Scorecard for a Broken Vow

When Julian Sterling woke from his coma after a car accident, he had completely forgotten five years of our marriage. The only name he remembered was his first love, Evelyn Brooks. Convinced I had trapped him into marriage while taking advantage of his amnesia, he drafted a humiliating "Wife Probation Scorecard" to force me out. At an exclusive autumn dinner party, Evelyn cut her lip while eating king crab. Julian's face instantly darkened. "You can't even prep seafood without causing an accident? Minus ten points." Evelyn softened her voice, clinging to his arm. "Julian, please, just take off one point. Clara has worked so hard over the years. If you take ten, she'll be down to negative ninety-nine points." Julian sneered, smashing his crystal wine glass right at my feet. "If she hadn't shamelessly clung to me, you would already be my wife. A woman like her doesn't deserve the Sterling name." Shattered glass flew everywhere, slicing directly across the burn scar on my ankle—the permanent mark left from the day I dragged him out of a roaring fire. In that second, I realized how absurd it was to try to wake a man who was pretending to be asleep. I wiped the blood from my skin, slipped off my wedding band, and tossed it into his lap. "Keep your last point, Julian. And as for my investment in your gallery? Consider it gone." The ring bounced onto the hardwood floor. Julian froze for a second. Then, recovering his cool detachment, he pulled out a linen napkin and gently dabbed the blood from the corner of Evelyn's mouth. "Threatening to pull your funds, Clara? How cheap. It only proves how petty you are. Tying marriage to money... don't you find that pathetic?" Pathetic? That seed money came from auctioning off my late mother's only heirlooms just so his gallery could launch. Back then, he had held me in his arms, weeping through the night, swearing he owed me his entire life. A sharp sting shot up my leg. Shards of glass were lodged deep in the old burn scar, and dark blood dripped down my heel. Julian's gaze flicked toward my ankle. His brow furrowed in disgust, as if he had just looked at something filthy. Years ago, if I got so much as a blister from new heels, he would panic and promise he would never let me get hurt again. "Butler," he said, turning away. "Take her to get patched up." He picked up the scorecard on the table and scribbled across it with a fountain pen. "Minus two points. Reason: emotional instability, aggressive conduct, and lacking the grace required of a Sterling wife." Evelyn let tears spill down her cheeks. "Julian, it's my fault... I upset her." Julian stroked her hair, his tone melting into pure warmth. "It's not on you. Her character is flawed. She's fighting for a status she never belonged to." He didn't spare me another glance. When the butler stepped forward to guide me, I shoved his hand away and limped toward the front doors on my own. The old injury had left me with a faint limp, and every step pulled fiercely at the fresh cut. The cold autumn rain soaked through my clothes. I pulled out my phone and froze the joint account created exclusively for his gallery. I had barely reached the corner of the avenue when my phone buzzed. It was St. Jude's Hospital. "Ms. Vance, your grandmother suffered sudden cardiac arrest. She needs immediate transfer to the top-tier ICU, but family authorization is required—" My hand trembled. "I'm coming right now." "Ms. Vance, the legal healthcare proxy was transferred to your husband's name. Your personal authorization was revoked." My heart dropped into a bottomless pit. The day after his amnesia took hold, Julian had revoked my emergency medical proxy under the pretext of preventing unauthorized asset transfers. Standing in the pouring rain, I dialed his private number. It rang endlessly before he finally picked up. "What? Stepped outside and realized you need to learn some composure?" His patronizing voice came through the speaker, accompanied by Evelyn's soft, playful giggles in the background. "Julian, Grandma is in critical condition. I need your signature." He sighed coldly. "Clara, stop weaponizing an elderly woman's health to milk sympathy." "I'm not lying—" "Enough," he cut me off. "Spend tonight reflecting on your behavior." The line went dead. Rain mixed with blood, pooling under my feet.I dialed his number again, tears burning my eyes. "Julian, she's really dying. Please. I'm begging you." A heavy silence lingered on the line for a few seconds. "If you want something, show genuine remorse," he said flatly. "Come to the gallery tomorrow morning. Fix the antique painting Evelyn accidentally tore. If you can show me dignity and generosity, I'll consider signing the transfer and adding points back to your card." My knuckles turned white around the phone. "I'll come right now." "No. Tomorrow at nine sharp. Don't be late." He hung up. By dawn, my temperature had spiked to 102°F. I swallowed two fever reducers, pulled on slacks to hide the swollen cut on my ankle, and walked into the gallery on the dot. Julian glanced at me. "You look pale. Didn't sleep well?" "Just a cold." "Take care of yourself. Don't let it affect your work." He turned toward the private studio. "The painting is in the restoration room. I asked Evelyn to