don't be mean. She was just trying to survive…"

Jeffrey looked back at me. "Still, if you behave, I could keep you as my mistress. Things could be like before. You'd have everything but the title."

I stared at the scar on his brow—from the time he shielded me from a beating, blood streaming down his face, saying, "Cynthia, as long as I'm here, no one touches you."

Now the scar was still there, but the man was rotten.

Swallowing the pain rising in my throat, I took a deep breath and walked toward the bedroom.

"Fine, I won't disturb you. I'll leave."

For three years, my life here had been simple. Besides clothes, the only thing that mattered was the old music box on the nightstand.

It was the only thing my father left me.

It was the one tiny piece of light from all those dark years.

As I reached for it, a perfectly manicured hand got there first.

"Oh dear, Cynthia, such a shabby thing doesn't belong in Jeffery's villa."

Maisie had followed me in, pretending to help.

She held the music box and winked at me provocatively.

The next second.

"Smash!"

There was a sharp and brittle sound.

The music box hit the floor hard.

The already worn mechanism shattered, rusted gears springing loose, one rolling to Jeffrey's feet.

That was the thing my father was clutching when he died.

My mind went blank. My eyes burned hot, and I snapped my head up to glare at Maisie.

Maisie covered her mouth, all fake alarm. "Oops! My hand slipped... So sorry, Cynthia. It was an accident..."

She shrunk behind Jeffrey.

As I moved toward her, Jeffrey frowned and kicked the gear away