Just as I was happily munching on a freshly bought snack and explaining my plans for the evening, Waylon's expression turned gloomy again.

With obvious impatience, he said, "If there really is an aurora, we can see it from anywhere. We don't need to go all the way to the ridge."

I was stunned by his impatience.

It had only been four years since we made that promise to watch the aurora together.

"Waylon, this aurora is incredibly rare, and the ridge I picked will be warm and comfortable. It's the perfect spot. Isn't this something we promised to do together back then?"

I tried to appeal to his memories, hoping to persuade him.

But instead of relenting, Waylon snapped, his voice rising in anger.

"Lucie, can't you understand Inglish? No means no! What stupid promise are you talking about? I'm exhausted from running around these past few days, playing along with all your plans. If you want to see the aurora so badly, go by yourself!"

His sudden outburst caught me off guard.

Meanwhile, Waylon's voice was so loud that it drew the attention of people nearby.

However, I wasn't about to let him walk all over me.

I furiously kicked the curb hard and shot back, "Why the hell are you yelling? Are you looking for a fight? We've only been on this trip for two days, and you've already started two arguments! What has this marriage come to?"

Waylon glared at me fiercely before storming off.

Watching his retreating figure, I couldn't believe he'd just picked a fight in the middle of the street and then abandoned me like that.

As tears welled up in my eyes, a pair of hands suddenly appeared before me—it was Waylon.

He pulled me into his arms and said in a soft and apologetic tone, "Honey, don't cry. It's my fault. I've been so stressed lately, and it's made me irritable. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Although my anger started to dissipate, I wasn't about to forgive him so easily.

Noticing the slight change in my expression, Waylon doubled down on his efforts to make amends.

"Don't be mad. I booked a table at your favorite restaurant. Didn't you say last night it was impossible to get a spot? You must be starving after all that sightseeing. Let's go eat now, okay?"

Right at that moment, my stomach let out a loud growl.

Waylon struck a playful pose in an invitation, which made me burst into laughter.

At the restaurant, the table was filled with all my favorite dishes, and the familiar taste of home instantly melted away the rest of my resentment.

As I was joyfully devouring the meal, Waylon's phone kept buzzing with notifications. He served me food with one hand and responded to messages with the other.

I glanced over and saw that it was his mom, Delilah Thompson.

"What does your mom want?" I asked.

"Nothing much. She's just checking in on our trip," he replied, avoiding eye contact.

I was too focused on eating to pay much attention, so I just nodded absentmindedly.

Ever since I married Waylon, Delilah had taken a rather controlling stance toward me. But as someone born and raised in the bold Northeast, I wasn't a pushover.

After multiple arguments, she eventually gave up and claimed that our lives were ours to manage. So I wasn't sure why she was suddenly taking an interest now.

"Honey, my mom's doing some online thing and needs us to support her. Let me borrow your phone to help her out," Waylon said casually.

"Sure, take it," I agreed without a second thought.

If I didn't help, Delilah would probably find another reason to criticize me.

"Thanks. I'll go settle the bill. Take your time eating," Waylon said with an odd look in his eyes before leaving with my phone.

Half an hour later, Waylon still hadn't returned, even though I'd already finished eating.

When I left the table feeling puzzled, the waiter at the front counter told me with a polite smile, "Your husband already paid the bill."

"Where did he go?"

"He's left."

Instinctively, I reached for my phone to call Waylon, but my pocket was empty. That was when I remembered I'd given my phone to him.

He'd taken my phone and disappeared.

A sinking feeling of dread washed over me.

I hurried back to the hotel, only to find that Waylon had not only checked us out of the room but also taken all my belongings with him.

The hotel receptionist passed me Waylon's message—"Reflect on your actions."

The sympathy in her eyes made me feel humiliated.

So, Waylon played me. He'd lured me to the restaurant just to punish me like this.

My hands trembled as I borrowed the receptionist's phone to call him. However, he hung up immediately when he heard my voice.

I tried calling again for more than ten times. Eventually, Waylon blocked the number.

The suffocating weight of shame pressed down on my chest.

Under the curious gazes of others, I stumbled out of the hotel, utterly lost.

I didn't have money, my phone, or my ID. Waylon had forced me to a dead end.

The biting wind pierced through my clothes, chilling me to the bone as I walked aimlessly down the street, trembling and clutching my arms tightly for warmth.

As I trudged forward, flashes of our arguments from the past two days replayed in my mind.

Waylon must have been holding back for a long time. And now, he'd gone to such elaborate lengths to teach me a lesson. His method was far more calculated than Delilah's.

The thought of Delilah made my teeth clench.

I bet this must be her doing as well. No wonder she'd been texting Waylon non-stop. She must have been feeding him ideas on how to handle me.

The cold gnawed at my skin as the temperature plunged to below zero.

I was still wearing the clothes I'd changed into earlier that afternoon—woefully inadequate for this weather. My steps slowed as numbness seeped into my limbs. I felt as though my blood had frozen.

When I saw the police station ahead, I forced myself to keep moving until I fainted at the doorstep.

When I opened my eyes, a kind-looking policewoman was tucking me into a blanket.

I reached up to touch my frostbitten cheeks, feeling the warmth of my skin.

I was alive.

Realizing this, I burst into tears and drew the attention of several officers nearby.

After I choked out my story, the policewoman muttered angrily, "Why do men like him exist? Leaving you out in this weather is just despicable! I swear, men like him are the reason I'm terrified of marriage."

They handed me a cup of hot tea, which helped me recover my strength.

Once I managed to contact my parents, they immediately boarded a flight to Highland. The moment they appeared at the police station, all the emotions I'd been holding back surged forward.

I broke down again, crying so hard that the sound echoed through the room.

"That scoundrel! How dare he abandon you outside and run off on his own? It's freezing out there. Was he trying to get you killed? He'd better watch out. I'm going to deal with him myself!"

From the moment we got into the car, Dad didn't stop railing against Waylon. Even Mom, who usually preached peace and harmony, was scowling.

"That punk has some nerve messing with my daughter. Anyway, Lucie, why didn't you tell us you were coming? Were you planning to keep us in the dark if he hadn't pulled this stunt?"

Mom's anger was fueled by the fact that I hadn't been home in three years.

"Lucie, don't worry," Dad said firmly. "I've already told your Uncle Mike. We're going to show Waylon what happens when he dares to act up on our turf."

In our family, Dad was one of two brothers. Starting from Grandpa's generation, it had been all boys—until me. Hence, being the only girl made me the family's treasure.

When I decided to marry Waylon and move south, my uncle, Mike Lamont, had been visibly upset. At my wedding, he'd even told Waylon that if he didn't treat me right, he'd break his legs.

What had once been a joke now felt like a looming promise.

"I'm calling Waylon right now. Let's see what he has to say for himself!"

Dad dialed Waylon's number, and the call barely rang before Waylon answered.

"Dad, what's up?"