keep you company. She likes watching artists work." Inside the room, I put on gloves and started blending pigments. Evelyn slipped inside and perched on a velvet chair nearby. "You're so skilled, Clara. Julian mentioned you used to be a renowned master restorer before your hand got ruined. What a pity. You could've been so accomplished." I ignored her, focusing every ounce of strength into holding the brush steady. The raging fever made my hands shake; every stroke required biting down through the dizzying pain. Two hours later, the intricate canvas was finally restored. I set the brush down and exhaled a long breath. "You worked so hard, Clara. Let me get you some water." Evelyn rose, holding a glass as she walked toward me. Right as she neared the workbench, I caught the glint of an X-Acto blade hidden against her wrist. With a sharp cry, she tumbled to the floor. The blade clattered onto the hardwood. Right down the center of the restored canvas, a violent gash had sliced it clean in two. Hurried footsteps echoed outside. Julian burst into the room. He bypassed the ruined canvas and went straight for Evelyn, scooping her up and clutching her hand with frantic care. "Where does it hurt? Are you okay?" Evelyn wept against his chest. "Julian, I'm fine... I just tripped. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have disturbed her..." After inspecting the slight redness on Evelyn's wrist, Julian spun around and saw the shredded painting. His face hardened like slate. "Julian, she did it—" "Stop lying!" he barked, his voice icy. "I thought you came here to let go of your jealousy. Instead, you destroyed a priceless piece and tried to hurt Evelyn! Your malice knows no bottom, Clara." I stared right into his eyes. "She sliced it right in front of me with a blade! I saw it—" "That's enough!" He snatched a legal folder from his assistant and slammed it onto the desk. "This is an admission of fault and compensation agreement. That piece is valued at two million dollars. Sign it now, and I won't press criminal charges." My fingers shook uncontrollably. "I didn't destroy it." "Where is your proof? The studio cameras are offline. Only you and Evelyn were in this room. Her hand is bruised, and you're completely untouched. Own up to your actions!" Evelyn tugged weakly at his sleeve, sniffing. "Julian, let it go... maybe she didn't mean to..." "She must face the consequences," Julian declared. He stepped directly up to me and forced the pen into my right hand. My weakened fingers couldn't hold it, and it clattered to the floor. Frowning with irritation, he grabbed the pen, seized my scarred right hand, and forced my fingers around it with bruising pressure. That hand was covered in terrible, distorted burn scars. The nerve damage made even slight pressure feel like needles stabbing into bone. "Sign it," he demanded coldly. "Tame your spite. This is the last bit of mercy I will ever offer you." Spasms racked my body. Cold sweat drenched my back. "Julian... it hurts..." He pressed down even harder. "It's just signing your name. Stop acting." My vision blurred into gray. With my left hand, I gripped the desk edge so hard my nails cracked. Finally, I switched the pen to my trembling left hand and dragged my signature across the page. I lifted my head and locked eyes with him. "Julian... you better pray to God you never get your memories back."Julian froze, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady me. Right then, Evelyn swayed dramatically, and Julian instantly caught her by the waist. Frowning, he looked back at me. "I'll handle the hospital authorization." He paused, adding, "However, Evelyn's welcome banquet is tonight. You will serve the guests throughout the evening. This is your chance to show the grace befitting a true society hostess. Otherwise, the authorization stays revoked, and more points will be deducted." Evelyn immediately clung to his arm. "Julian, there's no need... she isn't well..." "She needs to earn it," Julian replied softly to her, before looking at me. "Redeem yourself, Clara. This is your final chance." I dug my nails into my palms and nodded. By dusk, I stood in the staff uniform provided by the house manager. In the mirror, my reflection looked like a ghost. "Clara, the guests have arrived," the butler signaled. I walked into the grand ballroom. Under glittering crystal chandeliers, Julian stood dashing in a tailored tuxedo, his arm wrapped around Evelyn. He raised a champagne flute, his voice warm and magnetic. "Thank you all for coming tonight. Evelyn is the only woman I ever loved before my accident, and she is the most vital part of my future." Applause erupted through the room. Evelyn nestled close to his shoulder. She looked my way, her lips curling into a triumphant smirk. "Clara, what are you standing there for? Bring out the soup," the butler hissed behind me. I carried a heavy tureen of piping hot lobster bisque toward the main banquet table. Just as I approached, a foot subtly extended into my path. I lost my balance and pitched forward. Boiling broth splashed across my neck and chest. A scream tore from my throat as a wave of searing agony struck my skin, and I crashed to my knees amidst broken porcelain. Evelyn's socialite friend covered her mouth, giggling. "Oh dear, my