Category: English

I loved Dax Thorne for five years, and for every single one of those years, I’d been tormented. Until the Vance family empire collapsed, my loved ones died, and everything I held dear was systematically destroyed by Dax. Eventually, in a raging inferno, I set myself on fire, right there in front of him. Everyone outside thought Dax had finally gotten his revenge. Only he knew that the moment I died, he truly lost his mind. Muffled cries of pain echoed through the room. Dax was performing the most intimate act, yet his expression was colder than a winter storm, as if he were miles away, trapped in a frozen wasteland. I struggled to breathe, a terrifying sense of suffocation building inside me, and instinctively thrashed against him. Just when I thought I was about to black out, Dax suddenly released me. I gasped, gulping in air, but before I could catch my breath, his rough movements shattered the fragile calm again. The torment went on for what felt like an eternity, only stopping when I was on the verge of losing consciousness. My phone rang. Dax picked it up, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at the screen. He answered. The voice on the other end announced the collapse of Vance Enterprises. My eyes, which had been half-closed from the agony, snapped open. I stared up at him, disbelief flooding my senses. “Vance Enterprises… collapsed? What happened?” My voice was hoarse, weak, yet laced with sheer shock. Dax noticed the terror in my eyes, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips. “Like it? That’s my first gift to you.” I gazed at his smile, a chilling realization dawning on me. “Dax… you did this? To Vance Enterprises?” He gripped my chin, forcing my face up until I was trapped in an intimate, yet utterly terrifying, proximity. “Yes. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this day?” I ignored the throbbing pain in my jaw, my heart plummeting to my stomach. “Why? Why would you destroy my family?” Dax shoved me off the bed, watching me fall to the floor. His eyes, usually so carefully guarded, now blazed with raw, unrestrained hatred. “Elara Vance, the Vance family’s ruin? You brought this on yourselves! If your mother hadn’t forced Seraphina away, she never would have broken up with me, and she certainly wouldn’t have died because of you!” Because of Seraphina… He hated himself, hated everyone in my family. So all his past tenderness, his kindness, had been a lie. This was his true face. My heart clenched. “No!” My face was pale. “My mother didn’t force Seraphina to break up with you, and I didn’t hurt her!” Dax’s eyes turned venomous. “You think I’d believe a word you say?” Years ago, Dax had been with Seraphina Hayes, my family’s adopted daughter. But my mother, knowing I harbored feelings for him, had forced Seraphina to break up with him. Dax still remembered Seraphina crying, clinging to him, saying she had no choice. The Vance family’s vast empire was too powerful; if they didn’t break up, my family wouldn’t let her go. Dax had been heartbroken, but at the time, his own family lacked the power to stand against mine. He’d had no choice but to painfully break up with Seraphina and marry me. Yet, even after all that, I still hadn’t let Seraphina go. He remembered the scene of Seraphina drowning, and it made him want to slaughter my entire family. But he couldn’t avenge Seraphina, so he had to swallow his hatred and live a lie with me. Until today. Finally, he had the power to avenge Seraphina. Dax said nothing more. He dragged me downstairs, opened a small room in the corner of the first floor, and shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling to my knees. My eyes widened in horror as I looked up at the scene before me. On the table in the room sat a framed photo. The girl in the picture was beautiful and delicate, with a melancholic air. It was Seraphina Hayes. I tried to stand, but Dax’s foot lashed out, kicking me in the back of my knee. I crumpled to the floor. “In front of Seraphina, you only deserve to kneel.”

Dax took a few steps closer, his leather shoe pressing down on my bare foot. As I cried out in pain, he spoke slowly. “Tell me, do you think Seraphina felt this much pain the day she died?” I looked at Seraphina’s photo, propping myself up with my arms on the floor. A bitter realization dawned on me, and I suppressed a groan of pain. “Dax, I didn’t kill Seraphina.” Back then, Seraphina had found herself a man far wealthier than Dax and decided to break up with him. I felt bad for Dax, so I didn’t dare tell him the truth. But after I married Dax, Seraphina regretted it. I still remember sitting in Seraphina’s car. She’d said she had something to tell me, but instead, she stomped on the gas pedal, speeding toward the bridge. Seraphina’s expression was wild, her words sharp and venomous. She’d screamed that if I, Elara Vance, died, Dax would forever be hers. But something went wrong with Seraphina’s plan. After the car plunged into the river, I easily unlatched my seatbelt and escaped. Seraphina, however, got stuck in hers and drowned inside the car. And the scratches and marks from our struggle? In Dax’s mind, they became proof that I had deliberately wrestled the steering wheel from Seraphina. Dax pressed down harder, his eyes filled with dark malice. “You still dare to lie?! I saw you climb out of that river with my own eyes while Seraphina stayed at the bottom forever! Are you going to tell me Seraphina drove the car down herself?!” I gasped, a soft whimper of pain escaping my lips. It felt like my foot bone was about to snap under his weight. I shook my head frantically, not knowing how to explain it so Dax would believe me. Seraphina was dead, and her silence condemned me. Seeing my tormented expression, Dax let out a chilling laugh of pure satisfaction. “Before, I couldn’t touch you because of your family’s power. But now Vance Enterprises has fallen. Let’s see who can save you now! And your mother and your sister? I won’t let a single one of them go!” “Are you… are you going to kill them?!” A sudden terror seized me. I tried to pull away, but his foot pinned me down. “Dax Thorne, murder is a crime!” “You killed Seraphina, and the law didn’t punish you, did it?” Dax half-crouched, reaching out to grab my hair, forcing my gaze toward Seraphina’s photo. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. Death would be too easy. I’ll make sure you live a long, miserable life, atoning for Seraphina.” After that, Dax kept me imprisoned in his mansion. My phone was confiscated. My left foot bone was indeed broken, just as he’d promised. But he wouldn’t allow a doctor to treat me. Helpless, I had to suffer in silence, crudely bandaging my foot with a piece of wood, hoping it would heal on its own. Imprisoned, I became Dax’s plaything. My fractured foot was repeatedly tormented by him, shattering any hope of it ever healing properly. Dax pinned me against the cold floor, unleashing his wild, raging desire. The floor was freezing, but Dax’s body was scorching hot. I shivered, caught between the cold and the heat, struggling to breathe. I placed my hands on his arm, which felt like an iron bar wrapped around my neck, and pleaded, my voice breaking. “Dax… you can do anything you want to me… just please, can I see my mother and sister… just once?” Dax’s hand slowly tightened. “Do you want to see their corpses?” My eyes widened in horror. When I spoke again, my voice was choked with tears. “No… no, I don’t… please, my family is innocent, don’t hurt them…” “Your family is innocent? Was Seraphina not innocent?” With that, Dax thrust hard, and a cry of pain escaped my lips. Dax left after he was finished. I slowly got up from the floor, stumbling my way to the bathroom. Warm blood trickled down my thigh and dripped onto the tiles.

I sank into the bathtub, my lower body screaming in burning agony. My face was ashen, and I stared blankly at my horribly deformed left foot. From now on, I’d be crippled for life. I lay in bed, unable to sleep all night. I watched the sky outside gradually lighten. Suddenly, I heard faint sounds. Curiosity stirred. I sat up, limped downstairs, and saw the living room TV was on, broadcasting the city’s top news story. I stood in the living room, frozen. The news headline on the screen read: “Former Vance Enterprises Head Dies of Heart Attack at Home.” The reporter’s camera panned to a sobbing young girl. It was Willow, my little sister. My ears roared. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept my gaze fixed on her frail figure. How could this be? My mother’s health had been improving, hadn’t it? Why would she have a heart attack now? And Willow… she wasn’t even an adult yet. How would she survive out there, all alone? Without thinking, I tried to rush out, but the bodyguards outside pushed me back. No matter what I said, they wouldn’t let me leave. Not until evening, when Dax returned. The TV was still on, playing the evening news, filling the silent living room with a strange clamor. Hearing footsteps, I looked up, staring directly at Dax as he entered. I didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt like a stranger. I’d loved Dax for over a decade, but when had he changed like this? Dax walked over, and a sharp slap landed across my face. My head snapped to the side from the impact. I heard Dax’s voice above me, cold and unforgiving. “You don’t deserve to look at me like that.” A red, swollen handprint bloomed on my pale cheek. I felt no pain, only stared at him with wide, empty eyes. “My mother… did you kill her?” Dax met my gaze. “She deserved it. If she hadn’t forced Seraphina away, Seraphina never would have broken up with me!” Then, Dax sneered. “Rather than saying I killed her, it’s more accurate to say you killed her. If you hadn’t been so desperate to marry me, how would she have died?” My face went white. I couldn’t hear Dax’s continued mocking. Only his words echoed in my mind: *my mother was killed by me*. Yes, wasn’t my mother killed by me? It was my delusional hope, my naive belief that I could win Dax’s heart, that brought about this catastrophe. It was my stupidity, my self-righteous love, that destroyed the Vance family. Salty tears slid past my lips. I mumbled, “I was wrong. It’s all my fault…” After that, I completely gave up fighting. I no longer thought of escaping, nor did I dare mention wanting to see my sister, terrified Dax would hurt Willow. I became a caged bird in Dax’s mansion. The food I ate came back up again. One night, while in bed, I told Dax about it. His frantic thrusts stopped. He’d clearly thought the same thing I had. After he finished, he called his private doctor. The doctor examined me and finally concluded: I was indeed pregnant. One month along. Dax spoke. “Get rid of it.” My hands rested on my lower belly, my expression eerily calm. Dax’s words didn’t faze me. His decision was exactly what I expected. Knowing his personality, he would never allow this child to be born. I suppressed a flicker of sadness in my eyes. This child came at the worst possible time. I didn’t want to bring him into this world to suffer. The doctor hesitated. “We can’t perform the procedure here, Mr. Thorne. Do we need to go to a hospital?” Dax suddenly smiled. “No need.” He dismissed the doctor and called a bodyguard upstairs. The bodyguard entered, carrying an iron bar. My gaze fell on the bar, and a sudden dread filled me. “What are you going to do?” Dax said calmly, “It was my oversight, allowing you to get pregnant.” He gave a look, and the bodyguard stepped forward, pinning me down. I struggled, but couldn’t break free from his grasp.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297282”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic

