I looked at Owen and calmly said, "Alright. I won't bother you two anymore. Have fun skiing."

Owen probably didn't expect me to let it go that easily. He frowned as if he wanted to say something, but Sandy was already tugging at his sleeve.

She said, "Owen, come on. I'll teach you the falling leaf drill."

Owen's attention was immediately drawn to her. "Okay."

He didn't look at me again and skied down the slopes with Sandy.

I stood there watching them leave.

The pink turtle protective cushion grew smaller and smaller in the wind and snow, until it became a glaring pink dot.

I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't contacted in a long time.

"Hello, Alfred Pace. It's me, Brooke. Check if the ski resort in Winterley is one of my family's properties. If it is, notify the manager that I want the place cleared out."

Back in the hotel room, I took a scalding hot bath. However, the chill deep in my bones just wouldn't go away, making me shiver.

My phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message from Owen. There was neither apology nor concern.

All I received was a bank transfer of 50 dollars and a cold, heartless message that read, "Go buy yourself something warm to eat. Stop being so dramatic about every little ache and pain. I won't be home for dinner because Sandy said she wants sizzling steak."

I looked at the screen and laughed. As I laughed, my tears splashed onto the screen.

50 dollars? That was like throwing scraps to a beggar.

I was the heiress of the most powerful family in Cruxby with a net worth of ten billion dollars.

To marry a penniless man like Owen, I hid my identity and lived with him in a rental for three years. To help him secure investment funds, I drank three bottles of white wine on behalf of Mr. Roland Duffy at a business dinner.

I ended up with gastrointestinal bleeding from all the drinking, which damaged my health. And ever since then, I'd suffered from menstrual pain every time I felt cold.

What did Owen say back then?

He held my frail body and cried like a child, saying, "Brooke, you are my life, and I owe you everything. If I ever make you suffer even a little, may I die a terrible death."

Now, I'd become his enemy, and our vows had turned into a joke.

After drying my hands, I ignored the money transfer and opened Instagram instead.

Sandy had posted an update half an hour ago. The post featured a nine-grid photo collage, including shots of the ski resort and sizzling steak. In the center was a photo of two hands overlapping to form a heart shape, and on the man's hand was the wedding ring I had given Owen.

The caption read, "Even though the weather is freezing, Owen makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. People with fragile health should just stay home instead of embarrassing themselves out here. Skiing is a sport for the brave, after all."

In the comments section, Owen replied with an emoji of a smiling face with heart eyes. His friends egged him on below his comment.

"Way to go, Owen! This instructor's body is fire!"

"Brooke didn't go with you? Oh, right—I forgot she gets winded after taking two steps."

"A sporty woman like Sandy is way more exciting!"

Owen replied to one of the comments, "Don't talk nonsense. She's just an instructor. But yeah, she's way more interesting than that boring prude at home."

Boring prude.

I cooked for him and went all out, taking shots for him. Yet, to him, I was nothing but a boring prude.

The doorbell suddenly rang.

I put on a bathrobe and went to answer the door.

Outside stood the hotel manager, Nelson Kern, followed by two rows of waiters pushing fully loaded carts.

Mr. Kern wiped the sweat from his forehead and bowed at a 90-degree angle.

"Ms. Greer, I had no idea you were gracing us with your presence. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to welcome you. This is all prepared by our best chefs—a seafood feast, plus fresh-off-the-plane black truffles and caviar. Would you like to give them a try?"

I stepped aside to let them in.

I looked at the lavish spread of delicacies filling the room and picked up a spoon to take a bite.

It tasted ten thousand times more delicious than anything I could buy with the 50 dollars Owen begrudgingly gave me.

I set down the spoon and evenly said, "Mr. Kern, I heard that someone has booked the private VIP night skiing pass tonight."

Mr. Kern quickly nodded. "Yes, it's Mr. Schultz. He said he wanted to train with a private instructor. It's only because he's your husband that we gave him the session for free and granted him the highest access privileges."

I nodded and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

I then said, "Revoke the access and notify resort security that there will be a fire drill tonight. All unauthorized personnel are to leave the premises."

Mr. Kern was taken aback. A moment later, realization dawned on him, and his expression turned sharp.

"Understood, Ms. Greer. And what about Mr. Schultz?"

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed out into the dark night.

"He likes skiing, right? Then let him ski to his heart's content. Stop the ski lift and make him walk down on his own."

When Owen's call came, I was lying on a massage chair with a facial mask on. I let the phone ring three times before I leisurely answered it.

"Brooke, where the heck are you?" Owen's roar carried on the wind, sounding especially pitiful.

"Why did the ski lift stop? Sandy and I are stranded halfway up the mountain! There's not even a single light in this godforsaken place, and you're not answering your phone. Are you trying to freeze us to death?"

I adjusted the massage chair's intensity and let out a contented sigh.

"Why are you calling me about the ski lift? Owen, aren't you supposed to be in great shape? Isn't skiing a sport for the brave? Just walk down. A little trek shouldn't be anything for a star athlete like you, right?"

Owen was completely thrown off. He'd never heard me talk like this before. Back in the day, I'd panic if he so much as sneezed.

"Brooke, have you lost your mind? Sandy's barely wearing anything. Her lips are already turning blue! Call the hotel and tell them to send a snowmobile up! You're a VIP here, so they'll listen to you!"

I laughed softly. So, he knew that I was a VIP here. And he was using the points from my card, no less.

"Sorry, I just checked with the front desk, and they said there's a fire drill tonight. So, no vehicles are allowed up the mountain."