apologies, my leg slipped! But Clara, if you're this clumsy, are you really cut out to serve people?" Snickers rippled through the elite crowd. I clenched my teeth, trying to push myself up, but my knees pressed into jagged porcelain shards. Julian walked over, looking down at me from above. He let out a disappointed sigh. "Clara, pulling stunts for attention in a room full of guests? You have utterly humiliated yourself. Your score is now negative ten. I am deeply disappointed in you." He turned on his heel to walk away. I forced myself up, blood dripping from my knees. "Julian!" I pinned him with my gaze, my voice cutting through the hall. "Since you've lost your memories, why don't you ask your precious first love what really happened five years ago? Ask her how she took a five-million-dollar buyout from your business rival the exact night your family faced bankruptcy, and fled the country on a red-eye flight!" The ballroom fell dead silent. Every pair of eyes whipped toward Evelyn. Her face drained of color, her knees trembling. "Clara... what... what are you talking about..." Before she could finish, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed into Julian's arms. "Evelyn!" Julian caught her, his face turning thunderous as he glared at me. "Are you insane, Clara?! Spreading slander like a hysterical woman—do you have an ounce of dignity left?!" He draped his suit jacket over Evelyn, shouting, "Security! Lock her in the basement! Don't let her out until she learns what respect and decency mean!" Two burly guards grabbed me by the arms, dragging me away from the ballroom. The heavy iron door slammed shut. Absolute darkness swallowed me whole. Slumping against the freezing concrete wall, my phone screen suddenly flashed in my pocket. It was an automated urgent alert from St. Jude's: Patient Martha Vance has suffered sudden cardiac arrest. Emergency resuscitation underway. Immediate family authorization required on-site! Trembling violently, I dialed the hospital number. No signal.The freezing draft of the cellar bit deep into my marrow. The burns on my neck and arms began to swell and blister, throbbing with excruciating heat. I curled into the corner, my body burning up with fever. Once, years ago, I had collapsed with a high fever just like this. Julian had been in the middle of closing a multi-million-dollar international deal. The moment he heard, he walked out of the boardroom and sped two hours through traffic to reach me. He had held my shaking hands with tears streaming down his face. "Clara, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I'll never leave your side again." He had stayed by my bed all night, pressing kisses to my forehead without sleeping a wink. And now? Separated by a single floor. Upstairs, he was clinking glasses with his treacherous first love. Downstairs, he left me to rot in the cold. Using my last ounce of strength, I crawled to the heavy iron door and banged on the metal with bloody knuckles. "Open up... please open the door..." I squeezed my phone through the narrow bottom gap, my voice hoarse and broken. "Take my phone upstairs... dial the hospital... please, I'm begging you..." "Mr. Sterling's orders," the guard's muffled voice came from outside. "Your scorecard is entirely in the negative. Until your malice and slanderous habits are broken, you stay inside—even if you drop dead." My hand fell limp to the cold floor. My fever raged out of control; consciousness began to slip away. Right as the darkness began to swallow me completely, the click of high heels sounded outside. Then, the speakerphone on my cell phone clicked on. A frantic voice of an ICU nurse played through: "Ms. Vance, Mr. Sterling officially revoked the specialty ICU funding authorization. Without family consent, we couldn't proceed with emergency surgical intervention... We did everything we could. We are so sorry for your loss." My entire world ground to a halt. "Too bad, Clara. Looks like your grandmother couldn't wait for you," Evelyn's sweet, venomous whisper filtered through the door. My phone was kicked back through the gap. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Grandma was the only family I had left. My parents died when I was barely a child; she raised me with her bare hands. She always said her only wish in this life was to see me safe and happy. And now, she had died alone, waiting for a signature that never came. I didn't even get to hold her hand one last time. A raw, guttural shriek tore from my throat. Warm blood surged up my chest and splattered across the cold floor. Darkness pulled me under. The next morning, the screech of the iron door woke my burning eyes. Blinding light poured in. "As long as you apologize, I will restore your score—" Julian's composed voice abruptly died in his throat. I forced my heavy eyelids open. He was standing there, holding a bowl of warm broth. His face turned ash-white. "Clara!" He dropped the bowl and lunged forward to catch me. With the very last shred of adrenaline left in my broken body, I shoved him away. My phone slipped from my limp fingers, landing face-up on the floor. The glowing screen displayed the official notification from the county morgue: Notice of Unclaimed Remains: Martha Vance. Julian's outstretched hands froze mid-air.