I shamelessly pursued Christian Davies for four years. He was utterly fed up. Under his immense pressure, my family nervously sent me abroad. He had said, “Do whatever it takes to get her to stop bothering me!” “Otherwise, don’t blame me for showing no mercy.” Drugs, hypnosis, electroshock therapy… Those methods were truly effective. I forgot what it felt like to love him. Even my memories of him became hazy. He finally relented, allowing me to return home. I actively avoided any place he might appear. Because Mom told me that man with the stunning looks was someone I couldn’t afford to offend. When I saw him kissing Willow, my sister, I secretly pulled out my phone to take a picture. His eyes blazed with a fierce, cold fury. I cowered into the corner, words failing me: “I’m sorry, I just thought you two looked so good together, totally shippable…” I didn’t know why. The stoic man, who rarely showed emotion, his eyes trembled violently. **1** After coming back from abroad, I always felt like my brain wasn’t working quite right. I spent most of my day sleeping. I thought I might be sick. Mom comforted me, saying not to worry. “You’ve always been a little sleepyhead, unlike your sister who’s so disciplined.” “It’s fine, everyone’s body is different. Just go to sleep if you’re tired.” I poured myself a large cup of black coffee, hoping to perk up. But it had no effect. I tapped my temples, frustrated, when the front door rang. Mr. Henderson, the butler, said: “Miss Willow brought Mr. Davies home.” Dad and Mom’s faces immediately lit up with joy. Dad eagerly went to greet them. Mom was about to follow, then suddenly remembered something. She looked at me, troubled: “Lily, you…” I nodded understandingly: “I know, Mr. Davies doesn’t like me.” “Willow’s engagement is important. I’ll go upstairs now, I need to catch up on sleep anyway.” Mom looked at me, yawning, with relief. I had only walked a few steps when I suddenly remembered I hadn’t picked up my coffee cup. I wanted to try another cup later. The moment I turned, I inadvertently met a pair of cold, piercing eyes. It was almost instinctive. I forgot all about the coffee cup and ran as fast as I could. Like my life depended on running away fast enough. I didn’t stop until I burst into my room and locked the door from the inside. Then I pushed a table against the door. Only then did my heart, pounding in my throat, finally settle. I couldn’t explain why, but seeing Christian always triggered an intense emotion in me: Fear. Mom said it was because Christian had a natural air of dominance; anyone around him felt immense pressure. “Especially someone like you, a born pushover.” Mom told me not to appear in front of Christian. “Christian, he doesn’t like people who look cute but are actually slow-witted.” “His gaze only lingers on excellent girls like your sister.” “What level is the Davies family on? If we can marry into the Davies family, we could save ourselves generations of struggle!” “Lily, you need to be sensible.” I was very sensible. So, every time Christian came over, I actively avoided him. Mom was very pleased about this and sometimes patted my head. That was my greatest reward, and I treasured it. So, I never dared to tell Mom. Even if she didn’t say anything, I would have avoided Christian on my own. His presence was just too overwhelming. I felt so uncomfortable. So suppressed. As if my heart was being squeezed tightly in someone’s hand. And a strange, bitter ache. Downstairs, laughter and cheerful chatter filled the air. Lost in that happy noise, I drifted off to sleep. **2** When I woke up again, it was dark outside. Already evening. The mansion was quiet. Christian must have left. My stomach growled. I pushed open my door, wearing a white princess nightgown, and padded barefoot downstairs to find food. The floor was cold and smooth, and I felt my brain clear up just a tiny bit. I was standing by the counter, heating up toast. The study door suddenly opened. Christian emerged, dressed in a sharp suit. Bathed in the warm yellow light, his silhouette was even more defined, his posture perfectly straight. His features were sculpted, sharp. He looked like a god of judgment had descended. But he was too cold. His aura was cold, his eyes were cold. Even the charcoal gray cufflinks on his suit glinted coldly. Across the long living room, his gaze fell lightly upon me. His thin lips pressed into a tight line. He radiated an overwhelming presence. In an instant. I snapped back to reality. I buried my head in my arms and ducked under the dining table. A pathetic attempt to hide. Willow’s light footsteps floated down the stairs. She ran into Christian’s arms, holding his arm and shaking it. “Are you really leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new showreel, can’t you stay for dinner?” Willow’s demeanor was usually distant. But now, she showed off a girlish charm, her voice soft and sweet. So lovely. Like a beautiful bird. With vibrant plumage and a melodious song. Christian didn’t speak, his cold eyes fixed on me, shivering under the table. Willow’s smile faded. She bit her lip and said: “If you’re busy, you can see it another time. Let’s go, I’ll walk you out.” Christian stood motionless. His oppressive presence was so heavy, it was as if he hadn’t even heard Willow speak. Willow opened her mouth, but didn’t dare utter a sound. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low: “Alright, I’ll eat dinner before I leave.” Dad and Willow’s faces simultaneously registered surprise. Christian’s lips curved slightly: “What are you afraid of? She’s forgotten everything, hasn’t she?” Christian took long strides to the dining table and knelt down. His suit pants accentuated the strong lines of his legs. “Lily, do you still recognize me?” I timidly raised my eyes, then lowered them, not daring to meet his gaze. I slowly nodded. But suddenly, my fingertips and toes felt as if they were being pricked by needles. It was an automatic, reactive scream. I squeezed my eyes shut. Shaking my head frantically. “No! Don’t hit me! I don’t know you!” **3** At the dinner table, the atmosphere was strange. Dad and Mom tried desperately to liven things up. But Christian just ate quietly. His posture refined. He showed no intention of speaking. This made Mom and Dad’s enthusiasm seem very awkward. Willow’s face was dark, and she remained silent. I didn’t dare to pick up any food, only eating small bites of rice. Finally, when the meal was over, Dad and Mom both seemed to let out a sigh of relief. As Christian was about to leave, I suddenly remembered something and called out to him: “Mr. Davies, wait a moment.” Everyone stared at me in surprise. Including Christian. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly impatient. “Just for a second. Okay?” I used my fingers to show a centimeter of distance. Saying that, I ran upstairs, and quickly came back down carrying a metal box. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on me. I opened the lid of the metal box and asked: “Mr. Davies, is this yours?” On top of the box were a dozen or so ID photos. Some were passport-sized, some larger. They clearly weren’t obtained through official channels. Because some photos had official stamps, and some had dried glue on the back. It was evident they had been pried off various documents. Christian in the photos looked younger than he was now, with a hint of youthfulness in his eyes and brows. But his features were already exceptionally handsome. Besides the ID photos, there were other miscellaneous items. Candy wrappers, cigarette boxes, empty pen cartridges, crumpled test papers, and so on. Christian’s gaze was intense as he looked at me. I gritted my teeth before I dared to continue: “I found it in a corner of my closet. I don’t know who put it there. But I recognized your photos, so they must be yours, right?” Christian’s eyes shifted slightly, seeming to hold a hint of scrutiny. His stare made me shrink. My shoulders drooped. He spoke: “Not mine, throw it away.” “Oh, okay.” I casually tossed it into the nearby trash can and was about to go upstairs. Christian’s eyes suddenly took on a dangerous glint. “Lily, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” He called out to me. I was puzzled: “What?” He seemed to see right through everything, his eyes mocking. He scoffed. “Nothing. You’re a good actress. Just don’t do it again. I’m not interested in watching.” With that, he turned and left. **4** Mom closed the door. Willow, who had been holding it in all evening, was now crying, slumped over the table. Dad’s heart ached looking at her, and finally, unable to contain his anger, he slapped me. I wasn’t prepared and fell to the floor awkwardly. My head hit the corner of the table. It buzzed with pain. Mom clutched Willow’s shoulders, looking heartbroken and furious. She turned to me: “Lily, don’t blame your dad for being so harsh. Tonight, you truly, truly disappointed us!” “Did you forget Mom’s countless warnings?” “Why did you come downstairs without permission? Why did you talk to him? Are you really that pathetic?!” Blood dripped from the wound on my forehead, flowing into my eyes. My vision blurred into a crimson haze. Clutching the bleeding wound, I tried to explain: “I’m sorry, I thought he had left. I didn’t mean to…” Willow suddenly grabbed my collar, screaming hysterically: “Running downstairs dressed like that, deliberately parading your bare feet in front of him, even bringing out that junk box to get his attention, Lily, who are you trying to seduce?!” “Do you even know Christian’s standing? Do you know your own? How dare you even *think* about him?!” “Do you know that because of your indiscretion tonight, I might lose him?!” “Are you really that desperate for male attention? Seducing your own sister’s boyfriend!” With that, Willow opened the door and walked out. Mom desperately grabbed Willow: “Willow, where are you going at this hour?” Willow looked at me with hatred: “This house, it’s either me or her. If she stays, I leave!” Soon, the sound of a car engine starting echoed from the garage. Mom sighed deeply. Dad slammed the door in a fit of rage. I quietly spoke: “Should I stay out tonight?” Mom hesitated for a few moments: “Where would you go?” “I’ll stay at a hotel. I always stayed at hotels when I was abroad, I’m used to it.” Back then, I couldn’t endure the inhumane torment. Whenever I had a chance, I’d escape from the hospital. I’d stay in the cheapest motels. Trying to avoid the painful treatments they arranged for me. But Willow always found me quickly and brought me back. Mom was silent, then after a moment, she nodded: “Tonight was indeed your fault. So go stay out. Once your sister calms down, Mom will pick you up.” **5** In the hotel. Standing in front of the mirror, I carefully dabbed the blood from my forehead. The wound was a bit large; one bandage wouldn’t cover it. But it was so late, and I didn’t dare to leave the hotel room to buy bandages. Usually, I could never get enough sleep. Tonight, perhaps because of the stinging pain on my forehead, I found it hard to sleep. I had forgotten why I was sent abroad. I only remembered that, ever since I was little, Willow was always smarter, always more outstanding than me. Everywhere she went, she seemed to glow. That’s why Dad and Mom had the highest hopes for her. Willow became a child model at a very young age, and later, her image as a beautiful academic genius went viral. As for me, aside from having a similar appearance to her, I was useless. So, I understood my parents’ favoritism. I agreed with Mom and Dad’s approach, to allocate more resources to the capable Willow. But, was this favoritism the reason they sent me abroad? I remember when I was abroad, swallowing handfuls of pills and undergoing painful treatments, Mom told me over the phone that it would make me smarter. But I always felt that after returning from abroad, my mind was even worse. Besides being lethargic, my reactions were slower. Did Mom and Dad have to bring me back because the treatment failed? Did they dislike me even more because I was dumber? **6** During the day, I wandered the streets. At night, as soon as it got dark, I’d return to the hotel to sleep. I stayed at the hotel for a week, but Mom still hadn’t called me back. I was out of money. I sent Mom a SnapChat message. I found out she had blocked me. At noon, as I sat in the hotel lobby, spacing out. I saw a striking couple from afar, standing at the entrance of the indoor garden. The man was tall and well-built, his back to me, so I could only see his broad, straight shoulders. The woman had an hourglass figure, wearing an elegant long dress, her small face tilted up, smiling at the man. But I could only see half of her profile. I shook my head, wanting to see more clearly. But these past few days, I always had a headache, and things looked like they were seen through a fog. It only made the scene in front of me more atmospheric. I picked up my phone and captured this beautiful moment. But I forgot to turn off the flash, and the shutter sound was turned up to maximum. They quickly noticed me. The man’s jawline seemed to tighten. His gaze towards me was very hostile. I saw the two of them walking towards me, and I became so restless I couldn’t sit still. Until Christian and Willow stood over me, looking down. “Lily, what are you doing here?” Christian’s voice was still very cold. I looked at Willow, too scared to speak. Christian held out his long hand: “Give me your phone.” I nervously handed my phone to him. It was strange, he actually knew my password. Even I didn’t know what my six-digit password meant. I thought through everyone’s birthdays in my family, but none of them matched. Christian pulled up the photo, his eyes dangerously narrowed: “Why were you secretly taking pictures? Lily, what do you want to do to Willow? Are you trying to hurt her again?” I shook my head frantically, so nervous I almost cried: “No, I didn’t.” I knew Willow was better than me. I was so ordinary, so I never thought about competing with her for anything. But Mom said I once appeared at Willow’s new show premiere, dressed elaborately. A reporter said that Willow and I looked alike, but our temperaments were completely different. Willow was pure and refined. While I was seen as spirited and innocent, almost too good for this world. They said I had a wider range of roles. So, the lead role Willow had secured suddenly changed hands. In the end, I didn’t get to play it either. But Willow lost her chance to join the ranks of A-list actresses. That’s why Willow hated me, hated me for deliberately stealing the spotlight, for not wanting her to succeed. No matter how I explained, no one believed me. That day, I wasn’t trying to steal Willow’s glory. I just wanted to witness her success. I spent all my pocket money to rent an expensive gown, just so I wouldn’t embarrass Willow. Unexpectedly, it only made Willow look overshadowed. I really didn’t mean to. But no one believed me. Those days, everyone was against me. My family took turns expressing their disappointment. It was suffocating. Like a nightmare. I never wanted to experience that again. “Please believe me, I didn’t.” I helplessly clutched Christian’s sleeve, pleading. He frowned and said: “Lily, are you still faking it? You didn’t really lose your memory, did you?” “I don’t know, I don’t know if I’ve lost my memory, please believe me!” My memory was broken. Some things I remembered, some I’d forgotten.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297283”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic

Scarlett Hayes dumped me again for Brandon Miller. This time, it was at our wedding. Watching her back disappear, a cold, digital voice echoed in my mind: “This is the 100th time the Female Lead has abandoned you for the Supporting Male. Do you wish to relinquish your role as her Male Lead?” “Yes.” “You can choose a new Male Lead for the Female Lead.” “Brandon Miller.” Since these childhood sweethearts couldn’t let go of each other, I decided to lock them together forever. “Because you were bound to Scarlett Hayes as her Male Lead by the System, you would always forgive her, no matter what she did. “Now, you are free,” the digital voice continued. “Can she bind me again?” I asked. “No, she has no right to change the Male Lead again.” … When the conversation ended, I felt a profound sense of clarity, like a heavy fog had finally lifted from my mind. Looking at the chaotic scene of family and guests below the stage, I steadied myself, took the microphone from the emcee, and announced: “I deeply regret that this wedding cannot proceed. I apologize for any disruption or disappointment this may cause.” The crowd quieted down. “Ms. Hayes just announced a postponement, but I don’t agree. “From today forward, our engagement is off. We go our separate ways, with no ties between us.” The grand ballroom erupted in another uproar, following the bride’s unexpected exit. I raised my voice, “Additionally, all wedding gifts will be returned twofold. Thank you again for coming.” With that, I bowed and walked off the stage, my steps feeling incredibly light.

