Sabrina looked flawless, sitting on the sofa as if she owned the place. Her blond hair was pulled into an elegant bun, her folded lab coat rested neatly beside the armchair, and a faint smile lingered on her lips—cold, polished, porcelain-like.

She rose slowly, adjusted her skirt with delicate precision, and walked toward Zoe with the confidence of someone stepping onto familiar territory.

“Good evening, dear Zoe. How was your honeymoon? Did you enjoy your little fairy tale?”

“My personal life is none of your business,” Zoe replied, steady and unflinching. “If that’s the only reason you came here, consider your question answered. You can leave.”

“Did Arthur tell you the truth? I doubt it. A woman with pride would never marry a man after learning what he did. So yes… we have something serious to discuss.”

Zoe crossed her arms, eyes narrowing.

“You have two minutes.”

“I came to tell you the truth. The part of the story your perfect husband conveniently forgot to mention,” Sabrina said,