Four years into marriage with Ethan Blackwell, Nina Hartley had loved him hard, all in, almost recklessly. He, on the other hand, had always been calm, measured, untouched.

Everyone in their circle used to say Miss Hartley would never be able to live without Ethan.

She had believed that too.

Right up until the day she brought the student she sponsored to a restaurant for dinner.

And outside the private room, she heard one of Ethan’s friends laughing as he said, "So that’s what this was. You had Nina sponsor that kid because his mom is Jasmine Caldwell. Damn, Ethan, you really are down bad. Jasmine dumped you back then, got married, had a kid, and you still don’t hold a grudge?"

"What grudge?" another man chimed in, tone full of teasing. "She’s Ethan’s one and only exception."

Someone else snorted. "Look at Nina. She doesn’t know much, doesn’t get much. How could she ever be good enough for Ethan? Back when her mother had just died, her stepmother was already moving in pregnant, and her father was biased as hell. If Ethan hadn’t stepped in, would she even have the life she has now?"

"But if they really divorced, Nina would never agree," another said with total certainty. "She loves him that much. No way she’d leave. She’d rather die than divorce him."

Inside, the man at the head of the table sat lazily with a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled around him, blurring the tired distance hidden in his eyes. He looked out the window, detached, almost bored. Hearing that, he only let out a faint, mocking smile and said nothing.

His black suit was cut sharp and clean, making his broad shoulders and narrow waist stand out even more. The pressure he gave off was unreal. His shirt collar was loosened slightly, taking away some of the cold restraint and replacing it with a casual kind of control. His features were deep-set, his jawline crisp, his lips thin. Just sitting there, he carried that natural air of someone used to being in charge—aloof, steady, impossible to approach.

Outside the room, Nina gripped the door handle so hard her hand nearly shook apart. Through the narrow crack, she stared in silence. Blue veins stood out against the back of her pale hand.

It felt like her whole world had caved in without warning. Her mind went blank. So this was what it felt like when love got crushed to pieces—like she couldn’t breathe, like her chest had been pinned under something heavy and merciless.

It was as if a huge chunk had been ripped straight out of her heart.

The pain drilled all the way into her bones.

Jasmine Caldwell.

The mother of the boy standing beside her.

Below the right calf, Jasmine’s leg had been amputated. She was raising her child alone, scraping by with whatever work she could find.

A year ago, Nina and Ethan had started sponsoring Jasmine’s son, a gifted child with emotional perception disorder.

The mother and son had originally been living in a remote area. Ethan had said A City had better schools and better medical resources, and suggested bringing the child over to study there.

So Nina had run herself ragged, looking for a school, finding a place to live, settling the two of them in bit by bit.

Now that she replayed every detail in her head, the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous and pitiful she felt.

She had wanted a child.

He had always said, "No rush."

So that was it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in a hurry by nature. He just wasn’t in a hurry for her.

The moment she mentioned getting Jasmine Caldwell a better, more expensive prosthetic, he’d stepped in right away, almost eager.

Turns out he’d never been considerate toward her at all. All that care had been for Jasmine.

He married her out of spite, just to make Jasmine jealous.

And her whole existence in this marriage?

A joke. A complete joke.

Nina Hartley lifted a hand and pushed the door open.

That face of hers, usually bright, sharp, and impossible to ignore, was lowered now, buried in shadow. The light in her eyes was gone, leaving only a cold, empty stillness.

Inside, a group of people looked up at her all at once.

Their expressions were a mess—surprise, panic, confusion. But even more than that, there was indifference, frost, and even a trace of disgust they couldn’t be bothered to hide.

Only one person stayed calm.

Ethan Blackwell merely glanced at her, expression flat.

Nina met his gaze, stubbornly trying to catch even the smallest crack in it, some flicker of guilt, shock, anything.

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

It was like he was absolutely sure that even if she had heard every word, even if she knew he had emotionally betrayed her, she still wouldn’t be able to leave him.