Scarlett and I hadn’t formally registered our marriage, and all our friends and family knew it. It wasn’t that I was unwilling. She insisted on testing me for another two years. Now, I was incredibly grateful for her decision. After all, divorce wasn’t an easy process. As I reached the last step, my parents came rushing towards me. “Son, is what you said true? Have you really thought this through?” my mom asked excitedly, grabbing my hand. She had always felt Scarlett and I were a bad match. Forget our family backgrounds, the main thing was she simply didn’t hold me in her heart. But between us, I was always the one who loved more. My mom wasn’t happy about it, but she never forced her interference. At this moment, she looked at me with hopeful eyes, wanting to confirm if her wish had finally come true. My dad pulled her back, calmly saying, “He’s just saying angry things, don’t take him seriously. One call from her and he’d be crawling back, tail between his legs. You always believe him.” The disappointment and helplessness in his tone were palpable. Most people present probably thought the same as my dad. The light in my mom’s eyes instantly faded. She murmured, “You’re right.” In that moment, my heart clenched, a sharp, piercing pain. When I had no bottom line in love, constantly giving in, wasn’t that also a torment for my family, who loved me so much? “This time, it’s real. Trust me.” I held my parents’ hands, promising them. “…Hmm, we trust you.” They fell silent, then patted me dismissively. Their expressions clearly showed they didn’t believe me. And why would they? Scarlett had abandoned me for Brandon 100 times, and I had forgiven her 99 times. My track record of always forgiving her made my promise sound utterly hollow. But it didn’t matter. I would prove myself eventually.

As our family of three chatted, Scarlett’s parents approached. “Julian, really, why say such angry things on stage? “If you upset Scarlett, you’ll just have to sweet-talk her later, won’t you? “How about this: you help me secure that property deal in the East District, and I’ll put in a good word for you.” The paunchy, arrogant man standing before me was Scarlett’s father, Patrick Hayes. There was a time when he would grovel and fawn over me. Now, he was practically walking all over me. All because of my indulgence and endless concessions to Scarlett. “Mr. Hayes, Scarlett and I have ended our engagement. I don’t need you to put in a good word for me with her. “I won’t be helping with the property deal. Furthermore, Sterling Enterprises will cease all collaborations with your company, and all investments will be withdrawn.” His small, near-bankrupt company had only been revived with the support of Sterling Enterprises. But it seemed this whole family of ingrates had conveniently forgotten. Mr. Hayes’ face immediately turned sour, and he pointed a finger at my nose, yelling: “Fine, I won’t help you! Just you wait, you’ll come crawling back to my daughter, begging like a dog…” *Slap!* My mom slapped his oily face. “You insult my son again, and I’ll break your jaw!” She had always been gentle and kind, but at that moment, she was like a lioness protecting her cub. “I’m just stating facts, how is that an insult? Isn’t that exactly what your wonderful son has been doing all these years?” Mr. Hayes didn’t dare hit back, but his mouth wouldn’t quit. “What does it matter if you’re rich and powerful? With a son so utterly blinded by love, your family’s reputation is on the ground for me to trample…” I walked right up and dislocated his jaw, staring into his eyes: “Get out.” He stumbled back a few steps in fright. Scarlett’s mother, Brenda Hayes, caught him, looking at me with disdain and certainty: “We’ll be waiting for you, your whole family, to come and apologize.” With that, she dragged Mr. Hayes away, strutting off as if she’d won. My parents looked at me in shock, then with apprehension. “We’re not going with you to apologize.” “I’m not going either,” I swore. They fell silent.

Just after seeing off a wave of guests, my assistant approached: “Mr. Sterling, should the PR department handle the trending topics and online buzz?” I checked online. The discussion about this wedding was off the charts. Several hashtags were at the top of the trending list. #ScarlettHayesRunawayBride #ScarlettHayesDumpsJulianForBrandonAtWedding #JulianSterlingAnnouncesEngagementOff … Scarlett Hayes’ fans were having a field day: “So satisfying! That’s my girl, Scarlett! The Sterling heir is nothing but a dog to her. Our queen just dumped him. Give him face? Not a chance.” “Looks like the fated prince charming still can’t beat the childhood sweetheart. The Sterling heir had to practically grovel for this wedding, but our girl ran off with one wave from her childhood friend.” “Oh, look, the Sterling heir is actually talking tough now. I bet he’ll be on his knees begging Scarlett within three days.” “Poor Sterling heir, after all these years he didn’t even get an official title, just the reputation of a pathetic simp. My girl Scarlett is truly a boss!” “Scarlett was right not to legally register the marriage. She can walk away anytime. Even with so many important people at the wedding, our girl still did what she wanted.” “So what if he’s the Sterling heir? In our girl’s eyes, he’s just a plaything. Scarlett is living the ultimate female lead power fantasy!” … The screen was filled with such comments. Even though Scarlett was clearly in the wrong, her fans cleverly spun it as a bold act of female empowerment, making their idol untouchable. A few sensible bystanders dared to comment amidst the chaos: “Fans, don’t you think you’re being a bit too arrogant? Your ‘queen’ is where she is today thanks to the Sterling heir throwing money at her career. Otherwise, with her average looks and mediocre acting, she wouldn’t have made it.” Fans immediately jumped on them: “Get lost! Scarlett made it this far all on her own. Stop giving credit to that臭男人 (stinky man), he only ever held our girl back!” Like idol, like fans. They were just as cold-hearted and ungrateful. I was the one who took Scarlett from being a nobody in the entertainment industry to a trending young actress. If I could raise her up, I could certainly pull her down. “No need to deal with the online comments. Leave them all up. Freeze Scarlett Hayes out. Replace her in all her projects. If they can’t be replaced, terminate the contracts. I’ll cover the penalty fees.” Scarlett’s management contract was with a production company under Sterling Enterprises, and it still had two years left. I wasn’t completely cutting her off, after all, the contract terms were fairly loose, and the penalty fees wouldn’t be a huge burden for Scarlett. My assistant looked at me in surprise, then cautiously spoke: “Mr. Sterling, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.” “Do exactly as Mr. Sterling said. Even if he changes his mind, I’m here. You won’t be implicated,” my dad interjected. “Thank you, Chairman Sterling.” The assistant immediately went to execute the orders. Just then, Scarlett’s call came through: “Brandon’s been arrested! Get him out for me, and clean up this mess.” Her tone was icy, like she was giving orders to a subordinate. I frowned, hung up, and blocked her number. Soon, an unknown number called, and it was Scarlett again: “Julian Sterling, what do you mean by this? Brandon only got into that fight because of me! Because that guy was slandering me!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297284”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic

Two years ago, a video of me kneeling outside an operating room was leaked anonymously. In the video, my hair was a mess, my makeup smudged. I was like a statue, kneeling on the floor, eyes fixed on the closed operating room doors. The comments poured in, mocking me: 【Is this a horror movie?】 【How does she still get acting gigs? Did she pay her way into the cast?】 【I hate her so much. If she’s in a show, I won’t even glance at it.】 … Until the end of the video, when the operating room doors opened. I stumbled forward, crying out the A-list actor’s name. Everyone was shocked, “Is she crazy? How dare she try to piggyback off his fame?” A video of me from two years ago was leaked by an anonymous user. Because it was heavily edited, people online didn’t realize it happened two years ago. In the video, my hands were clasped tight, my gaze locked on the operating room doors. I knelt there, a figure of desperate prayer and despair. My hair was a mess, my makeup streaked by tears. I kept murmuring, “Please, please, please.” The comments flooded in, mocking me: 【Isn’t that Anya Stone? Didn’t she step out of the spotlight two years ago?】 【I can’t stand her. Definitely not watching anything she’s in!】 【She actually still has acting gigs? She must’ve paid her way into the production!】 … These comments scrolled repeatedly, all variations of the same message. In the video, the operating room doors opened. I stumbled and lunged towards the body covered in a white sheet. I fell twice, then scrambled back up, my gut-wrenching wails filling the entire floor. “Doctor, please, save him again!” “I’m begging you!” As I spoke, I was about to collapse to my knees, but a nurse held me back. “Doctor! I’ll kneel for you!” “He’s not dead! He’s not dead!” I clutched the railing tightly, stopping them from wheeling the bed away. Someone in the comments section sighed: 【Gotta say, her acting is really good.】 【She’s crying so hard, it feels like she’s about to follow him.】 It was only when I screamed “Cole Vance” that the comments section instantly filled with question marks. 【What’s going on?? This isn’t acting?】 【This is *the* A-list actor? He’s dead? No way, his fans just posted pictures of him on set this afternoon.】 【Is she okay? How dare she try to piggyback off Cole Vance’s fame!】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297285”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic

The maître d’ approached with that look—pity barely masked by professional courtesy. “Another glass of champagne, Mrs. Montgomery?” I shook my head, forcing a smile that felt like cracked porcelain. “No, thank you. I’m sure my husband will be here any minute.” We both knew it was a lie. The anniversary dinner reservation had been for 7:30 PM. The delicate watch on my wrist—a wedding gift from Chris—now read 9:17. Around me, Boston’s elite dined in intimate pairs, their laughter and conversation forming a backdrop that only amplified my solitude. The candle between the two place settings had burned down significantly, wax pooling on the pristine tablecloth. The small gift box wrapped in silver paper sat untouched beside my plate, corners perfectly aligned the way Chris preferred things. Beside it lay the cream-colored envelope containing my handwritten letter—words I’d rewritten a dozen times, trying to breathe life back into our marriage. I reached for my phone, tucked discreetly in my clutch beneath the table. No missed calls. No apologetic texts. Just silence—the kind I’d grown accustomed to over three years of marriage. My finger hovered over Chris’s name, but pride kept me from calling. Again. Instead, I opened Instagram, a habit born of masochism more than hope. The first post stopped my breath. There he was. My husband, his strong arm wrapped protectively around Jamie Collins’s slender waist as he guided her through the sliding doors of Boston General’s emergency entrance. Her head rested against his shoulder, face contorted in apparent pain. The caption read: *Chief Montgomery to the rescue! Even America’s Sweetheart @JamieCollinsRN needs a hero sometimes. #NightShiftDrama #BostonGeneral* The timestamp: 7:15 PM. Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet me. I zoomed in on the image, studying the details like a pathologist examining tissue. Chris’s expression—concern etched across his handsome features, but something else too. A tenderness I hadn’t seen directed at me in… I couldn’t remember how long. Jamie’s designer blouse, perfectly pressed despite her “sudden illness.” The way her manicured hand clutched at his lapel. The comments scrolled beneath: *OMG they’re so cute together!* *Wasn’t tonight his anniversary? Awkward…* *Poor Evelyn Parker always waiting somewhere LOL* I set my phone down with trembling fingers, heat rising to my cheeks. Everyone knew. The entire hospital staff, their social circles, probably half of Boston’s upper crust—all watching this slow-motion car crash that was my marriage. The waiter approached again, this time without words as he cleared away the untouched champagne flute and the bread basket that had gone stale. His eyes flicked to the gift and letter before looking away quickly. “I’ll take the check,” I said softly. “Dr. Montgomery already arranged to have the dinner charged to your account, Mrs. Montgomery. Standing instructions.” His voice was kind, which somehow made it worse. Of course. Chris had set up automatic billing for our anniversary dinners. Efficient, like everything else about him. Except showing up. — The morning light streamed through the penthouse windows when I returned from my sister’s apartment. I hadn’t been able to face our empty bed last night, not after sitting alone in that restaurant, not after those photos. The silence of our home greeted me—pristine surfaces, designer furniture, the curated art pieces that decorated walls but somehow never made this place feel warm. I set my keys in the crystal dish by the door, the soft clink echoing through the space. That’s when I saw it. Draped carelessly over the back of our Italian leather couch—a camel-colored scarf with the distinctive Burberry pattern. Not mine. I approached it slowly, as if it might rear up like a snake. My fingers brushed the cashmere, still carrying the faint warmth of its owner. I lifted it to my face, inhaling involuntarily. Floral notes with a hint of something spicy. Unmistakably feminine, unmistakably not my signature scent. The perfume lingered in the air too, I realized—not just on the scarf. It hung in our living room like an invisible intruder. I followed the scent, my legs moving mechanically toward our bedroom. The bed was made—our housekeeper’s work, not Chris’s. But one of the decorative pillows was slightly askew, the duvet not quite perfectly aligned. Something inside me—something that had been bending and bending for three long years—finally snapped. I stood in our pristine living room, the Burberry scarf clutched in my trembling hand as I heard the front door open. Chris strode in with the confidence of a man who owned the world—tailored suit, not a hair out of place, his surgeon’s hands holding nothing but his phone and car keys. No gift. No apology. “You’re home,” he said, his tone suggesting mild surprise rather than guilt. He set his keys in the crystal dish beside mine, the soft clink echoing between us. “I found this.” I held up the scarf, watching his face for any flicker of recognition or remorse. “And there’s perfume in the air. Perfume that isn’t mine.” His expression remained impassive, but something hardened in his eyes. “What exactly are you implying, Evelyn?” “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking why Jamie Collins’s scarf is in our living room, and why our bedroom smells like her perfume.” My voice was steadier than I expected, fueled by three years of swallowed hurt. Chris sighed—the patronizing sound he reserved for patients who questioned his medical judgment. “That’s Jamie’s? She must have left it when the surgical team met here last week for the quarterly planning session. You were at your mother’s charity event, remember?” I hadn’t known about any meeting in our home. “And the photos of you bringing her to the ER last night? During our anniversary dinner?” The words scraped my throat on their way out. His face softened into something resembling concern, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She collapsed after her shift. What was I supposed to do, Evelyn? Let her suffer because we had dinner plans?” “You could have called.” “I was busy saving someone who needed me.” He stepped closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. They felt heavy, not comforting. “Honestly, this jealousy isn’t like you. Jamie is my resident, nothing more. Perhaps you should talk to someone about these… insecurities.” The suggestion that I needed therapy for noticing the obvious made something cold settle in my stomach. I stepped back, his hands falling away. “I waited for two hours,” I said quietly. “And I’m sorry about that.” He wasn’t. “But this paranoia needs to stop. It’s beneath you, and frankly, it’s beneath us.” Us. As if we were still a team. As if there had ever been an “us” beyond the merger of our family names and bank accounts. I watched him walk away, disappearing into his study without another glance at the scarf still dangling from my fingers. — The Boston General Foundation Gala glittered with wealth and ambition. Crystal chandeliers cast diamond-like reflections across the ballroom as Boston’s elite mingled, champagne flutes in hand. At our table near the stage, I sat alone while Chris worked the room, his charismatic laugh carrying across the space. “Mrs. Montgomery, you look absolutely stunning tonight,” Dr. Weiss’s wife said, settling into the chair beside me. Her eyes held the same pity I’d seen in the maître d’s. I smiled politely, smoothing the silk of my emerald gown. “Thank you. And please, call me Evelyn.” Chris finally returned to our table just as the hospital director took the stage to introduce him. He squeezed my shoulder briefly—a public display of affection for watching eyes—before straightening his bow tie. “And now, I’m pleased to introduce our Chief of Surgery, the visionary behind Boston General’s upcoming West Wing expansion, Dr. Christopher Montgomery.” Applause rippled through the room as Chris ascended the steps to the podium, his smile dazzling under the spotlights. I clapped mechanically, the diamond wedding band on my finger catching the light. “Thank you all for your continued support of Boston General,” Chris began, his voice commanding the room. “Tonight’s contributions will—” A commotion from the side of the stage interrupted him. Jamie Collins, resplendent in a form-fitting silver dress, swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she called out, voice breathy and weak. “I feel faint…” Without hesitation—without even a glance in my direction—Chris abandoned his speech mid-sentence, rushing to her side. The microphone picked up his concerned murmur: “I’ve got you, Jamie.” Every eye in the ballroom shifted from them to me, watching for my reaction as my husband guided his resident to a chair, kneeling beside her with tender attention. I remained perfectly still, my face a practiced mask of composure while something inside me calcified into resolve. This would be the last time Christopher Montgomery made me a spectacle of pity. I sat across from Marcus in his office, the morning light filtering through the blinds and casting striped shadows across his polished desk. His eyes—kind but shrewd—studied me as I slid the folder of documents toward him. “You’re certain about this?” he asked, his voice steady and calm as always. “I’ve never been more certain of anything,” I replied, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. Three days had passed since the gala, since Jamie’s theatrical swoon and Chris’s reflexive abandonment of his speech to rush to her side. Three days of silent meals and separate bedrooms. Marcus nodded, opening the folder to review the withdrawal forms I’d already filled out. “The West Wing expansion is his pet project,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Without your family’s backing, it stalls immediately.” “I know.” A small smile played at my lips. “That’s rather the point.” He met my gaze, his expression professional but with an undercurrent of approval. “I’ll process these personally. The first transfers should complete by tomorrow.” I picked up the Mont Blanc pen he offered, feeling its weight in my hand. Each signature felt like reclaiming a piece of myself—Parker funds that had been funneled into Montgomery dreams without so much as a consultation. One elegant stroke after another, I signed my maiden name. Evelyn Parker. Not Montgomery. Parker. “There will be questions,” Marcus warned gently. “From the board, from Chris.” “Let there be,” I replied, capping the pen with a satisfying click. — The text message came three days later from Olivia Chen, a nurse I’d always exchanged pleasantries with during hospital functions. We weren’t close, but there had always been a quiet respect between us. *I think you should see this. I’m sorry.* Attached was a screenshot of what appeared to be an accidental group text Jamie had sent to several hospital staff members before quickly deleting it. But not quickly enough. The image showed Chris, unmistakably Chris, shirtless in what was clearly not our bed. The timestamp: 2:17 AM last night. While I’d been sleeping alone in our penthouse, believing he was working a late shift. I stared at my phone, waiting for the tidal wave of pain to hit. Instead, I felt an odd sense of validation. Proof. Finally, irrefutable proof that I wasn’t paranoid, wasn’t imagining things, wasn’t—as Chris had suggested—in need of therapy for my “insecurities.” *Thank you, Olivia,* I typed back, my fingers steady. Her response came quickly: *Are you okay?* I considered the question, truly considered it. Was I okay? No. But I would be. *I will be,* I replied honestly. — The doorman called up just after midnight. “Mrs. Montgomery, there’s a courier with a delivery for you. He insists it’s urgent.” “Send him up, please, Thomas.” Minutes later, I signed for a manila envelope with no return address. The courier—a young man with tired eyes—nodded respectfully before disappearing back toward the elevator. Inside the envelope: eight high-quality photographs. Chris and Jamie at an intimate restaurant in Cambridge, his hand covering hers on the table. Chris and Jamie entering a hotel that wasn’t Boston General. Chris kissing Jamie against her car in a darkened parking garage, his wedding ring clearly visible on the hand cupping her face. I spread the photos across our dining table, studying each one methodically, as if they were evidence in a case I was building. Which, in a way, they were. My laptop hummed to life as I created a new, encrypted folder. I scanned each photograph, saved it, and labeled it with the date visible on the timestamp. Then I gathered the physical copies, returned them to the envelope, and locked them in my personal safe—the one Chris didn’t have the combination to. Someone was watching them. Someone wanted me to know. As I closed my laptop, my phone lit up with a text from Chris: *Surgery running late. Don’t wait up.* I smiled to myself, a cold, determined smile that would have surprised anyone who thought they knew Evelyn Parker-Montgomery. *No,* I texted back. *I won’t wait.*

