The huge living room was so quiet she could even hear the faint wind brushing past the windows. The silence sat heavy in the air, thick and suffocating, like it was pressing right on her chest.

Lydia Harlow’s red lips trembled. Her fingers slowly curled into her palm. Facing the man’s ice-cold, bone-piercing stare, she forced herself to say it again, calm but firm, "Ethan Caldwell, let’s get a divorce."

"Divorce?" Ethan let out a short laugh, like he’d just heard the most ridiculous joke alive.

Then he rose from the expensive custom leather sofa with lazy elegance. His tall figure stepped toward her, long legs wrapped in a sharp suit, stopping right in front of her.

His well-defined fingers lifted her chin. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried pressure that made people instinctively tense up. "Lydia, from the second you schemed your way into marrying me, you lost the right to say those two words."

Her heart felt like it had been stabbed hard. A mist of tears blurred her pale blue eyes, but she still refused to back down.

Then, out of nowhere, she smiled. "Mr. Caldwell, what, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me?"

At that, Ethan’s hand paused for half a beat. The next second, his grip tightened even more. His thin lips parted, cold and cutting. "You think you’re worthy?"

The dark smile on his face drained all color from Lydia’s cheeks. Her body started shaking on its own. But what came next was even worse, like being dragged straight into freezing deep water.

"You think I’m Felix Mercer? You think I’d love a woman like you? A woman who’d do anything to get what she wants, no matter how dirty it is. A vicious woman through and through."

"What a joke."

That last sentence was practically squeezed out between his teeth, word by word.

Lydia’s heart went cold all the way to the bone. Her voice came out rough and shaky. "If you don’t love me, then why won’t you divorce me?"

"Because I want to make you suffer." His eyes didn’t hide his disgust for her in the slightest.

His tone was flat, almost casual, but when it landed in Lydia’s ears, it felt colder than a knife-edged winter wind. "Oh."

Three years of marriage. Hadn’t he tortured her enough already?

He had deliberately registered their marriage on Felix’s death anniversary, forcing her to carry the label of the Xu family’s "murderer." He had also let Serena Voss spread rumors on purpose, turning her into the so-called "other woman" in all of Jiangzhou’s upper-class social circles. And when their first child died right in front of him, he hadn’t even blinked...

If even that wasn’t enough, then what would ever count as enough?

Did it all only end if she died?

Her numb, almost indifferent reaction made Ethan feel like he’d punched straight into cotton. The fire in his chest got stuck there, neither rising nor fading. His expression turned darker and uglier by the second.

"Lydia, I told you before. Unless I get bored of this, there is no way you’re getting out of my hands. Not in this lifetime."

"You're brutal, Ethan Caldwell!" Her beautiful lips curved up, but the smile looked broken. Tears spilled out with it.

"Brutal? Really?"

The second he finished speaking, the man’s cool lips crashed down on hers. The kiss hurt. Her wrists were pinned above her head so hard she couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back, could only take the storm of rage he forced onto her in silence.

In the end, she stopped struggling.

It was just a body anyway.

If he wanted it, then fine, take it.

One day, sooner or later, he would get sick of her.

And when that day came, that would be her chance to leave.

When Ethan saw her face—cold, numb, dead inside, yet stained with that involuntary flush desire dragged out of her—something darker in him snapped even harder. He became rougher, almost vicious.

He couldn’t control it, and honestly, he didn’t even want to. He wanted to hear her cry out beneath him, wanted to see her break, wanted her to drown in this ugly mess and submit. More than that, he wanted her to hate him the way he hated her.

The sofa, the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom...

Every corner of the house was filled with that filthy, suffocating heat.

Under the light, their bodies tangled together, wrapped so tightly it was like they were trying to press into each other’s bones, into blood, into something neither of them could ever escape.

...

By the time Lydia woke again, it was already afternoon.

The room was empty. No one beside her.

Only the pillow still seemed to carry that faint sandalwood scent unique to Ethan, lingering like a ghost that refused to leave.

She stared blankly for a long while before forcing herself up with difficulty. The moment she saw the dense bruises and purple marks spread across her exposed skin, she sucked in a sharp breath. The sadness in her pretty eyes was almost unbearable.

