Watch The Jilted Ex-Wife Take Everything

The meeting with Audrey had been a blur of legal jargon and quiet, fierce support. Armed with the initial batch of evidence, Audrey was already drafting a petition that would hit Dane like a freight train.

Kaelynn returned to the estate feeling hollowed out, every nerve ending raw. She bypassed the main living areas and went straight to the small, sun-drenched room at the back of the house. The meditation room. Her mother had designed it, a sanctuary of clean lines, pale wood, and a single, serene Buddha statue. It was the only place in the house that felt like hers.

She sat on a silk cushion, trying to find her breath, when her phone buzzed. Jolie Price.

Kaelynn's thumb hovered over the screen before pressing 'decline.'

It rang again immediately. She declined it again .

A second later, A text message arrived.

Mrs. Browning, if you don't answer my call, I can't guarantee there won't be... complications with the funding for your mother's care at Cedar Crest Sanitarium.

The blood in Kaelynn's veins turned to ice. Her mother, Elizabeth, suffered from a rare, degenerative neurological disease. She was in a private, long-term care facility, receiving an experimental treatment that cost a fortune. A fortune paid for by a discretionary fund controlled by Dane.

He’s more ruthless than she imagined.

He knew full well that her mother was the only blood relative she had in this world!

Her hand shook as she dialed the number. Jolie answered on the first ring, her voice dripping with triumphant malice.

"Changed your mind?"

"If you touch my mother's care," Kaelynn said, her voice a low, dangerous growl, "I will end you."

Jolie laughed, a high, sharp sound. "Oh, I wouldn't dare. But Dane might. He's very, very angry, Mrs. Underwood. You leaking those photos has made things very difficult for him."

Explaining that she wasn't the source was pointless. Jolie wouldn't believe her, and Dane clearly already had his mind made up.

"Where is Dane? I want to speak to him," Kaelynn demanded, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles were white.

"He's in a very important meeting," Jolie purred. "But he'll talk to you. After you've shown you're sorry. You need to do something to prove you understand the trouble you've caused."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel," Jolie said, the word slithering from the phone. "Kneel on the floor of that pretty little meditation room. In front of of that statue. Repent for your mistake. I'll be watching on the room's security feed."

It was the ultimate degradation. To defile this space, her mother's space, with such a vile act of submission.

Kaelynn's fingernails dug into her palm, the sharp pain a distant anchor in a sea of rage and helplessness. But the threat was real. Her mother's life was on the line. She couldn't risk it.

She took a ragged breath and slowly, stiffly, lowered herself to the cold marble floor. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing the air from her lungs.

On the other end of the line, Jolie let out a soft, satisfied sigh. "Good girl. Now, you wait."

The line went dead.

Time stretched into an eternity. Each second was a fresh wave of shame. She knelt there, her body aching, her mind numb, staring at the serene face of the Buddha.

How long she knelt, she didn't know. An hour? Two? The scent of the sun-drenched room was subtle, just like Dane’s scent. It filled Kaelynn’s surroundings completely.

There has never been a moment when she was more determined than now—to divorce Dane.

Seeing this, Martha anxiously raised her voice to plead for her: “Jolie, Mrs. Underwood can’t kneel like that! Her knees aren’t good. It’s really not possible for her to do that.”

Five years ago, after her child died prematurely, Dane offered only lukewarm comfort. He continued to travel around the world, claiming it was for work.

What he didn’t know was that, countless late nights, she knelt here and prayed to God to give her child back. This led to her health problems.

Whenever it rains, her knees hurt terribly. There’s no way to cure this pain permanently，her can only control it with medication.

Even Martha knew these things, but Dane didn’t.

Martha and Jolie’s pleas went unheeded: “I’ll call the gentleman right now!”

Enduring the excruciating pain in her knees, she gritted her teeth and said, “Martha, don’t call Dane.”

She didn’t tell him these things before, for fear that he’d feel sad too.

But now, it’s no longer necessary.

Because Dane wouldn’t feel sad for her at all.

But Martha wouldn’t listen and insisted on calling him.

But once again, it wasn’t Dane who answered the phone.

A small, high-pitched voice answered, hesitant and sweet. "Hello? Are you looking for my daddy?"

The world tilted on its axis. Kaelynn's mind went completely blank. It was a child's voice. Dottie's voice.

"Daddy's reading me a story," the little girl chirped, her voice filled with innocent joy. "He's busy right now."

The call disconnected.

Kaelynn remained kneeling, the phone slipping from her numb fingers and clattering onto the marble floor. He wasn't in a meeting. He was with them. With his daughter. While she was on her knees, being humiliated for a crime she didn't commit, he was playing the doting father.

The pain was so immense, so absolute, it felt like her heart had stopped beating.

Her phone began to ring again. This time, the screen displayed Dane's name.

With a trembling hand, she answered.

"Jolie just told me everything," Dane's voice was cold, clipped, and utterly devoid of emotion. "She's fired."

Kaelynn couldn't speak.

"No one disciplines my staff but me," he continued, his tone like ice. "And no assistant has the right to interfere in my private affairs.In an hour, I’ll be home. Come to the study to find me. We need to talk."

The line went dead. He hadn't fired Jolie for what she'd done to Kaelynn. He'd fired her for overstepping her bounds. For daring to touch what he considered his. It wasn't about protecting his wife. It was about protecting his power.

Slowly, painfully, Kaelynn pushed herself to her feet and started toward the study, each step feeling like she was walking to her own execution.

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