I once thought Frank Tucker was the love of my life. Convincing my family to accept our extravagant wedding was a significant challenge. My parents even planned to launch a billion-dollar True Love Jewelry line on our wedding day. But just a week before the ceremony, Frank dropped a bombshell, insisting he needed to marry Celeste Armstrong first to fulfill a promise to her late mother, his first love. “For Celeste’s sake, everything else can be put aside,” he said impatiently. “If money is your concern, why don’t you just find someone else to marry?” It dawned on me then that in his world, both I and my career were always secondary to his romanticized vision of Celeste. Resolute, I turned around and called my family, “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” On the day I went to try on wedding dresses, I waited a long time outside Autumn Saunders’ company before she lazily descended the stairs. As soon as we got into the car, she tossed me a necklace. “Celeste wanted me to give this to you. She felt awkward at the funeral yesterday because of you. Maybe you should find some time to apologize.” The necklace was obviously a promotional gift; I had seen it in Frank’s online shopping cart days ago. I replied indifferently, “I don’t want it.” Frank frowned. “Why are you upset now? You embarrassed her by stating I’m not her fiancé at the funeral, and she didn’t even hold a grudge. She even thought to send you a gift, and you’re being ungrateful?” The Frank who once stood by me was gone; now he cherished someone else. Frustrated, he opened the car window. After a long silence, seeing no sign of appeasement from me, he finally relented, “Fine, I’m accompanying you to the bridal fitting today, so let’s not argue.” It was the first time all year he had conceded anything. At the bridal shop, the staff greeted us warmly: “Mr. Tucker, Miss Hicks, your twenty custom wedding gowns and suits are ready.” But Frank’s mind was elsewhere; his eyes were glued to his phone, urgency evident on his face. Catching my look, he quickly put his phone away and, with a trace of apology, said, “Addison, something’s come up with Celeste. I need to leave right away. Try on the dresses yourself and pick a suit for me as well. I trust your judgment.” With that, he hurriedly hailed a cab, leaving me alone. The staff approached, tentatively asking, “Miss Hicks, would you like to personally choose the suit?” I pulled my gaze back from the door and nodded. Of course, I needed to choose a suit, but it wasn’t for Frank Tucker. After all, the groom had changed. “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” Sam was incredulous, “You’re calling off the wedding?” “No, he wants to marry someone else,” I replied with a bitter smile. I had navigated so many familial hurdles to be with Frank, gaining my parents’ approval and tying the launch of our jewelry line to the wedding day. Now, all efforts seemed in vain. Sam paused for a long time before saying, “That leaves Josiah Hicks. His family has been pressuring him lately, and he’s been seeking a bride.” I frowned. Josiah was my arch-nemesis. On the day of our engagement, he foretold that my dream wedding would crumble, and ironically, here we were. With time running short, I could only say, “Then him. See if he’s interested. If not, I’ll figure something else out.” Sam quickly responded, “No need to ask. He’ll definitely agree.” “What?” Before I could probe further, Sam muttered something and hung up. After selecting wedding dresses, I got into a car to go home, expecting Frank wouldn’t return all night. But as dinnertime approached, there he was. He walked briskly up to me, holding a takeout box. “I went across town to get this for you, late-night snacks from Harry’s.” I looked at the ravioli in front of me. There were three fewer than usual, and one had a bite mark—clearly someone else had eaten it. Half an hour ago, I had seen Celeste post on Instagram, sharing the same food I now held. “My man didn’t forget to grab me a late-night snack. Thanks, love!” I put down my fork, suddenly losing my appetite. “I don’t want to eat. Just toss it out.” Frank looked annoyed but held his tongue and sat next to me to complain. “You have no idea how upset Celeste was today. Her parents went over to her house, berating her for having no money and no decent dowry. She was so upset she cried.” “Celeste just returned from abroad and doesn’t have much money. I thought your dowry could help her out.” His presumptive tone made my stomach churn. I looked at him with a sardonic smile, “So it’s my job to provide the dowry for your wife?” No wonder Celeste Armstrong would go to such insane lengths, even digging up her own mother’s grave just to frame me. It turns out her supposed death was all a charade. I texted Frank Tucker: “Celeste’s mom isn’t dead. Check the email I sent you for the truth.” Whether he reads it or not is no longer my concern. Josiah Hicks personally booked my flight for three days later. When Frank came back, he found me packing. Half of my clothes were strewn about; some were earmarked for New York. “Why are you packing?” Frank asked, his tone tinged with suspicion. “I’m just relocating,” I replied casually. He paused for a moment, not grasping the reality, and continued, “The company is in New York. We’ll need to settle there after the wedding, so it’s good to get a head start.” Finishing his statement, he shot me an intense look. “You should apologize about Celeste’s mom soon. Don’t put me in a tough spot—how about doing it on the wedding day?” With that, he tossed his phone onto the table and went off to find his ID; he and Celeste were getting their marriage license today. He didn’t return until late that night. When I checked my phone, there was already a message from Celeste. She’d sent a picture of her and Frank in matching outfits, lying side by side in bed. I shut my eyes, trying to suppress the ache in my heart. I suppressed the surge of emotions and switched off the phone. All night, it buzzed every hour with Celeste sending videos of her and Frank, each one more mocking than the last. The next morning, Josiah messaged me. “Addison, the flowers have bloomed. You can return whenever you wish.” Attached was a photo of two marriage licenses next to a vibrant red rose. I hadn’t expected him to keep the plant I’d given him so long ago. A strange emotion bubbled up inside me. I replied with a simple, “Okay.” As I set my phone aside and began organizing my work files, Frank showed up again, packing his everyday essentials. “I’ll be staying with Celeste for a few days to help with wedding preparations. She’s swamped, handling it all by herself. Make sure you’re prompt for the wedding the day after tomorrow.” After talking, he launched into a long explanation, insisting he was just going to assist and asking me not to cause any trouble. “I won’t be attending,” I said, my gaze lowered. After last night, any lingering affection I had for him had evaporated entirely. Seeing my composed demeanor, an inexplicable panic swept over Frank. He hesitated. But recalling Celeste’s insistent pleading, he relaxed his grip on the phone. How could Addison, who loved him so deeply, ever let something go off track? Feeling assured, he breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from my view without further argument. Watching his back as he left, I dialed a number. That evening, a helicopter landed in the town square. A man approached me. “Ms. Hicks, your helicopter is ready. It will transport you safely to New York in half an hour.” I nodded, handing him an envelope. “Deliver this to the wedding tomorrow. It’s my wedding gift to the bride and groom.”

I spent a decade by Khalil’s side, helping him build his empire and rule the underworld. Then, out of nowhere, he married someone else behind my back. I overheard him joking with his most trusted men, “Make sure Harlow never finds out about my wife, or she’ll blow up, and we won’t be able to calm things down.” For ten years, I was his rock through every storm. He promised that once he left the life of crime, he’d make a home for us together. But now, as he turns his life around and goes legit, those promises have vanished into thin air. I didn’t raise hell or confront him this time. Instead, I found myself in the company of someone new—a devoted companion—and decided to give him a chance. Standing outside Khalil’s office, I listened to the laughter resonating from the lounge down the hall—Khalil and his closest confidants, bantering away. Yahya’s voice rang out teasingly, “Boss, did your wife ring up again yesterday?” A deep, magnetic laugh followed—Khalil’s voice, “She’s constantly on edge, worried some temptress will steal me away.” His tone turned serious, “You are my most trusted allies. Keep my wife a secret from Harlow.” It felt like a punch to the gut. Bjorn’s hesitant voice piped up, “What if Harlow finds out? She’s stuck by you, risking it all for ten years.” Khalil’s voice turned frosty, “Ten years, big deal.” “Great partner, sure, but marriage? Not a good match.” “The company’s evolving. I need a wife who can open doors to high society, not someone tangled in old battles.” “Besides, she can’t have kids anymore. What would become of my legacy? Charity? How laughable.” I stood frozen, ice running through my veins. Memories of that stormy night five years ago hit me like a tidal wave. I was at the hospital for a check-up when Yahya’s call came through, “Harlow! Khalil’s been jumped!” I didn’t wipe off the ultrasound gel. Just threw on my coat and raced there. Khalil was surrounded, his dark suit drenched in blood, left arm hanging limp. The bald leader lunged at his throat with a knife. Instinct took over—I threw myself in front of Khalil, taking the blow. Turning, I blocked another knife aimed at him. Moving an inch would’ve meant his heart pierced. Before I blacked out, I saw Khalil’s eyes, frantic. His voice rang in my ears, “I swear on my life I’ll never betray you…” When I came to in the surgery room, the doctors broke the news: I lost the child and might never conceive again. Khalil sat beside my hospital bed, an IV in his hand, “When this life of battles ends, we’ll get married.” “I’ll tell the world you mean everything to me.” But now, the laughter from down the corridor mocked me awake from my daydream. Those promises and tears seemed to have died with our unborn child in that storm. Khalil’s magnetic voice continued, “Harlow’s got nothing on my wife. Meeting her showed me what a real woman is.” “Soft as water, especially in bed—it’s a whole different experience…” His words slithered into my ears like poison. “Harlow…” He laughed derisively, “She’s like a block of wood, always fighting among men. You’ve seen her wield a knife, right? Tougher than any man, not a hint of femininity.” Khalil took a swig of whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “I regretted sleeping with her from the start.” “Scarred all over, harsh to touch, unlike my wife’s soft skin.” A chorus of crude laughter erupted from the lounge. My stomach churned as I recalled his first touch, fingers tracing the scar on my belly, calling it a badge of battle. Looking back, his gaze might’ve been pride in conquering a fierce woman, not love. Suddenly, Yahya’s laughter stopped, “Boss, you say all that, but if Harlow finds out…” “What? Can’t I speak the truth?” Khalil slammed his glass down, “She’s just a barren hen, thinking I’d marry her?” My teeth chattered. I wanted to walk away, but my legs felt like lead, unable to decide which foot to move first. “Want to hear the real kicker?” Khalil’s voice was lowered, filled with malicious excitement, “She still thinks I’ll marry her. Every time we’re together, she asks, ‘When are we getting married?’ It drives me crazy…” Bjorn chimed in, concern in his voice, “Boss, secrets don’t keep forever. If Harlow finds out, what’s your plan?” Khalil sneered, swirling his glass, the amber liquid catching his steely gaze. “Why rush? I’ve got it all planned.” His voice dropped, “Next Wednesday’s the final handover with the Phoenix gang; I’m sending Harlow.” Yahya sat up straight, “Boss, Phoenix wants her gone; they hold a grudge…” “Moreover, they’re plotting something for the handover; I’m worried about Harlow’s safety…” Khalil interrupted, smiling cruelly, “Let her step on the mine.” “Phoenix wants her gone, I’ll give them the chance. When she’s in danger, I’ll swoop in to save her, a repayment for saving me.” “Then, I’ll announce my marriage. I doubt she’ll dare trouble my wife again.” I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. Bjorn hesitated, “But she’s been with you for so long, what if…” Khalil lit a cigarette, his face hidden by smoke, “I won’t let gratitude bind me. I just want to be good to my wife now!” He blew out a smoke ring, casually adding, “Next Wednesday, keep quiet. I’m settling this score with her, ending the marriage talk.” I backed away, my legs heavy like lead. The man I shielded with my life now prepared to throw me to the wolves. The fire that burned in me for ten years suddenly went out. I accidentally knocked over a vase in the corridor. The shattering porcelain halted the laughter from the lounge. Khalil bellowed, “Who’s there?” I ducked into the emergency stairwell, ascending one flight before slipping into the elevator. Ten years of whispers and vows through crisis had become the roadblocks in his quest for happiness. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a message from Khalil, “Harlow, where are you? Did you stop by the office today?” With trembling fingers, I almost told him I’d been there, that I’d heard it all. But I hesitated, deleting what I’d written, typing instead, “I don’t want repayment of that empty gratitude. I’m leaving.” Deleted again. In the end, I sent nothing. I stuffed my phone back in my bag and wiped my tears, feeling numb. If you want us to settle the score, I’ll grant your wish. Khalil returned three hours later. “Harlow?” His voice was deliberately gentle, probing. I sat blankly in the living room, but as I turned, a smile was already on my face. “You’re back? I made your favorite chicken soup with sweet potatoes in the kitchen.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “Where were you this afternoon? You didn’t answer any of my messages.” I moved toward the storage cabinet, catching a glimpse of his tense jawline in the reflection of the glass door. “I went to pick up your birthday gift. Once I got back, I got busy with dinner and forgot to reply.” When I revealed the Rolex watch from its box, I saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. I fastened the watch onto his wrist. “Next Thursday is Thanksgiving, and it’s also the day you retire. It’s a big double celebration.” His voice was a bit hoarse. “Did you spend all your savings on this watch?” I secured the clasp. “Sincerity can’t be measured in money, Khalil.” I suddenly looked up, meeting his gaze directly. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” The air grew thick with tension. Emotions swirled in his eyes—partially moved, partially conflicted. Just when I thought he might say something, the phone rang, breaking the moment. All the unspoken words faded away with the ringing, and the light in my eyes slowly dimmed. He answered quickly, masking the emotions that had just surfaced. I could only hear a woman’s voice on the other end, asking him when he’d be home, promising a surprise for the evening. His expression brightened instantly, filled with anticipation. He hung up quickly and turned to me, “Something’s come up with the crew. I need to handle it. I’ll make it up to you later.” He hurried out, leaving only the aftershocks of a closing door. I stood frozen at the entrance, feeling my entire body grow rigid. Soon, it was time to meet with Judah Franklin’s crew. Khalil’s call came through beforehand, “Harlow, this is the last deal. I don’t trust anyone else; only you.” I stood by the large window, gazing at the overcast sky outside, a faint, forlorn smile stretching across my lips. “Alright.” I replied softly, my voice steady, “I’ll be there on time.” Whether it was to repay a debt or step into the unknown, I was ready. 2 a.m., international waters. Judah’s ship approached slowly. The deck was crowded with people, a mass of shadows under the moonlight, knives flashing menacingly in the night. Judah stood at the bow, grinning widely, “Miss Thompson, long time no see.” I nodded slightly, signaling my men to bring the cargo onto the deck. “Inspect the goods.” Judah ordered his men to check the shipment, but as soon as the cover was lifted, he shouted, “Open fire!” Bang! Almost simultaneously, Judah’s crew attacked from all sides! “Miss Thompson! We’ve been ambushed!” My men shouted in panic, but Khalil had sent too few people; we were quickly cornered! Bullets whizzed past as I dodged a fatal shot, raising my hand to take down an oncoming enemy. But there were too many, and we were pushed back. “Retreat!” I yelled, “Everyone to the speedboats!” My men quickly retreated while I covered them, running out of ammunition fast. Just as I was about to jump onto a boat, a bullet pierced my shoulder from behind! Pain exploded instantly as I staggered and turned back, only to see Nikolai, one of Khalil’s men, slowly lowering his weapon, his eyes cold. I lost my balance, plunged into the sea, and the cold water swallowed me whole. Staring up at the ocean surface, I saw in the distance Khalil’s ship speeding toward me. He finally came. To play out his tale of settling scores. But I no longer needed him.

