His Mistress Got the Aurora, I Got the Ashes

The day I caught Don Adrian Black at Sophia's prenatal appointment, I destroyed the entire exam room. I ripped up her test results, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her into the hallway. Adrian pinned me to the ground, his eyes cold as if he were looking at some unhinged lunatic. "Emma, you're being unreasonable." From that day on, every time he shielded her, I lost it a little more. I smashed his car, stormed into Black Group headquarters, screamed outside family meetings. Even when I became the laughingstock of the entire city, I refused to let them have their peace. Then my mother's condition turned critical, and Adrian froze every one of my bank cards and accounts. He said: "Apologize to Sophia. Then you get your money." I finally gave in. I stopped tracking his whereabouts, stopped fighting, stopped asking who he really loved. But on the day of the surgery, Sophia said just one thing — that she had PTSD because of me, that seeing me sent her into an emotional breakdown — and Adrian withheld the hospital deposit and surgical fees all over again. He pulled Sophia into his arms, his tone as flat as if he were discussing some trivial business deal. "One more day won't kill anyone." Then he turned off his phone and flew Sophia to Iceland on his private jet that same night. Less than two hours later, Sophia updated her Instagram. "They say you shouldn't carry bad feelings into tomorrow. Seven thousand kilometers and half a million dollars, just to watch the northern lights with me." That night, I held my mother's ice-cold hand and booked a flight out of the country. At the same time, Adrian sent me a message. "I'll arrange a transfer to a better hospital for your mom tomorrow." "We don't have to divorce either. As long as you behave yourself from now on, I can pretend none of this happened." The funeral home attendant asked me: "What name would you like engraved on the urn?" I wrote my mother's name on the form. Grace Miller. The attendant asked again: "The son-in-law listed on the death certificate — should we notify him?" "No." I took off my wedding ring. "He won't be one for much longer." Adrian's assistant Mark Hale called right then. "Mrs. Black, Boss has already arranged a hospital transfer for your mother. The ambulance will arrive at nine tomorrow morning." I looked at the death certificate. 2:17 a.m. An entire night too late. "That won't be necessary." Mark's voice carried a restrained weariness. "Boss is in Iceland and he's still thinking about this. Please don't let your emotions blow things up again." "I'm not blowing anything up." "Then record an apology video. Miss Reed says that as long as your attitude is sincere, she'll convince Boss to unfreeze your accounts." My fist clenched. Yesterday, I had knelt before Sophia in the hospital more than once. I wept and begged her to forgive me. If she would just say the word, if she would just let Adrian send the money, I would agree to the divorce. I would walk out of their world for good. But she shrank into Adrian's arms and said that seeing me made her tremble. So Adrian had his bodyguards drag me away without a shred of mercy. I said to Mark: "Tell Adrian I'll send him the divorce papers." Mark's tone didn't change. "Boss says playing hard to get won't work on him." I closed my eyes. Before, when I lost control, it was because I couldn't let go. Because I refused to accept it. But I was truly exhausted now. The attendant handed me the cremation consent form. I signed my name, hung up the phone, and went to the pawnshop. That wedding ring — Adrian had given it to me for our third anniversary. That night, he'd stayed with a drunk Sophia and left me waiting at the restaurant for three hours. Afterward, he tossed the ring at me like an afterthought and told me to stop making scenes. The ring sold for a hundred and twenty thousand. My mother's funeral costs, the morgue fees, and the outstanding medical bills came to a hundred and seventeen thousand. The remaining three thousand was everything I had in the world. When I went back to the hospital to collect her belongings, the nurse handed me a cloth bag. Inside were keys and a silver bracelet. The nurse said quietly: "Mrs. Miller kept asking before she went into the operating room — whether her son-in-law had come. Then she heard you in the hallway, begging..." She paused, then handed me a slip of paper. "She couldn't use her right hand. She asked me to write it for her." There was only one line. "Emma, don't lose yourself again for Mom's sake." My phone buzzed. Sophia had sent a photo of them together under the aurora. Adrian stood behind her, shielding her from the wind. "Emma, Adrian says he'll arrange your mom's transfer tomorrow. Don't be angry anymore." "He doesn't like seeing you act crazy." I read both messages, then blocked them both. That afternoon, I had a lawyer draft the divorce agreement. The lawyer asked: "How do you want to divide the assets?" I looked at the old key my mother had left behind. It was the key to the house in the South District. My mother had lived there for over twenty years. Adrian had once promised to renovate it into a home for us. But last month, Sophia had taken a liking to the place. She said she wanted to turn it into a private gallery. "I want the South District house, and whatever my mother stored in the Black family vault." The lawyer asked: "Anything else?" "A divorce." That evening, Adrian called from a new number. "Emma, I've already given you a way out. Your mom gets transferred tomorrow, you apologize to Sophia, and we put this whole thing behind us." My nails dug into my palm. "It's too late." A few seconds of silence on the other end, then a cold laugh. "I've told you before — using your elders' lives as leverage has its limits." From somewhere behind him came Sophia's voice: "Adrian, hurry, the aurora's fading." He didn't ask anything more. "The ambulance will come in the morning. Up to you whether you use it." After he hung up, Mark sent a message. "Mrs. Black, Boss has instructed that the South District renovation contract will be transferred directly to Miss Reed, as a condition of arranging your mother's hospital transfer." Immediately after, an electronic contract popped up. The transfer note stated that I must publicly admit at Sophia's formal apology event that I had repeatedly harassed, stalked, and harmed her. At the bottom of the contract, Adrian had already signed his name.