“0212336678. Be a decent person after you get out.”

The prison gate creaked open. Emily Griffin stepped out, clutching a worn-out canvas bag. She looked around, scanning every face—but no sign of anyone familiar.

According to their plan, her husband, William Parker, was supposed to come pick her up today—with their two kids.

But he didn’t show.

Emily pulled out her phone and called him. No answer. Three times. On the fourth call, he hung up.

What the hell? Did something happen?

Panic creeping in, she was about to call William’s assistant when a white Audi rolled up and stopped right in front of her. The window slid down, revealing a familiar face—her best friend, Sarah Walker.

“Get in. I’m taking you somewhere.”

Emily blinked, stunned. “Wait... what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be in court today?”

“You said William would be here, so I wasn’t gonna come. But then…” Sarah tossed her phone over. “See for yourself.”

Emily looked down at the screen. The headline hit her like a slap: “On Feb 14, Rongcheng's richest, William Parker, celebrates Isabella Morgan’s porcelain studio launch at Garden Hotel.”

Below it was a picture—William, with his arm around Isabella, gazing at her all lovingly. Between them stood a little boy, around four years old. James Parker. Her son with William.

They looked like the perfect little family.

The article gushed about how grand the event was, how powerful the guests were. It even went on about how Isabella was the final apprentice of the porcelain master, Robert Stone.

Emily’s hands started trembling. The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. She bent down to pick it up, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He didn’t come… because he was off throwing a party for Isabella?

Did he forget—why she went to prison?

She took the fall for Isabella.

Five years ago, Isabella got drunk and hit someone with her car. Killed them. Her family, desperate to protect her, came up with the idea that Emily—being pregnant—would get leniency. So they threw her under the damn bus.

She resisted. Fought back. But then the cops just turned up and arrested her.

Later, she found out they’d faked security footage, bribed witnesses... made sure she couldn’t escape the charge no matter what.

She’d begged William to help her.

He told her the evidence was too solid—but promised to pull some strings so she’d be treated better inside.

Then when she went into labor and got medical parole, William held her hand and swore he’d take care of their kids. Said he’d visit her often with them.

But he never brought them. Said the place was unlucky for kids. He dropped off two photos instead.

Still, she had treasured them. Watched them every night like they were the only light left in her life.

Then even he stopped coming altogether. All she could do was watch prison TV to get glimpses of her kids, of him. It wasn’t much—but she never once complained.

It’s prison. No one wants to be here. She understood.

But never in a million years did she think... he stayed away because of Isabella.

What a joke.

“That bastard!” Sarah exploded. “You nearly died pushing out his kid behind bars, and now he’s out there playing family with *that* woman?!”

She wasn’t holding back. “And ‘apprentice to the porcelain master,’ my ass! If Robert Stone weren’t dead and all his real students didn’t live out of town, would she dare claim that crap? The real last student was—”

“Sarah,” Emily cut in.

She finally picked up her phone. Her mouth was tight, hands clenched so hard her nails dug into her palm. “Are they together now?”