I sat in the plush leather chair of Sean’s law office, my body still aching from the miscarriage three days ago. The cramping hadn’t stopped completely. Neither had the bleeding. The doctor had advised bed rest, but Sean’s lawyer had made it clear—today was non-negotiable. “Mrs. Harrington, please sign here… and here.” The lawyer’s voice was clinically detached as he slid the divorce papers across the polished mahogany table. His finger tapped impatiently at each yellow tab. I couldn’t look at Sean. In the ten years we’d been married, I’d memorized every expression that crossed his face. Today, I couldn’t bear to see which one he wore—contempt, perhaps, or worse, nothing at all. Instead, my gaze drifted to Natalie Benson, perched beside him like a bird of prey. Her red-lacquered nails rested possessively on his forearm, her diamond bracelet catching the light. My bracelet. The one Sean had given me on our fifth anniversary. “June.” Sean’s voice finally broke the silence. Cold. Distant. A stranger’s voice. “The sooner you sign, the sooner we can all move on.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “I should remind you, Mrs. Harrington, that should you choose not to sign today, Mr. Harrington is prepared to contest any custody arrangements for future children and—” “Future children?” The words escaped me before I could stop them. My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, still tender from the loss. “I just lost our baby.” Natalie’s lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “Well, that simplifies things, doesn’t it?” Sean didn’t even flinch at her cruelty. He just stared at his watch, as if my grief were an inconvenience, a meeting running overtime. “Sign the papers, June,” he said flatly. “Or you’ll leave with nothing.” My hands trembled as I picked up the pen. Each signature felt like another piece of myself being carved away. With the final stroke, ten years of marriage—of loving Sean, of building a life with him, of sacrificing everything I’d ever wanted—was reduced to a stack of legal documents. The drive back to our apartment—no, Sean’s apartment now—was a blur of rain-slicked streets and blurry traffic lights. My chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been scooped out. When I reached the door, my key still worked. Small mercies. But inside, everything had changed. The closet in our bedroom stood open, emptied of my clothes. The bookshelves had been purged of my novels and textbooks. Even the photographs had been removed from their frames, leaving ghostly rectangles on the walls where our memories had once hung. In the living room, cardboard boxes were stacked neatly, labeled in a handwriting I didn’t recognize. “June’s Things.” “Kitchen—June’s.” “Miscellaneous.” A note sat on the kitchen counter, Sean’s precise handwriting unmistakable: *June, The movers will collect these boxes tomorrow. You have until noon to vacate the premises. Your access to our joint accounts has been temporarily suspended pending the finalization of our divorce. —Sean* No goodbye. No acknowledgment of our decade together. Just logistics. A soft knock at the door startled me. When I opened it, Mrs. Chen from across the hall stood there, her kind face creased with concern. “I saw the movers earlier,” she said softly. “They left these by the door.” She held out a pair of worn ballet flats—my favorite shoes for padding around the apartment on Sunday mornings. That night, I sat on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles pressing against my legs. The bottle of sleeping pills Sean had gotten prescribed for his insomnia sat in my palm. How many would it take? Would it hurt? “June?” The voice was so achingly familiar that for a moment, I thought I’d imagined it. But when I looked up, he was there in the doorway—Sean. Not the Sean who had sat across from me in that sterile law office, but Sean as he had been when we first met. Eighteen years old, with warm eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Hair slightly too long, falling across his forehead in that way that had made my heart stumble the first time I saw him. “Sean?” My voice cracked. He knelt beside me, and when his hand touched mine, it was warm but somehow not quite solid—like touching sunlight through a window. “What are you doing?” he asked gently, his eyes fixed on the pill bottle in my hand. Morning came with cruel persistence. I hadn’t slept—not really. The pills remained uncapped beside me, a temptation I’d resisted only because of him. Because of young Sean, whose impossible presence had somehow anchored me through the darkest hours. I dragged myself to the bus stop, my belongings stuffed into a single suitcase. Mrs. Chen had offered her couch, but pride—the last thing I owned that Sean couldn’t take—made me refuse. The bus lurched forward, and I clutched my phone, scrolling through credit card applications. Each rejection notification felt like another door slamming shut. *Insufficient credit history. Application denied. Unable to verify income.* ‘They’re making a mistake,’ came a soft voice beside me. I looked up to find young Sean sitting there, his eyes warm with concern. In the harsh morning light, he seemed more substantial than he had in the bathroom darkness, yet still somehow ethereal—like a photograph coming to life. ‘What are you?’ I whispered, earning a concerned glance from an elderly woman across the aisle. He smiled that crooked smile I’d fallen for a lifetime ago. ‘I’m here because you need me to be.’ His hand covered mine as another rejection flashed across my screen. Though I couldn’t truly feel his touch, something warm spread through my fingers. I bit my lip hard, fighting back tears that threatened to humiliate me further in this bus full of strangers. ‘You’ll figure this out,’ he said quietly. ‘You always do.’ The bus jolted to a stop, and when I looked again, the seat beside me was empty. — ‘You came!’ Sarah Evans exclaimed, her surprise poorly concealed as she air-kissed my cheeks at the law firm’s holiday party entrance. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d… well, you know.’ I smoothed down the borrowed dress—a castoff from Mrs. Chen’s daughter. Too tight across the chest, too loose at the waist, but it was black and unremarkable. Perfect for disappearing. ‘I appreciate the invitation,’ I lied, scanning the room for Sean. This was madness, coming here. But I needed to speak with him about the accounts. About the future. About anything that might give me closure. The party hummed with expensive conversation and tinkling crystal. I sipped champagne that tasted like ashes, nodding at former friends who suddenly found the appetizer table fascinating when they spotted me. David Miller, the managing partner, tapped his glass for attention. ‘If I could have everyone’s moment, please! We have something special to celebrate tonight.’ The crowd parted, and there they were—Sean and Natalie, her arm possessively wound through his. She wore red, vibrant as a fresh wound against the sea of conservative black and navy suits. ‘To new beginnings,’ David continued, raising his glass. ‘And to the future Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!’ The room erupted in applause. My champagne glass froze halfway to my lips. ‘And because a picture is worth a thousand words,’ Natalie’s voice cut through the congratulations, ‘we’ve prepared a little slideshow of our journey.’ The lights dimmed. The projector flickered to life on the wall behind them. And there I was—pale, hollow-eyed, curled in a hospital bed. The date stamp showed three days ago. My miscarriage. My private agony, projected six feet tall for everyone to see. ‘Oops,’ Natalie giggled, feigning embarrassment as gasps rippled through the crowd. ‘Wrong folder!’ The room spun. Faces blurred into masks of horror and morbid fascination. I stumbled backward, knocking into a waiter, sending a tray of glasses crashing to the floor. The shattering sound broke whatever spell had frozen me in place. I fled. — ‘Sean!’ I called out, my voice echoing in the parking garage beneath his firm the next morning. He was walking toward his car, briefcase in hand. He turned slowly, his face a perfect mask of indifference. ‘June. You shouldn’t be here.’ ‘The accounts,’ I said, my breath forming small clouds in the December air. ‘They’re empty. All of them.’ ‘Yes.’ No explanation. No apology. ‘How am I supposed to—’ ‘You should check your credit report,’ he interrupted coolly. ‘The mortgage, the car loans, your student debt—they’re all in your name now.’ The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. ‘You can’t do that.’ ‘It’s already done.’ He checked his watch. ‘Anything else?’ A sleek black limousine pulled up behind him, its tinted window rolling down to reveal Natalie’s smirking face. ‘Sean,’ I whispered, searching for any flicker of the man I’d married. ‘Why?’ He turned away without answering, sliding into the limo beside her. As they pulled away, I caught a final glimpse of Natalie’s triumphant smile through the darkened glass. Standing alone in the cold garage, I realized with sudden clarity that the man I’d loved was truly gone. And in his place was someone I no longer recognized—someone capable of destroying me without a second thought. I stared at the ceiling of Chris’s spare bedroom, watching the shadows from passing cars slide across the cracked plaster. The mattress smelled faintly of mothballs and something else—a lingering scent of my brother’s military life, perhaps. After the parking garage confrontation with Sean, I’d had nowhere else to go. My credit cards were maxed out, my accounts emptied, and my name was now attached to debts I hadn’t even known existed. “You can stay as long as you need,” Chris had said when I showed up at his door, suitcase in hand, eyes swollen from crying. His apartment was small—a one-bedroom converted to two by adding a wall that didn’t quite reach the ceiling—but it was clean and warm. Military precision evident in the perfectly made bed, the precisely aligned shoes by the door. I rolled onto my side, wincing at the hollow ache that still lingered in my abdomen. The physical reminder of everything I’d lost. “Hey, you up?” Chris’s voice came softly through the thin door. When I didn’t answer, he pushed it open anyway, his wheelchair barely fitting through the narrow frame. “Brought you something.” He wheeled over to the bed and handed me a battered leather journal. The cover was worn smooth at the corners, the pages yellowed with age. “What’s this?” I asked, running my fingers over the soft leather. “My therapist gave it to me when I came back from Afghanistan. Said writing down the next steps, no matter how small, helped make the impossible seem possible.” His eyes, so like mine, held no pity—just quiet understanding. “Thought you might need it more than I do now.” I clutched the journal to my chest, tears threatening again. “I don’t know what the next steps even are, Chris.” He gestured to the wall behind me, where his service medals hung in a simple frame. “When they first put me in this chair, I couldn’t see past the next hour, let alone the next day. But you keep going. One step, then another.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’ll rebuild, June. And I’ll help you.” — The nonprofit where I’d worked before my marriage to Sean was housed in a converted Victorian in Capitol Hill. I’d spent three happy years there before leaving to support Sean’s career move to New York. Now, back in Seattle with nothing but desperation, I hoped they might remember me fondly. “June Parker!” Maria Sanchez exclaimed when I walked into her office. “Or is it Harrington now?” “Parker,” I said firmly. “It’s Parker again.” Maria’s warm brown eyes softened with understanding. She’d been my supervisor years ago, and time had added silver to her dark hair but hadn’t diminished her kind smile. “Well, Ms. Parker, your timing is impeccable. We just got funding for a new community outreach position. The pay isn’t spectacular, but—” “I’ll take it,” I interrupted, then flushed. “I mean, I’d like to apply. If that’s possible.” She laughed. “Let’s start with an interview, at least. How’s tomorrow?” I left feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The next day, I wore my only remaining professional outfit—a navy skirt suit I’d managed to grab before the movers came—and answered Maria’s questions with growing confidence. By the end, her smile told me everything I needed to know. “We’ll be in touch very soon,” she promised, walking me to the door. Three days later, a terse email arrived: *Dear Ms. Parker,* *Thank you for your interest in our Community Outreach Coordinator position. After careful consideration, we have decided to pursue other candidates whose qualifications better align with our current needs.* *We wish you the best in your future endeavors.* I stared at my phone in disbelief. The interview had gone perfectly. Maria had all but offered me the job on the spot. Before I could stop myself, I was dialing her number. “June,” Maria answered, her voice tight. “I was hoping you’d call.” “What happened?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. A long pause. Then: “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… Natalie Benson called our executive director yesterday. Sean’s firm is our biggest donor, and she made it clear that if we hired you, they would withdraw their support.” The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. “She did what?” “I’m so sorry, June. We can’t lose that funding—we’d have to close our doors.” After we hung up, I sat on Chris’s fire escape, watching the sun sink behind the Seattle skyline. The metal was cold through my thin pants, but I barely noticed. First my marriage, then my home, my financial security, and now even the chance to work—all systematically stripped away. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I turned to find young Sean sitting beside me, his legs dangling over the edge of the fire escape. In the fading light, he looked almost solid. “Do you remember our first date?” he asked, his eyes reflecting the deepening twilight. “The coffee shop near campus,” I whispered. “You spilled your latte all over my economics textbook.” He smiled, and suddenly I wasn’t on the fire escape anymore but sitting in that crowded university café, watching eighteen-year-old Sean frantically blot at my ruined book with napkins, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he was promising, his eyes—so warm then, so full of life—meeting mine across the table. The memory shifted, and we were dancing in the spring rain on the empty quad, my sundress plastered to my skin, his laughter echoing across the deserted campus. Then we were lying on a blanket in the darkness outside Madison, watching the Perseid meteor shower streak across the summer sky. “Someday,” he whispered, taking my hand, “I’m going to give you the world, June Parker.” The memories faded, leaving me alone on the cold fire escape, tears streaming down my face. The contrast between those cherished moments and my current reality was almost too painful to bear. “Why are you showing me this?” I asked the empty air where young Sean had been. But there was no answer, only the distant sound of traffic and the hollow ache of everything I’d lost.