Right.

To him, she was worth less than the women outside he could pay and dismiss at will.

So why had she ever expected him to stay and wake up beside her?

She laughed at herself for a few seconds, bitter and quiet. Then she clenched her teeth, enduring the pain as she tried to get out of bed. But the instant her feet touched the floor, her legs gave out and she fell back onto the mattress.

After a pause, she slowly made her way toward the bathroom. Her legs were trembling so badly that even walking felt like torture.

It was obvious just how ruthless he had been last night.

After washing up, Lydia changed into a plain black dress. Even the ribbon tying up her hair was black. Wearing soft cotton slippers, she dragged herself downstairs step by step.

"Ma'am, you're up?" The second Mrs. Dalton saw Lydia Harlow's outfit, she froze for a beat, then quickly tossed aside the rag and greeted her. Still, there wasn't even a trace of real respect in her tone.

"Mm. Where's the soup?" Lydia asked flatly, like she didn't care at all. The light in her clear, dark eyes was long gone.

"That one on the table." Mrs. Dalton pointed at it right away.

Lydia was already used to this. She walked over, picked up the bowl, and drank it down in one go without the slightest pause. Clean. Smooth. No hesitation.

"I won't be back for dinner tonight."

She dropped the line with zero expression, changed her shoes by the entryway, and walked out.

The moment she left, Mrs. Dalton hurried to the landline and crouched beside it, fingers flying as she dialed a number she clearly knew by heart.

It didn't take long for the call to connect.

"Young Master, Madam drank it!" Mrs. Dalton reported honestly, her eyes still darting around the room, scared Lydia might suddenly come back.

In the office, all the senior executives had already picked up on the man's sudden drop in mood. The pressure in the room tanked out of nowhere, and everyone wisely shut up.

Ethan Caldwell's hand resting against the phone paused. Something unreadable flashed across his eyes, quick and sharp, before he gave a low "Mm" through his nose.

"Where is she?"

"She just went out," Mrs. Dalton answered at once.

"Mm."

He ended the call right after that. His long, narrow phoenix eyes drifted across the date on the screen by chance.

June 8.

The man's gaze turned cold in an instant.

No wonder.

Heh.

Then his eyes snapped toward the trembling executives. His thin, indifferent lips parted, and he spat out two icy words.

"Go on."

"Yes, President Caldwell."

A meeting that usually dragged on for two full hours ended weirdly fast today.

Just half an hour, and it was over.

No one dared say a word. Anybody with eyes could tell Ethan Caldwell was in a terrible mood, and it was obviously because of that phone call just now.

At the cemetery.

Lydia Harlow held a bouquet of white bellflowers and gently set it beside the gravestone. On the stone was a photo of a young man, warm and refined, smiling softly, the kind of face that looked almost unreal in its gentleness.

"Felix, I came to see you."

She lifted her hand and brushed away the fallen leaves and dust around the grave little by little. Her eyes were hollow, drained of all color, like nothing inside them had been left alive.

"I'm sorry, Felix. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have died."

"The one who should've died... was me."

"Felix... can I just stop here? Do I really have to keep going?" Her voice trembled. "I'm so tired. Seriously... so tired."

The words got stuck in her throat like something sharp had lodged there, and for a moment she couldn't make another sound.

After a long, long while, she finally found her voice again.

"Don't worry, Felix. I promised you I'd keep living, and I will. No matter how hard it gets, I won't go back on that."

Lydia raised a hand and wiped away the tears that had slipped out without her noticing. Then, slowly, a bright, almost dazzling smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

If she had a choice, she would've rather been the one lying here.

Sometimes, compared to the dead, the ones still alive had it worse. Way worse.

Lydia sat in the cemetery for a long time. She stayed until the sky turned dim and a fine, endless drizzle began to fall, only then pushing herself up from the cold ground.

With a smile, she gave the man on the gravestone one last look.

"Felix, I have to go now. I'll come see you another day, okay?"

"So hard to leave him?" A cold, bone-deep voice dropped from above her, edged with faint anger. "Then why don't you go with him?"