I wasn't sad at all.

Deep down, I knew this was a cry of happiness.

I was genuinely happy to have finally let go of Percival.

I did it.

At last, I no longer felt pain or sorrow because of him. I no longer let him control my emotions.

Percival couldn't affect me anymore.

Even though it took four long years to get here.

Four years. Like a slow, deliberate cleansing, I gradually removed Percival from my heart, leaving no trace behind.

I applauded myself—Rosa, you did great!

Since noon today, when I overheard Percival talking to his little girlfriend on the phone, speaking to her so gently and soothingly, I felt nothing but calm. Not a single ripple of emotion.

I just knew it—I was finally free.

Percival and I had been childhood sweethearts, with years of shared feelings.

Unlike the countless arranged marriages in wealthy families, we truly loved each other.

So, when I first found out about his affair, I couldn't accept it.

But everyone around me kept telling me that Percival had done enough for me.

At least, they said, he was just having fun, never getting emotionally involved, switching women every now and then.

Most importantly, he respected me as his wife. He showed up at every event for the Garrett Group, always supporting me, giving me the respect and dignity I deserved.

If some bold woman dared to cause a scene in front of me, Percival would be the first to put her in her place and kick her to the curb.

There were even people who envied me, saying I was lucky to have a husband like Percival.

In our circle, whether a man cheats or not doesn’t matter—the most important thing is the benefit.

My family saw it that way.

They didn’t care about Percival’s affair.

My father and brother, being men themselves, sympathized with him.

They believed that a man having affairs was just paying for pleasure.

Rational men understand the importance of family, no matter how much they play around.

Especially in arranged marriages, the bond between husband and wife isn’t about love—it's about mutual benefit.

In the world of high society, talking about love, loyalty, and monogamy only gets you mocked.

My sister-in-law once advised me, “At least you two married for love. Unlike me and your brother—it was purely a business arrangement. We barely talk, but we manage. Life’s different, right? As for love, I gave up on that idea a long time ago.”

Even my mom tried to help me accept reality. “Look at your dad—he was the same way when he was younger, always out playing around. The women he’s been with, I’ve lost count. But he was sensible. He promised me he wouldn’t have any illegitimate children, and I let it go. Over the years, as he got older and lost interest in all that, he came back to the family. Now, no woman is more important to him than his fishing rod.”

Mom held my hand and said earnestly, “Men are like children. When they’re young, they play. But once they’re tired, they naturally come home. What’s different about you and Percival is the years of love you share—no other woman can ever compare to you in his heart.”

But I didn’t understand. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

All I knew was this kind of love, this kind of marriage—it made me miserable.

Everyone always says that when you reach our level, you can waste all the wealth in your hands if you want. So why not make yourself happy?

For men, finding women outside is just a form of entertainment—why care?

But it seemed like only Percival was happy. I wasn’t.

This life that made me so unhappy—I’m going to change it.

The people who made me miserable—I’m going to get rid of them.

That night, I slept deeply.

I even had a long dream.