We got married less than two weeks after meeting through a blind date. For the first three months after the wedding, we slept in separate rooms. Then one night, he knocked on my door. His voice was husky: “It’s time we consummate this marriage.” Lucas and I had just gotten our marriage license and were driving home. Halfway there, the car suddenly stopped. Lucas unbuckled his seatbelt and said, “Wait here, I’m going to buy something.” “Buy what? Are you feeling sick?” “No, just some essentials.” Left alone in the car, I relaxed my tense nerves. It felt surreal – we were really married now. Lucas and I had met through a blind date set up by my aunt. She had enthusiastically told me: “He’s handsome, from a good family. His parents are both high-ranking government officials.” “He also works for the government, as a detective…” If I didn’t agree, I knew my other aunts would all come knocking with more suggestions. So I reluctantly nodded. When we met, he was just as my aunt described – handsome, nearly 6’2″ tall, with piercing eyes like a hawk. But when he furrowed his brow, he looked fierce and serious. I didn’t dare look up at him. The date didn’t last long, with barely any conversation before we parted ways. I thought that was the end of it, but three days later my aunt called to say he wanted to meet again. I frowned, not really wanting to go. But thinking of Lucas’s intimidating face, I was afraid to refuse in case he showed up at my door. I decided to meet once more to clearly explain my feelings. He suggested meeting at the movie theater. When I arrived, Lucas was already there. He wore a khaki trench coat over a white shirt, with long straight legs ending in black leather shoes. He had a bit of an English gentleman vibe. He seemed less fierce than last time. While waiting in line for tickets, he leaned down close to me. I was suddenly enveloped by the faint scent of his body wash. “Do you want popcorn and soda?” I shook my head, just wanting to get the movie over with. During the film, Lucas was very attentive. He didn’t say anything unnecessary or make any suspicious moves. He was quite well-behaved. As the movie neared its end, I breathed a sigh of relief. When we came out, it had started pouring rain outside with thunder and lightning. The wind carried moisture in the air. Lucas’s car was parked across the street, still some distance away. I hadn’t expected it to rain tonight, so I was going to get wet either way. I decided to just put my bag over my head and make a run for it. Suddenly my wrist was grabbed firmly, almost painfully tight. Lucas quickly loosened his grip when he realized. “Sorry.” He took off his coat: “Use this over your head.” “Let’s go together.” Lucas was tall, so his coat was big enough to cover us both. “Move in closer.” We were very close, our skin occasionally brushing. When my arm accidentally touched his hot chest I quickly pulled it back. Half of Lucas’s body got soaked. His wet hair clung to his forehead, looking a bit messy. “Are you cold?” I shook my head. “You should dry off quickly. Be careful not to catch a cold tomorrow.” The car arrived home as the rain gradually stopped. I unbuckled my seatbelt and forced a faint smile: “Thanks for today. Go take a hot shower when you get home to ward off the chill.” I got out of the car, and the door on the other side opened too. “Did you need something else?” “I’m free this weekend. Want to grab dinner together?” I was about to refuse, but seeing Lucas’s sharp eyes, I swallowed my words. I nodded in agreement. Before our weekend dinner plans, Lucas and I unexpectedly met again due to an incident where a student’s parent violently attacked a teacher. It happened suddenly – I was walking and replying to a message when an angry-looking parent rushed out wielding a stick. “Are you Ms. Wilson?” I nodded, not fully processing what was happening. The stick came down hard on my shoulder. “My child is in the hospital with a concussion because of you…” I let out a muffled cry and collapsed. I tried to speak but my voice was stuck in my throat. I was confused – we always treated those kids like precious treasures, never hitting or scolding them. How could I have beaten a student? The parent was in a rage, about to bring the stick down on my stomach when Lucas appeared and forcefully kicked him away. Lucas was in his police uniform, his face dark with anger. The parent was taken to the police station while Lucas brought me to the hospital. My right shoulder was injured, with bruising and swelling over a large area. “It’s not too serious. I’ll apply some medicine and give you some ointment to use at home daily.” Lucas frowned, his expression grim. The nurse who had been sneaking glances at Lucas earlier now didn’t dare make a sound, her hands shaking as she applied the medicine. “Gentle–” The nurse’s hands were trembling like a sieve. I looked up. Lucas’s expression wasn’t much better, looking quite fierce. I felt helpless. “Why don’t you wait outside?” He gave me a cool look, nodded, and turned to leave, closing the door behind him. The school principal called to express concern. “Principal, this counts as a work injury right? I can’t even lift my arm to write now.” “Take a few days off to rest at home. Come back when you’re healed…” While I felt wronged by the whole incident, hearing I could take a few days off work lifted my mood considerably. In the hallway, Lucas stood ramrod straight with his arms crossed over his chest, thin lips pressed tightly together. He drew many glances, but his intimidating aura kept people from approaching. “Thank you for today. How did you show up so quickly?” “I happened to be in the area on business.” That night as I was about to sleep, my phone screen lit up. Lucas had sent a message: “The investigation results are in. The injured child just started middle school and was struggling academically. His family is also poor. A teacher deliberately targeted him, punishing him harshly in class for not completing homework. After school, the teacher called him to the office and warned him not to tell anyone. When the parent got home from work, he found the child unconscious and took him to the hospital where they discovered a concussion and other injuries. When questioned about who did it, the student made up a teacher surnamed Wilson…” I read it, feeling conflicted. Teachers’ ethics really needed improvement. I glanced at the time and sent a message back: “You’re still not off work?” “I am. About to shower.” “…” “Rest well. Good night.” “Good night.” As I got to know Lucas better, I found him to be very polite and gentlemanly in his speech and manners, aside from his intimidating demeanor. I thought marriage to someone like him would probably be quite nice. So when Lucas called two weeks later to ask if I wanted to get married, I didn’t hesitate long before agreeing. Lucas tossed a large cardboard box labeled “health products” into the backseat. I didn’t think much of it. There was also a bag of fresh fruit on top which he handed to me. I opened it to find many plump, glistening lychees. I peeled one and popped it in my mouth. As I bit down, the sweet juices burst forth, filling my mouth with a delicious aroma. My mood instantly lightened. Once I started eating them I couldn’t stop, devouring over a dozen in one go. I sighed contentedly at how sweet the lychees were, my fondness for Lucas growing even more. Our new home was a large apartment, simply but elegantly furnished with high-quality pieces. Lucas carried a box into the bedroom. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and I could faintly make out the deep red bedspread contrasting starkly against the white walls. My hazy state of mind suddenly cleared as I realized – tonight would be our wedding night. The thought made my heart race. I felt awkward and flushed bright red. Before this, my only “relationships” had been with fictional characters. I’d never even held hands with a guy in real life. Lucas emerged from the bedroom and glanced at me, furrowing his brow. “Not feeling well?” I shook my head, saying sheepishly, “Just a bit hot.” I opened the fridge and asked, “What do you want for lunch?” He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. He looked slightly surprised. “You can cook?” When we’d visited Lucas’s family before, they had a private chef who made amazing Suzhou cuisine. He nodded and smiled. “I learned to cook for myself when studying abroad. Eating out was too expensive.” Lucas cooked in the kitchen while I busied myself organizing clothes in the bedroom. I opened the closet to find dresses hanging neatly, with a row of new lingerie sets below. The tags were still on – clearly pre-prepared. As I bent to take clothes from my suitcase, I noticed the box he’d brought back from the pharmacy earlier was open. The tape had been removed. I peeked inside to find it full of contraceptives in various flavors. My face instantly flushed red. There was also an unopened box on the nightstand, seemingly prepared specially for tonight. It was hot, and I’d started sweating just from moving around a bit. My hair felt sticky and I didn’t want Lucas to see me looking so disheveled. I grabbed some clothes and quickly ducked into the bathroom to shower. When I came out feeling fresh, Lucas was just coming out of the kitchen, a delicious aroma wafting into the living room. His eyes lingered on me for a moment before quickly looking away. “You showered?” “Yeah, it was too hot earlier and I got all sweaty.” The table was set with braised fish in vinegar sauce, stewed pork ribs with yam, tofu and vegetable soup, and a small dish of pickled vegetables. My mouth watered at the sight. I couldn’t help but give Lucas a thumbs up. “Lucas, you’re amazing! This is Michelin star level!” “So good!” I’d planned to act ladylike in front of him, but the food was just too delicious. I couldn’t resist having an extra bowl of rice.