And everyone in this room clearly thought the same.

Not one of them would speak for her.

She had never really belonged in his world anyway. His circle was packed with elite businessmen, golden kids, people with brains, status, and polished resumes. And her?

She was the useless rich girl in their eyes, someone who only knew how to eat, drink, and have fun. She had nothing in common with them.

To them, even her standing here felt like she was dragging down the whole room’s level.

No wonder they never welcomed her.

With her usual temper, she should’ve flipped the whole place upside down by now, smashed the peace to pieces, made such a scene the entire city would be gossiping by tomorrow.

But she didn’t.

She was calmer than she had ever been.

At last, she had learned the line Ethan Blackwell used to say to her.

"Nina, grow up. Stop letting your emotions run your life."

Then someone finally spoke, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Nina, you’re here. Come on, have a seat."

At the doorway, Jasmine Caldwell came in with another dish, carrying a glass sashimi platter so big it looked wider than her head. Crushed ice was piled high on it, weighing her wrists down until they dipped, her lips pressed tight the whole time.

Someone quick on the uptake stood up right away, helped her set the dish on the table, then smoothly pulled out a chair for her.

Jasmine just so happened to sit in the only empty seat left.

Right beside Ethan Blackwell.

And Nina Hartley was left standing there alone, like she didn’t even belong in the room.

"Jasmine, why are you making yourself do this kind of exhausting work? It’s not like Ethan hasn’t given you money."

"This job is pretty good. Earning money with my own hands—I don’t think that’s something to feel wronged over..." Jasmine spoke clearly, every word steady, refusing to let even a crack of weakness show.

Just then, a server pushed in a towering cake from outside, layer after layer stacked high.

It was the cake Nina had made herself.

For the past month, she’d been buried from morning to night—rehearsing for the troupe’s dance drama, preparing for the performance, squeezing out time so desperately that she’d practically used her meal breaks to learn cake-making from a pastry chef.

All for their fourth wedding anniversary.

She had hidden a ring inside the cake.

Ethan hadn’t worn his ring in a long time. He said he’d accidentally lost it. She had gone overseas, tracked down the designer who’d made their original rings, and had an identical one remade.

"Ethan, you even ordered a cake for Jasmine?"

The whole group turned to Jasmine with bright smiles. "Jasmine, welcome back!"

Nina looked at Ethan.

He raised his glass with everyone else, not caring in the slightest where the cake had come from.

The first slice was handed to Jasmine. A glint flashed from the cut surface. She stared at the ring half-hidden in the cake, eyes widening. "This is..."

The entire room instantly exploded.

"A ring—damn, is this a proposal?"

"Get together! Get together! Get together..."

"Kiss! Kiss!"

Bang!

With a huge crash, the cake tower slammed to the floor.

The glittering venue fell into instant chaos.

"Nina! What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind?" Every pair of eyes snapped toward Nina, the anger on their faces not even remotely hidden.

Under all those stunned, disbelieving stares, she slowly pulled the wedding ring off her left ring finger and tossed it straight into the smashed heap of cake.

She had worn it for four years. A deep mark was carved into her finger, stubborn and raw. Who knew how long it would take to fade. But the ring was gone now, and sooner or later, the mark would go with it too.

"Ethan Blackwell, forget the anniversary. Let's get divorced." She felt the sudden emptiness on her finger, her throat so dry it almost hurt to speak.

No one looked truly shocked. They were practically used to this by now. Nina had said "divorce" more than once whenever she got upset, but after a while, she would always come back on her own, softening first, giving in first. In their eyes, this marriage was never really in danger.

"Don't regret it after you cool down," he said, casual as ever, his tone flat, almost lazy. "If you say it, mean it. Don't come running back tomorrow acting cute and trying to take it back."

"Don't worry. I won't."

What they didn't know was that this time, Nina meant every word.