“Did you steal Chloe’s necklace? It was here this morning, and now it’s gone. If you dare bully her again, we’ll divorce!”

I laughed bitterly. “She’s not worth my effort.”

“You still deny it? If you don’t apologize, then it’s divorce!”

“Fine! Divorce it is. Marrying you is worse than raising a dog!”

I stormed out, but Andrew’s men blocked my way.

“You packed everything. Now the necklace is missing and you want to run? No way!”

He dragged over several garbage bins and shoved my head inside, warning I couldn’t leave until I found it.

For Buddy’s sake, I searched, retching from the stench, my hands cut open by shards of glass until the blood ran down my arms. Finally, Andrew called it off.

Chloe pinched her nose disdainfully. “Andrew, it’s not here. Maybe she’s hiding it on her.”

Andrew didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Hand it over.”

I forced myself upright, my eyes burning with defiance. “I told you, I didn’t take it.”

“Is that so? Then let’s search.”

At his signal, two burly bodyguards lunged at me.

My blouse was torn, my pants ripped open, my shoes gone save for one.

I struggled desperately, only to be slapped twice so hard that my head spun, the taste of blood filling my throat.

By the time they stopped, I was stripped down to just two undergarments, clutching my exposed body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Only then did Chloe stroll out leisurely. “Andrew, I just found it under the pillow. Oops, I must’ve blamed my sister by mistake.”

Her tone was light, her eyes gleaming with glee, not a hint of guilt.

Andrew frowned, looking annoyed, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over me.

“Sorry. The little one doesn’t know any better.”

At the veterinary clinic, Buddy was hooked up to an IV. His most serious injury was a shard of glass lodged in his skull.

Separated by the sterile glass, we gazed at each other, both our eyes brimming with tears.

Buddy had to remain hospitalized, so I went out to buy food and supplies.

On my way back, I passed a flower shop and saw Chloe squatting beside a huge bouquet of roses, posing for photos while Andrew watched her with adoration.

When he noticed me, Andrew said awkwardly, “There’s one for you too. I’ll have it sent to your office later.”

Then he took Chloe by the arm and led her into a limited-edition sports car, seating her in the co-pilot’s seat no one else was allowed to touch.

After making sure everything for Buddy was arranged, I returned to work.

Ever since my father passed, I had become the sole heir. To secure my position, I agreed to a business marriage with Andrew, arranged by Mr. Smith.

Of course, part of it was my own desire too.

Years ago, when Andrew was a rebellious teen skipping class, he stumbled across me being bullied. He beat them off arrogantly, declaring:

“She’s under my protection. Touch her if you dare.”

To him, it was nothing.

To me, it was everything.

He didn’t even know my name back then.

Naturally, he never realized that from that moment, I had loved him—silently chasing after him for ten long years.

When I reached the office building, the entrance was overflowing with flowers. Only then did I realize—it was Valentine’s Day.

I held back a trace of hope as I looked for Andrew’s bouquet to me.

It was a small, withered bunch, squeezed and dehydrated, looking like the discarded scraps from Chloe’s arrangement.

Just like our relationship—what I received was only what Chloe didn’t want.

When I unlocked my phone, a message popped up from Chloe:

The unloved one is always the third wheel.

A moment later, my phone rang. It was Andrew:

“Rachel Moore, Dad wants us to go back to the Family Estate. Get ready, I’ll pick you up later.”

“Alright.”

I ordered all the imported health supplements I had bought abroad to be delivered, waiting for Andrew to arrive.

But instead, Chloe sat smugly in the passenger seat, looking frail as she told me, “Sister, I get carsick. Could you sit in the back?”

I didn’t reply, only looked at Andrew. He avoided my eyes, cleared his throat, and said,

“Something came up with work, so I brought Chloe along.”

“Besides, Chloe isn’t an outsider.”

Indeed, Chloe was never treated as an outsider.

Even before our marriage, she often accompanied Andrew to public events. People mistook her for his fiancée, and he never once corrected them.

Over time, everyone believed Chloe was his bride-to-be.

And Andrew let them.

Even after our wedding, pressured by Mr. Smith, Andrew only posted online:

“Not a lover, but closer than one.”

Fearing our marriage might be cold, Mr. Smith often summoned us back to the Family Estate to stay a few days.

But he didn’t know—we had never shared the same bed.

One call from Chloe, and Andrew would climb walls and break his leg just to get to her.

Meanwhile, one night I burned with fever until dawn before a servant discovered me.

At the estate, Chloe eagerly presented the supplements I had bought to Mr. Smith, smiling brightly:

“Mr. Smith, these are for you. Please take them, they’ll be good for your health.”

