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?"