"And just who do you think you are? You have no right to lie here in my family's tomb," Lennon's voice cut through the hush, cold and unforgiving.
Irene's chest tightened, but she held her ground. "And just why shouldn't I?" she countered, forcing a wry smile despite the ache in her ribs.
Lennon arched an eyebrow. "Because," he said, each word measured, "you don't deserve to share this space with us. If you die, I'll cremate your remains and scatter the ashes with last week's garbage. A woman like you should be discarded with the refuse."
A bitter laugh escaped Irene's throat. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, wincing. "Laugh all you want, Lennon," she replied, voice low but unwavering. "You can toss my ashes into any bin you choose, but that won't change the fact that I'm your wife under the law, no matter how much you loathe me. Even death can't erase that bond."
His expression darkened. Without warning, he lunged forward, seizing her arm and lifting her bodily into the stale air of the tomb. Irene's feet dangled as pain radiated through her side.
"Don't test me," he growled. His grip like iron, he shook her until her vision blurred.
"I… I'll never stop being part of your family," she choked out, tears of fear and humiliation welling.
Lennon's jaw clenched. He released her reluctantly, letting her drop to the cold stone floor. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She lay there for a heartbeat, every bone aching.
"Irene," Ivan's tone was flat as he stepped forward. He offered no help. "Mr. Marshall, it's my fault. I should have noticed her sooner. I accept your judgment."
Alice hovered at the entrance, face ashen. "Lennon, please," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm responsible. I didn't check her suitcase quickly enough. She lied about her belongings and bought time."
Irene coughed, each breath a jagged shard in her chest. She forced herself to sit up, though her legs shook like stalks of wheat in a storm.
"I haven't taken a single thing that's yours," she rasped.
A flicker of disgust crossed Lennon's face. He pulled out a wet wipe and swiped at the imprint of his hand on her neck. "You didn't? You bought all your dresses and gowns with my money—and then you parch them in flames," he spat. "How dare you claim innocence?"
Her throat felt raw. On their wedding day, Alice had gathered every gown Irene had ever purchased and set them alight, declaring them vulgar and unworthy of a Marshall bride. Irene's heart had cracked then; now it threatened to shatter.
"Strip her clothes off," Lennon ordered to Ivan. "Then cast her out."
Alice's eyes narrowed as the two men retreated. She stepped forward, boots echoing on the marble.
"Look at you," she mocked, voice sweet as poisoned honey. "You married him, seduced him—or so you thought—and here you are, broken and discarded. You really believed I told you to caked makeup and pile on the weight because Lennon found that lovely? Pathetic."
Irene's face paled. She stared at the cracks in the floor, refusing to rise.
"I only ever wanted his affection," Irene replied, voice trembling with exhaustion.
Alice edged closer, fists clenched. "You're an embarrassment. No man wants a fat, foolish wife like you. I was pulling your strings, making you the clown. You danced for his scorn." She laughed, then spat, "I reveled in it."
Irene closed her eyes against the world that spun around her. Every breath felt like needles. She opened her eyes slowly, meeting Alice's glare with a defiant whisper. "You're the real joke."
Alice's lips curled into a sneer. "Oh? And what makes you think you're in any position to mock me?"
Irene swallowed back a grunt of pain, drawing on every last reserve of strength. "Because I survived your betrayals, Alice. You ruined my life, but you didn't kill me. I see how pathetic you are—obsessed with status and inheritance. You steal, you lie, you destroy."
Alice's eyes widened, her composure fracturing. "How dare you!" she screamed.
A twisted grin formed on Irene's lips. Her voice, though strained, carried a fierce clarity. "For two years, I trusted you completely. I let you decide what I wore, how I acted, even how I loved. And you turned me into this—beaten, humiliated, discarded. All so you could claim my place as the Morgan heir." She coughed; blood speckled her fingers.
She forced herself upright, gibbering through pain. "At first, Lennon didn't feel anything for me. Then he hated me. Now he's repulsed by the sight of me." She looked Alice squarely in the eye. "Isn't that your greatest feat? You must be proud."
Alice ground her teeth until her nails cut into her palms. "You'll regret this," she hissed.
"Regret?" Irene tilted her head. "No. I pity you. Look at yourself—vain, insecure, cruel. You thought you'd won when Grandma died." Her voice softened as her eyes misted. "She was the only person who ever treated me kindly among the Marshalls. Without her, you had a clear path to destroy me. But even you can't erase the memories she gave me—of compassion, dignity, strength."
Tears slipped from Irene's eyes as she leaned back onto the floor. Sweat dampened her brow. Her body trembled.
Alice's expression turned cold—calculating. "You're no longer Lennon's wife," she reminded. "His name frees me. His grandmother is gone. There's no one left to protect you."
A hush fell. Irene's mind drifted to the matriarch's warm smile and gentle advice, a stark contrast to this bitter scene. She pressed a hand against her side, feeling the slow burn of internal injury.
Alice advanced, voice icy. "If you value your pathetic life, you'll crawl to Father and beg him to let you return to Morgan Manor. Your days in the Marshall estate are over."
Irene's breath caught. Her vision blurred as she fought to remain conscious. Yet, beneath the pain, a fierce ember of resolve ignited.
"Don't delude yourself," she whispered. "You can kick me out of this tomb, out of his life, but you cannot kill the truth of who I am. And that—" she breathed hard, "—you'll discover soon enough."
Alice paused, uncertainty flickering across her face for the first time since she'd spoken. Then, with a final glare, she turned and swept out, leaving Irene lying on the cold marble, bruised but unbroken.