Mr. Smith only nodded.

Chloe’s smile faltered. She knew Mr. Smith was generous; whenever Andrew and I visited, he always received lavish gifts.

But this time, he barely acknowledged her.

Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at Andrew.

Andrew spoke up for her:

“Dad, Chloe went out of her way to buy these for you. Couldn’t you at least smile?”

Mr. Smith snorted.

“I may be old, but I’m not senile. These supplements are rarities even European nobles can’t get. Other than Rachel, who else could have obtained them?”

“Such fine things—who else but Rachel would rush to give them to me first?”

My nose stung. At least someone recognized my efforts.

Chloe burst into tears and stormed off, but Andrew hesitated only briefly before staying behind.

That night, he suddenly embraced me, whispering into my ear:

“Rachel, could you give Chloe the development rights for that land in New York?”

The tenderness I’d felt moments earlier froze instantly.

I stared at him, my eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t read. After a long pause, I said,

“Andrew, do you even realize how cruel you are?”

His expression darkened.

“Cruel? No, Rachel—you’re the cruel one. Don’t think I don’t know this is all your doing with Dad.”

“If you don’t agree, then Buddy won’t live.”

In his hand was a photo of Buddy hooked up to IVs at the clinic.

My voice trembled. After a long silence, I finally whispered, “Fine.”

You can’t force love. I finally understood.

Soon after, Andrew took Chloe on a “business trip” to New York, though their social media was flooded with photos that looked more like a honeymoon.

That day was my father’s death anniversary. I sat before his grave, torturing myself by staring at those photos.

Grief overwhelmed me, and without realizing it, I drank too much. Through tears, I called Andrew Smith, sobbing that I missed him, that I wanted to see him.

He hung up and immediately bought the earliest flight back. When I woke, I was still in a daze.

Seeing him bustling in the kitchen filled me with shock and joy.

But when I noticed what he was making—a pot of ginger tea—my heart sank as if doused with ice water.

I was allergic to ginger. He knew that.

He packed most of it into a thermos, thoughtfully prepared cookies, even small toys, and before leaving said:

“There’s some left in the pot. Drink it, it’s good for your health.”

I couldn’t hold back and asked before he walked out, “Do you even remember that I’m allergic to ginger?”

He didn’t move, didn’t turn back, just stood there like a block of ice.

At that moment, I knew—my warmth could never melt him.

I arranged for Buddy to be transferred to a more reliable hospital and turned my attention to matters with the Smith Corporation.

Back then, we had only held a wedding ceremony without getting a marriage license. Arrogantly, I thought I would make Andrew fall in love with me, waiting for him to pursue me.

Looking back now, how ridiculous.

I went to meet a man who had once saved my life. If not for him, I would have died that night.

Buddy had dragged me into the road, where this man recognized me while driving home. He took me to the hospital and stayed up all night caring for me.

When we finally met again for dinner, conversation flowed effortlessly, as if we had known each other forever.

By the time I checked my phone, I had five missed calls. When I called back, Andrew’s furious voice lashed out:

“Where are you? What the hell were you doing just now?”

“Having dinner. Why? Do you need something?”

Andrew fell silent, stunned, unprepared.

Of course—before, I had set a special ringtone just for him, never silenced my phone, and always answered on the first ring.

Seeing he had nothing to say, I hung up.

Still chatting happily with Daniel Clark, I let him walk me home. Just as we reached the door, Andrew stormed out of his car and punched Daniel.

“Damn you, trying to steal my woman? Rachel Moore is my wife!”

I rushed to help Daniel, dodging Andrew’s rage. “Calm down, we’re just friends.”

“Friends? Don’t play me for a fool. I’m a man—I know that look!”

Another punch swung, missing Daniel and slamming into my temple. My glasses shattered, darkness closing in.

Even as I crumpled to the ground in pain, Andrew didn’t stop—until Chloe White stumbled out of the car, clothes disheveled, crying:

“Andrew, stop! You’ll kill someone!”

Like a lion soothed, Andrew instantly calmed down.

Afraid to frighten Chloe, he covered her eyes and carried her back into the car.

Only then did I notice his shirt collar was undone, three buttons open, and the shimmer of lipstick on his mouth.

It was obvious what he and Chloe had been doing inside.

Accusing me of betrayal, while indulging in his own.

After sending Daniel to the hospital, I collapsed into a chair, utterly exhausted.

My phone rang again and again, like a death knell.

Answering it, I headed to New York, rehearsing countermeasures along the way.

The moment I landed, Andrew greeted me with a vicious slap across the face.