Jacques’ face contorted with agony, his voice a low, trembling rasp. “I thought you two were divorced.” Jonathan’s gaze sharpened, an icy fire igniting in his eyes. “Who told you that?” His voice was colder than the steel of a blade. “Stay away from my wife and daughter, Jacques. If you don’t, I’ll have you erased from this world.” The words hung heavy in the air, like the promise of a storm. After speaking, Jonathan’s eyes flicked to Natalie, as if expecting her to react. In the past, if he’d spoken like that, Natalie would have been on him in an instant, fury flashing in her eyes as she slapped him and threatened his life. “You touch him, I’ll end you!” But today, she stood still—eerily calm, like a statue carved from ice. Her mind was elsewhere. The Hyperion Group, Regalia’s pinnacle of power, belonged to Jonathan. His empire was vast, his reach unchallenged. He could destroy Jacques with a mere command. So why did he tolerate Jacques? Was it for her? Courtney stepped in front of Natalie, her words sharp with accusation. “Gwen’s really important to Jacques. You can’t just ignore her!” Natalie’s laugh was low, cruel, the sound of mockery. “Yeah, but so what? Why would I care about that? I’m not his father. It’s none of my business.” Her smile twisted into something dangerous. “How about this? You two stand right here, say it loud: you’re pathetic, you failed, and now you’re begging me for help. Go on. Humiliate yourselves. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about hooking you up with an IVF specialist. Your daughter’s gonna die, so… make a new one, but…” Her gaze flicked to Jacques, disgust in her eyes. “You? Weak. Shooting blanks. Don’t get your hopes up—you’re probably never having another kid. Just… accept it.” Jacques’ face drained of color. The words hit like a slap across his face. There was nothing more humiliating for a man than being told he was shooting blanks. And deep down, he knew it. He’d tried for years with Courtney to have a son. But nothing ever worked. “Natalie, was … was that a curse? How dare you?” he sputtered, fury rising in his chest. What he didn’t know was that Natalie wasn’t just a skilled fighter—she was a force to be reckoned with. She was also Natarias, the Miracle Worker. Courtney, watching from the side, flinched. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. And then the others froze. Shock froze Jonathan and Yvonne in place. They couldn’t believe their eyes. Was Natalie really standing there, insulting Jacques? … The Rolls-Royce’s interior was thick with silence, the hum of the engine the only sound, until Jonathan finally broke it. His voice was steady, though cold. “Don’t read too much into it. What I said—it’s for the Hyperions’ reputation. We’re not divorced yet. You’re still my wife, technically speaking.” Natalie felt the words like a weight in her chest. So, it is all about the family name … But when Jonathan had said, “She’s neither homeless nor a bitch. This is Natalie. She’s my wife. And her place is with me,” something inside her stirred—a flicker of warmth, of something old, something buried. Her thoughts slipped back in time. The first time she had fallen for him—back in school. She had passed out during gym class from low blood sugar, pushing herself too hard to lose weight. Jonathan had been sitting by the window. Without hesitation, he’d abandoned his exam, climbed out, and rushed her to the nurse. That moment had sealed it. She was in love with him. Her reverie shattered. “Once you’ve signed the divorce papers, hand them to Bartemius. He’ll take care of the rest,” Jonathan said, his tone all business. Bartemius Frost—his assistant. Always lurking in the background, silent but ever-present. The car soon pulled into Hyperion Residence, the house looming like a fortress. Natalie gathered her things with a heavy heart. Divorce was certain now. Her son hated her. Staying would only bring more tension. But before she left, she had to see her daughter one last time. She barely reached the door when she saw it—doctors rushing into Yvonne’s room, their movements urgent, swift. Two hours later, Yvonne finally woke. Jonathan sat beside her bed, eyes scanning her for any sign of discomfort. “Eve, how do you feel? Anything hurting?” Yvonne’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling, unblinking. She didn’t respond, not a word. Not even a flinch. Only when Natalie called her name—”Eve”—did the little girl’s eyes twitch, slowly turning to meet her mother’s. “I’m here, Mommy.” Christopher’s brow furrowed, his gaze flickering toward the private doctor. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with her?” The private doctor’s fingers moved swiftly over the instruments, examining Yvonne with clinical precision. “Ms. Yvonne’s physical health is fine. But she’s suffering from a severe psychological disorder.” Jonathan’s brow knit, a quiet fury building behind his eyes. “What kind of disorder?” The doctor sighed. “Autism.” Natalie’s heart stuttered in her chest. She’d heard of it before but couldn’t understand. Her sweet, well-behaved Eve? How could this be? The words didn’t fit the picture of her daughter at all. The doctor continued, “This disorder is often linked to the environment in which a child is raised. Children who don’t receive enough love or care are more likely to develop such conditions.” “If left untreated, Ms. Yvonne could fall into depression. The mild cases can make living a normal life a challenge. In the worst cases, it can lead to suicidal thoughts.” Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat. Guilt twisted through him like barbed wire, digging deep. This is my fault. I haven’t been there for her. The doctor softened, his voice a faint attempt at reassurance. “It’s still early, though. With proper treatment, she can recover. But … ” His hesitation lingered, thick in the air. “Mr. Hyperion, I strongly advise you and Mrs. Hyperion not to proceed with the divorce. Ms. Yvonne is deeply sensitive to this. If you go ahead with it, it could push her deeper into her condition.” Outside the room, he took a breath, steeling himself. But before he could say anything, Natalie’s voice broke the quiet. “Jonathan, I know you hate me. I know you want a divorce. But for Eve’s sake, we can’t do this now. Not yet.” His world seemed to pause. He stared at her, disbelief written across his face. “You’re saying … we won’t divorce?” “Yeah,” she answered, her voice surprisingly calm. “After Eve’s better, we’ll talk about it then … ” She didn’t finish the sentence, but Jonathan wasn’t waiting for more. His voice, soft but firm, sliced through the space between them. “Fine.” As she turned to leave, her back to him, Jonathan’s hand tightened into a fist. Then it released. Tightened again. Something was different about her now. Unseen by them, a small figure crouched by the door, peering through the crack. Yvonne’s lips curled into a tiny grin. She quietly shut the door, then scrambled into bed, pulling out her child’s watch. Her fingers dialed a number with the focus of someone far older than her years. “Gianna! The plan to save Daddy’s marriage worked! Mommy and Daddy decided not to divorce, for now!” In the quiet of the room, Yvonne’s words were the culmination of a carefully crafted scheme. She had played the role of the sick child, and Gianna had worked her magic on the private doctor. Together, they’d saved her parents’ marriage—at least, for the moment. The next day, in the Woods villa, Gianna’s pulse quickened as she saw Natalie walk through the door. Is it possible? Had Nattie figured out what Eve and I had been up to? “Anna, something feels off,” Natalie said, furrowing her brow. “Jacques … he’s not my type. How did I let myself get wrapped up in this hopeless, lovesick mess?” Gianna sank into the chair beside her, sipping her tea, her eyes studying Natalie. “You changed that night. The night of your 18th Christmas, when that twisted killer was chasing you.” Natalie’s body went still. A cold shiver ran down her spine, memories flashing—of being hunted, of feeling the terror close in. Gianna set her cup down, her gaze unwavering. “You were unconscious, bleeding out. Jacques was covered in your blood, carrying you to the hospital. Both of you were on the edge. You didn’t wake up for seven days. When you did, you told us that Jacques had saved you … but at the cost of his hand. He could never be a doctor again.” “You said you needed to repay him.” From that moment, the once-revered lady of Regalia, Natalie, had become a joke—a love-struck fool. A deep frown creased Natalie’s face. She could feel the confusion gnawing at her insides. For a man who had saved her life, she’d given up everything—her company, her pride. She’d debased herself in ways that didn’t feel like her. This isn’t who I am, she thought. This isn’t me. Gianna shared her thoughts as well. They’d grown up together—Gianna knew Natalie better than anyone. And Natalie handled everything with cash. Someone ran their mouth about her? Natalie would shove a wad of cash in their face and ask, “Is this enough to shut you up?” Someone tried to chase after her heart? Natalie would smile, hold out some cash, and say, “Take the money, and find yourself a new target.” If someone dared to bully her, and someone stepped up to defend her, Natalie’s response? A smile. “Here’s your reward. I’m in a good mood today—let’s add two zeros. But don’t bother doing this again. They can’t touch me. To me, they’re nothing but a joke.” … In her mind, Natalie had always been something regal, untouchable. It was that very presence—her pride—that had drawn Gianna in all those years ago. “Also, Jonathan was always my ideal guy. So why do I loathe him now? Why do I feel nothing but disgust for our children?” Everything felt wrong. The pieces didn’t fit. This reality—this twisted version of her life—was she losing herself? Had something, or someone, taken over her? Gianna’s heart sank. Seeing Yvonne’s desperate eyes flash before her, she bit back the words she longed to speak. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. “I’m not sure about that either,” Gianna said softly, her voice cautious, betraying a hint of guilt. The truth hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Gianna knew she couldn’t keep the secret forever, but the risk of losing Natalie to the truth was too great. She feared the woman she had known would be gone—replaced by someone cold, distant. Trying to steer the conversation away from the heavy tension, Gianna quickly changed the subject. “Nattie,” she began, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “The man who saved you from that sick serial killer six years ago … it wasn’t Jacques.” Gianna had spent an entire year, money pouring like water, digging into that night. What she uncovered in the broken, distorted footage left her breathless. A figure—a shadow—had stepped in front of the blade meant for Natalie, taking the full brunt of it. The man had bled out, guiding the killer away before collapsing. Then, Jacques had shown up in the footage, appearing as if out of nowhere, taking Natalie into his arms. But by then, Natalie was lost. Her mind, fractured by the trauma, had turned away from the truth. She trusted no one, not even Gianna. Over Jacques, she had severed the ties with her, leaving their friendship shattered. The 24-year-old Natalie would never believe her. But the 18-year-old Natalie—she would have believed her best friend without a second thought. “So, I don’t have to feel beholden to him anymore,” Natalie said quietly, almost to herself. “What are you going to do, Nattie?” Natalie’s eyes flickered with something dark, a glint of purpose. She tilted her head slightly, a sly, almost dangerous smile curling her lips. “What am I going to do?” Natalie’s voice was low, steady. “Well, I’m going to make them see who rules this family. I’ll make them see, really see, that they’re nothing but dogs who deserve nothing but scraps.” She was taking back everything she had lost. And Jacques and Courtney? Their humiliation? The way they had hurt Eve? Every slight would be repaid in full—every insult, every wound. They would pay in blood, a price that would haunt them forever.
wake up married
Status: Ongoing