I paused, then added coldly, "Besides, isn't Sandy wearing that turtle cushion on her butt? It has the protective charm inside that I got from Mount Cloudview. With the universe protecting her, I'm sure she won't freeze to death."

Owen was beside himself with rage on the other end of the line.

"Brooke, you're just jealous and petty! That stupid turtle cushion is useless! If anything happens to Sandy because of the cold, I'll make you pay!"

Just then, Sandy's tearful voice came through the phone. "Owen, I'm so cold. It feels like my leg is cramping. Is Brooke angry? It's all my fault. I shouldn't have worn that protective cushion. You shouldn't be too hard on Brooke. She probably just cares about you too much."

He was truly a master of playing the victim. The stench of her fake sweetness wafted through the phone, giving me a headache.

Owen, predictably, grew even more frantic.

"Sandy, don't be afraid. I'll carry you. Brooke, I'm warning you for the last time—send someone to get us right now! Otherwise, when I get back, we're getting a divorce!"

He had never brought up divorce before. Yet, he now said it with such conviction, all for a ski instructor.

I watched the snow fall outside the window, feeling not a ripple of emotion.

"Fine. Let's get a divorce. Owen, you're the one who wanted it," I replied serenely.

With that, I hung up and blocked his number.

Divorce? Nothing would make me happier.

But before that, there were some accounts to settle.

I sent Alfred a message, "Freeze every supplementary bank card under Owen's name, including the one he set up for Sandy. After that, pull out the angel investment I made in Owen's company."

Once that was done, I turned off the lights and slipped under the warm covers.

That night, I slept more soundly than ever—until the next morning, when frantic pounding on my door woke me.

Outside stood Owen, covered in snow and looking utterly miserable. He was holding a shivering Sandy in his arms.

The moment he saw me standing at the door in my silk pajamas, looking completely relaxed, his eyes turned bloodshot with fury.

He handed Sandy off to a waiter behind him and stormed inside. Then, he raised his hand to deliver a violent slap right across my face.

"Brooke, you vicious woman!" Owen roared.

I caught his wrist mid-air.

I might not be as strong as him, but I had trained in grappling for self-defense for several years. Using leverage, I flung him hard.

Owen lost his footing and staggered a few steps before crashing into the cabinet in the entryway.

"Owen, are you seriously trying to hit me?"

I looked at him coldly, my eyes devoid of any warmth.

Owen stared at me in disbelief, as if he didn't recognize me.

In his mind, I'd always been that submissive pushover who'd only cry and beg for mercy.

He pointed at Sandy, who was being supported by a waiter at the door, and yelled at me, "You almost killed Sandy! We walked through the snow for three hours! Sandy's feet are frostbitten! Have you no heart at all?"

Sandy leaned weakly against the doorframe and looked at Owen with big, sad puppy dog eyes.

She said, "Owen, don't be mad at Brooke. It's my own fault for being useless. As long as it helps Brooke feel better, it doesn't matter if I suffer a little."

As she spoke, she deliberately revealed a patch of bruise on her ankle.

Owen's heart ached terribly for her, and he turned to glare at me.

"Brooke, look at what you've driven Sandy to! Apologize to her right now! After that, you're to go to the hospital to pay for her treatment and compensate, then compensate her for emotional distress. Otherwise, I won't let this slide!"

Watching these two shameless liars twist the truth like that pissed me off so much I just had to laugh.

"Apologize? Compensate?"

I walked up to Sandy.

She instinctively shrank back, and a flicker of guilt flashed across her eyes.

I roughly yanked off the pink turtle protective cushion hanging from her waist, and she let out an exaggerated scream.

"That hurts!"

Owen tried to push me away, but the two bodyguards in black suits Alfred had arranged for me stopped him.

"Brooke, what do you think you're doing?" Owen roared.

Ignoring him, I reached into the filthy turtle cushion right in front of them and pulled out the protective charm.

Then, right in front of Sandy, I threw the turtle cushion into the nearby trash bin.

"Trash belongs in the trash bin. As for this protective charm…" I looked at the slightly worn charm in my hand. "It won't work anymore now that it's been contaminated with something dirty."

I casually tossed it, and the charm landed at Sandy's feet.

I continued, "It's yours now. After all, you need all the protection you can get to avoid karma catching up to you."

Sandy bit her lip, tears streaming down her face in big drops.

"Brooke, how can you humiliate me like this? I may be poor, but I still have my dignity."

Owen was heartbroken.

He yelled at me over the bodyguards, "Brooke, you think you're hot stuff just because you're rich? You're nothing without your family's buyout. For your information, I'm worth plenty now, too. So, I couldn't care less about your filthy money!

"From now on, you're not spending a single cent of my money. I'm canceling all your supplementary bank cards!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?"

Owen froze.

His phone suddenly rang. It was his company's financial department calling.

"Mr. Schultz, it's bad! The investors have suddenly pulled out! The bank also called to demand early repayment of the loan! And both the company's and your account have been frozen!"

The phone was on speaker, and the accountant's panicked voice was especially piercing in the room.

Owen's hand, holding the phone, trembled violently.

He looked up sharply, his eyes full of fear as he stared at me.

"You're behind this? How do you have that kind of power? I thought your family just got lucky with a buyout."

I straightened the collar of my pajamas and smiled at him.

"Owen, my last name is Greer—as in the Greer family of Cruxby. You've always bragged about being a self-made man, but I was the one who begged my father, Vernon Greer, to invest in your company.

"And all those clients of yours? They only agreed to do business with you because of my family's name. Now I'm done playing, so I'm taking back everything that's mine."