Lucas got an urgent work call in the afternoon and had to leave in a rush. I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling more at ease by myself. I napped until late afternoon and saw a message from him: “Sorry, I won’t be back for dinner tonight.” I went down to the convenience store to buy some snacks, then watched a movie and read for a while. Looking up at the clock, I saw it was nearly 10pm. I frowned and sent him a message, but got no reply. He must be too busy. I spent my wedding night alone. Lucas called to tell me he’d be away for the whole week – there were new developments in the case and he had to drive to another city overnight. I said I understood. Before we married, my parents had warned me about the demands of Lucas’s job and told me to be understanding and accommodating. For the next few days I ate alone, slept alone, played on my phone alone. I almost forgot I was a married woman. One afternoon as I was returning home from work with a bag of oranges, I ran into a neighbor I’d met recently. He was a university professor with a refined air and gentle smile – the type I used to like. “Off work, Ms. Wilson?” I nodded. “Which middle school do you teach at?” I smiled and named my school. “What a coincidence, my nephew goes there. It’s a good school…” We chatted casually as we walked. Just as I was about to close my door, I realized I’d forgotten to buy cold medicine. I’d left the window open last night and woke up with a stuffy nose after kicking off the covers in my sleep. Ryan mentioned he had some cold medicine and kindly brought over two boxes. I felt bad accepting them and gave him a few oranges from my bag. After showering, I went to the living room to get some water and take the medicine. Suddenly I heard the door handle turn. My heart clenched in fear – a woman living alone, hearing someone at the door… The door opened. It was Lucas. He stood in the entryway changing his shoes, which were muddy. His clothes were wrinkled and he looked exhausted. My racing heart calmed. I asked with concern, “Have you eaten?” His voice was hoarse: “I grabbed something on the way.” Lucas stared at me intently. I looked down and realized why. Home alone, I’d thrown on a thin silk nightgown. The loose fabric clung to my curves, threatening to slip off my shoulders. Most importantly, I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I took a deep breath and calmly went to the bedroom. I closed the door and quickly changed into long sleeves and pants. Less comfortable, but I felt safer. When I came out, he was drinking water. Our eyes met and his gaze seemed meaningful. I nervously looked down and sat on the couch hugging a pillow. “I’m going to shower,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Lost in thought, I heard his voice from above me. I mumbled a vague “Mm-hmm.” The shower ran for 8 minutes before the bathroom door opened. Lucas came out wearing a loose white t-shirt and black shorts. His tall, lean body was on display – muscular arms and legs clearly visible. He went to the fridge for water, tilting his head back as he drank. I watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Not going to bed?” His hair was still damp, clinging to his forehead. His dark eyes seemed misty as he stared at me. I felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, my face growing warm. “It’s too early, I want to watch TV for a bit.” Lucas glanced at me, then calmly walked to the entryway and flipped a switch. The lights went out, plunging the living room into darkness. The only illumination came from the TV. The couch dipped as he sat next to me, our legs touching. I was suddenly enveloped by the heady scent of his masculine pheromones. My whole body tensed, palms sweating nervously. I tried to subtly scoot away. He suddenly turned and pulled me into his arms, strong hands gripping my shoulders tightly. I stiffly turned my neck, saying softly, “Maybe we should go rest in the bedroom for a bit.” When he’d first come home, I’d noticed dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his chin. He looked exhausted. Lucas slowly shook his head. “I’ll watch TV with you for a while first.” The living room fell silent again. I’d put on a disaster movie. At first I struggled to focus, but soon got drawn in. As the credits rolled, I heard steady breathing beside me. I gently nudged him. “Lucas–” Before I could finish, he jerked awake and grabbed my arm. In the darkness, his eyes were sharp and cold, brows furrowed fiercely. “Ow–” Lucas paused, then immediately let go. I stared at him wide-eyed, shrinking back. Realizing he’d overreacted, Lucas quickly apologized: “Sorry, it was a reflex.” In his line of work, even the slightest disturbance put him on high alert. Though I understood, I still felt unsettled. If he’d gripped any harder, I wouldn’t be able to hold a piece of chalk tomorrow. Still shaken, I put a hand to my chest. I managed a dry “It’s fine, just be more careful next time.” Seeing his distress, I felt a pang of sympathy. I couldn’t help adding: “Really, don’t worry about it. Go get some sleep.” As I spoke, I yawned and headed to my room. I glanced back to see Lucas hadn’t followed. I lay down and pulled up the covers. The bedroom door opened and I tensed slightly. Lucas came in with a glass of warm milk. “Mom said you need this to sleep well.” I quietly thanked him as I took the glass. Under Lucas’s watchful gaze, I silently drank the entire glass of milk. “I’m turning off the lights.” “Okay.” He reached for the switch, then lay down. I scooted to the very edge of the bed, almost falling off. Moonlight filtered softly through the thin curtains into the bedroom. The room was filled only with the sound of steady breathing. Lucas rolled over– I held my breath. “Does your hand still hurt?” I shook my head, my voice stiff: “It’s…fine now.” After a while, Lucas spoke again, his voice low and husky: “Emma–” “Hmm?” “Move over a bit, you’re about to fall off.” “Oh.” I inched over bit by bit. When the thin silk of my nightgown brushed against his hot skin, my back stiffened and I broke out in a sweat. The room’s intimate atmosphere intensified. I didn’t dare move my legs. Just as I was about to roll over to put some distance between us, Lucas reached out and pulled me into his arms, pressing our bodies tightly together. My face burned hot. He wore a t-shirt, but I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Sweat started to bead on my forehead. This position was uncomfortable. I turned onto my side. Our eyes met– His pitch-black eyes looked calm, but I could feel the heat in his gaze. Feeling like things were about to progress if I didn’t say something, I gently pushed against him and tentatively said: “Um, Lucas, can we sleep in separate rooms? I toss and turn a lot and get up at night. I might disturb your sleep.” There was a long silence beside me. Finally, his calm voice said: “Alright, I’ll sleep in the guest room.” I was taken aback that he agreed so quickly. “Lucas, you’re not upset are you?” He chuckled and shook his head. I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” Lucas’s voice softened: “Emma, I know we rushed into marriage. You still need time to adjust. I respect your choice, but I hope you won’t make me wait too long.” He got up and took fresh bedding from the closet to the guest room. That night I dreamed Lucas and I were rolling from one end of the bed to the other. It felt so real that my face was still flushed when I woke up. I scratched my head, wondering why I’d had such a dream.

Lucas knocked on the door: “Emma, breakfast is ready.” I usually didn’t have much appetite in summer mornings. But seeing the sesame noodles, scallion pancakes, and mung bean porridge on the table made my mouth water. “Lucas, what time did you get up to make all this?” “6am.” I had been sound asleep at that hour. My face reddened slightly in embarrassment. I picked up a spoon, about to add sugar to my porridge. He brought over a glass of water first: “Don’t eat yet, drink some warm water first. It’s good for you.” I looked up at him. Only then did I notice his hair was damp and his face slightly flushed. He wore athletic shorts and a t-shirt, the front soaked with sweat. I could faintly make out the lines of his body under the shirt – all muscle, but lean rather than bulky. “Did you go for a run earlier?” He nodded. “Mm. You eat first, I need a quick shower.” Without the comparison, I wouldn’t have realized how lazy I was. I decided I’d cook dinner tonight. I couldn’t let him do everything. … After work I stopped by the supermarket. I bought some groceries, having asked Lucas’s mom what dishes he liked. Passing the frozen section, I saw ice cream on sale. I tossed six pints into my cart. By the time I got home it was dark outside, and I was alone in the house. I finished cooking, but Lucas still wasn’t back. I glanced at the clock – he should be off work by now. Just as I was about to call him, my phone rang. “Emma, I have to work late tonight. I might get back pretty late.” “Okay, have you eaten?” “I’m busy right now, I’ll grab something from the cafeteria later.” “Get some rest early, don’t wait up for me. Remember to lock the door.” “Captain Lu…” I heard someone calling him on the other end. We only chatted briefly before he hung up. I looked at the steaming beef and lotus root rib soup on the table. I went to the kitchen and packed some food in a thermos… I took a taxi to the police station. When the guard asked who I was, I said I was Lucas’s wife. It felt a bit awkward saying those words – I felt embarrassed. The guard’s eyes lit up when he heard that. He enthusiastically led me inside. When I saw Lucas, he was poring over case files with a cigarette in his mouth, brows furrowed. I squinted slightly – this was the first time I’d seen Lucas smoke. I’d never smelled smoke on him before, so I assumed he didn’t. Lucas looked up and saw me, seeming surprised. He quickly took a final drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. He jogged over, took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. His gaze was deep, hiding a smile. Someone nearby started teasing: “Captain, who’s this?” The guard laughed and said, “It’s the Captain’s wife.” “Captain got married? When are you treating us to the wedding banquet?” “Quick, look – the Captain’s wife brought him dinner!” It was my first time at the police station and I felt nervous. A group of young, energetic officers in training called out greetings, addressing me as “sister-in-law”. It was quite lively. My face turned bright red from the attention. Lucas smiled faintly and said, “Thanks Uncle Li. We just got our marriage license recently, haven’t had the wedding yet. I’ll invite you all when we do.” The guard smiled and left, telling us to spend some time together. Lucas’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “There’s watermelon inside. I picked it up from a farm earlier – it’s very sweet.” I held up the thermos and smiled. “I made a couple dishes and brought them over.” We went inside and Lucas closed the door. He took out a watermelon, wiped it clean, and quickly cut it in half. He stuck a spoon in one half. His dark eyes stared at me intently. Feeling shy under his gaze, I tried to make conversation: “This watermelon is too big, I can’t finish it all.” “If you can’t finish, leave it here. I’ll eat it later.” My face reddened slightly. Growing up, only my dad would eat my leftovers. Now there was a second man willing to do so – it felt strange. “Hurry and eat your dinner. The food won’t taste as good if it gets cold.” “Have you eaten?” I shook my head. I’d been so eager to bring the food over that I hadn’t eaten yet. “I’ll eat when I get home.” Knowing he had a big appetite from all his training, I’d packed extra food. He took out a pair of disposable chopsticks from a drawer and handed them to me. “Let’s eat together.” Lucas put a slice of beef in my bowl. “Eat more, your waist is too thin.” His blunt words startled me and I choked. Lucas’s mom had said he liked spicy food, so I’d added extra Sichuan peppercorns and chili when cooking. Now as I choked, I felt awful. My face turned red as I coughed, breaking out in a sweat. Lucas hurriedly stood up and patted my back to help me breathe. “Have some water.” I gulped down water from the cup he handed me, finally managing to catch my breath. I looked up at Lucas. His brows were deeply furrowed, expression serious. He looked a hundred times fiercer than usual. “You can’t handle spicy food. Don’t use so much chili when cooking.” I felt wronged. “I only made it spicy because you like it.” “And I only choked because you said something shocking.” He fell silent and walked out the door. Did we just have our first fight? I watched his figure disappear into the night through the window, feeling an inexplicable sense of loss. Eight minutes later, Lucas returned carrying a bag filled with various candies. Acting as if nothing had happened, he unwrapped a lemon flavored candy. “Open your mouth.” The sweet and sour candy melted on my tongue, making the spiciness fade. Lucas asked gently, “How is it? Feeling better?” I nodded. “You shouldn’t eat this dinner. I’ll make you something when we get home.” I felt bad for misjudging him earlier. “It’s okay, the lotus root soup isn’t spicy. I can eat it with rice.” “Alright, I’ll eat the spicy beef. You drink all the soup.” “Wait for me to finish up work and we’ll go home together.” Lucas ate quickly, polishing off his meal in 5 minutes. He sat down at the computer, looking focused. I don’t like having people around when I’m working, so while Lucas reviewed case files, I got up to take a walk outside. I ran into one of his coworkers – tall, handsome, and very friendly. “Hey sis, let’s exchange contact info. I’ll add you to our family group chat.” “Our Captain never had a girlfriend before. The bureau chief tried to set him up once, but the girl thought he was too intimidating and busy…” James was quite funny, able to make me laugh with just a few words. “Emma, time to go.” Lucas stood behind me, tall and straight-backed, holding his briefcase and the thermos. “Bye sis!” I smiled and waved goodbye to James.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297244”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance