Since that day, Sean’s surveillance had become bolder. He no longer just observed from a distance. He no longer just took photos and read reports from his trusted people.

He began to appear in places that Clara happened to pass by. The cafe across from the office. The same red light. The parking lot where their cars too often met—though never side by side.

Clara began to feel it.

Not a face.

Not a voice.

But a strange feeling in her heart, like eyes staring at her for too long.

"Leo," Clara said one afternoon as they walked to the car. "Do you feel... like we’re being watched?"

Leo stopped walking. His gaze immediately changed.

"Since when have you been feeling it?"

"Since the last few days," Clara replied honestly. "I thought I was just being too sensitive."

Leo opened the car door, but didn’t get in right away. "Starting tomorrow, you can’t go home alone. I’ll accompany you."

Clara looked at him. "This is about Sean, isn’t it?"

Leo didn’t deny it.

"He won’t be able to touch you," Leo said firmly. "I’ll make sure of that."

But in his heart, Leo knew—

Sean didn’t need to touch her to hurt her.

---

At home, Moana sat alone in the oversized dining room.

Sean came home late. Very late. The smell of the night still clung to his suit. He didn’t look at Moana as he passed the table.

"Where have you been...?" Moana asked angrily.

Sean stopped. He turned slowly.

"You’re starting to ask questions like a real wife," he said flatly. "That’s a fatal mistake."

Moana clenched her fists. "I am your wife!"

She threw a vase right in front of Sean.

"You’re so insolent! Your attitude has changed since you divorced Clara. You treat me like trash. Damn you! Bastard!" The woman continued to scream while throwing everything around her.

Sean approached his wife with a look of hatred. He grabbed Moana’s shoulders angrily.

"Don’t make me resort to violence! Don’t act like a child! Don’t you dare control me!" The man spoke in a deep voice.

"You’re nothing more than a cheap woman that I deliberately used as a shield to protect my reputation and my family’s reputation!" Sean laughed.

"Sean! You’re insolent! You bastard! You jerk! Dog!" Moana shouted.

Sean grabbed his wife’s struggling hands and continued to beat her chest.

Then, the man called one of the guards in the house.

"Take Mrs. Moana upstairs and lock the door! Open the door tomorrow morning!"

"No! I’m not a dog that you can keep as a pet whenever you want!" Moana rebelled. She kicked the guard who was ordered to take her upstairs.

"Moana! Obey me if you want to live comfortably!" Sean yelled. He grabbed his wife’s hair.

********

That night, Moana stormed into her room, furious. Sean grabbed her by the hair and shoved her so hard she slammed into the wall. Moana cried, but Sean didn’t care.

Moana ran away in the early hours of the morning. Without a suitcase. Without a solid plan. Just a small bag containing her wallet and cell phone.

Her hands trembled as she hailed a taxi. Her head was throbbing. Her body still held a pain she hadn’t yet named. She didn’t look back as the car sped away from the house. The house that was supposed to be a symbol of victory, but had turned into a prison.

The apartment was the first place that came to mind. The last place that still felt "hers."

It seemed Moana had forgotten that Sean had given her that apartment as a gift when they were still dating.

Sean’s love back then was still intense because he didn’t yet have the freedom to be openly close to Moana. At the time, Sean was still married to Clara and harbored a massive ambition to have two women at once.

However, now, Sean was truly no longer interested in Moana. Things do feel more valuable before we actually manage to possess them.

And Moana had forgotten that.

Now, she hoped that the apartment was still permanently hers. But when she held her access card up to the main door, the red light flashed.

Once. Twice. Failed.

Moana tried again in a panic. But it still didn’t work.

She pressed the receptionist button. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

"Sorry, my card isn’t working."

The reply came quickly, too quickly, as if it had been prepared in advance.

"Access to your unit has been deactivated, ma’am. At the owner’s request."

Moana knew who the owner was.

She slumped to the floor of the lobby, her breathing ragged. Her phone vibrated; a message had come in.

Sean Lovely: 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"Don’t expect to be able to move back into that apartment without my permission!"

There was no explicit threat. That was precisely what terrified Moana.

Her last resort was her parents’ house.

A few minutes later, Moana stood in front of the house she had always hated, but which now felt like her only refuge. She knocked on the door with trembling hands.

"Mom, I’m home!"

Her mother opened the door, looked her up and down, then furrowed her brow.

"Why are you back?" Mrs. Freddy looked displeased.

"I... I need a place to stay for a while," Moana’s voice was barely audible.

Her father emerged from behind her, his face stiff. "Does Sean know you’re here?"

Moana shook her head.

Silence fell for a few seconds—a silence devoid of sympathy.

Her mother crossed her arms. "You’re married to a rich man. Stop embarrassing us."

"I was hit. I was grabbed by the hair. I was kicked until my body slammed into the wall." Moana whispered. "I’m scared, Mom."

Her father gave a short laugh. Not loud. Not cruel. But enough to shatter her. "You can stay here if you give us money!"

Moana stared at her father. "Why do you always see me as a cash cow?!"

"Don’t talk so much! We have to benefit each other." Mr. Freddy smirked.

Mrs. Freddy continued without hesitation, "If you want to stay here, transfer at least one million USD. Consider it living expenses. And compensation for bringing shame to the family."

Moana felt her heart sink. "Ma... Pa..., I’m your daughter."

Her mother looked at Moana coldly. "That’s exactly why. Don’t come here empty-handed."

"Get out if you don’t have any money!" Mr. Freddy looked furious.

Moana’s parents slammed the door shut.

Elsewhere, Sean sat calmly in his office. He received a brief report: Moana tried to enter the apartment. Moana went to her parents’ house. But she was turned away.

"Let her taste her own medicine!"

Sean exhaled softly, as if he’d just finished a small, exhausting task.

"Let her suffer," he told his trusted aide. "She needs to learn what it means to have no one."

He stood up, staring at his reflection in the glass. A neat face. A perfect suit. Nothing seemed out of place.

He couldn’t have Clara back. But that didn’t mean he’d lost control of the world.

If love couldn’t be forced, then dependence could be created. If Clara chose to leave, then someone else would pay the price for her departure.

Sean smiled thinly. "It’s such a relief to see Moana suffer. I take pleasure in seeing others in misery."

"Moana—she’s the one who made Clara leave me. She must bear the consequences of her actions," he concluded.

Sean seemed to have forgotten that it wasn’t just Moana who made Clara leave him. But all of that was due to Sean’s own greed.

******

The next day.

That morning, Sean sat in his office with a cup of still-warm coffee. He was reading a report on his tablet screen—not a financial report, nor a business project. The report contained a chronology he had compiled himself, written in neat, clean language that seemed entirely reasonable.

> Complaint Report:

Moana, the lawful wife of Sean Weasley, left the house without permission.

Accessed joint funds without consent.

Alleged use of funds for third-party interests—related to Moana’s biological father’s gambling activities.

Sean smiled faintly.

He hadn’t written a single direct lie. He had merely shifted the perspective.

Moana had indeed run away. Moana’s father was indeed a gambler. Money had indeed flowed to that family—though back then, it was on Sean’s own orders.

He simply pieced together the facts into the story that served him best.

"Release it to the media today," he told his assistant. "Make sure the language is subtle. I don’t want to come across as an angry husband. I want to look... concerned."

"What if Mrs. Moana also reports domestic violence?" his assistant asked hesitantly.

Sean raised an eyebrow. "No evidence. No medical report. No witnesses. We don’t need to discuss something that can’t be proven."

He sipped his coffee calmly. Unburdened. Because in truth, Sean was merely venting his anger at Moana. Anger stemming from his heartbreak over his divorce from Clara.

Yeah! Sean is going crazy just thinking about his divorce from Clara.