Calista Arden has tried to seduce her husband, Theodore Montclair, for the 999th time, only to fail in consummating her marriage with him as always.

Afterward, she calls her older brother, Elijah Arden. "I'm planning on getting a divorce, Elijah."

Elijah remains silent for three whole seconds over the line. Finally, he speaks up in a deep, gravelly tone, "I already told you before that it's impossible for you to drill through Theodore's stone-cold heart no matter how hard you try."

With reddened eyes, Calista can only chuckle quietly. "Yeah. I'm the overconfident fool here."

"Come to Nordland," Elijah says lightly. "There are plenty of hunks here who are as good-looking as Theodore. Since that idiot doesn't know how to cherish my amazing and adorable sister, he can just spend the rest of his life as a devoted man of religion who has no family of his own."

"Yeah, once I finish the paperwork," Calista Arden said softly.

After hanging up, Calista drew in a deep breath. As she passed the prayer room at the end of the hallway, a muffled groan drifted from inside.

The door stood ajar, and a thin strip of light spilled through the crack. Unable to stop herself, she peered inside.

Through the drifting incense haze, Theodore Montclair kneeled before the statue in a plain white robe, chest partly open, a rosary wrapped around his wrist. His body moved in faint, rhythmic motions over a doll lying beneath him.

The doll's features appeared vivid in the flickering candlelight—almond eyes, cherry lips, and a beauty mark beneath the left eye. It looked just like his adoptive sister, Aveline Montclair.

Calista bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. This was the third time she had stumbled upon this scene in secret.

The first time, she bolted from the room. The second, she stayed awake the entire night. But tonight, she felt nothing but numbness.

She found it absurd. Theodore did have desires and emotions. They just never had anything to do with her.

Leaning against the frigid wall, she suddenly remembered the first time she met Theodore.

She was 20 years old that year. Her brother, Elijah Arden, had taken her to a gala at a private club to introduce her to his best friend.

That day, Theodore wore a pale tailored suit adorned with a diamond pin and a rosary wrapped around his wrist. Amid a room full of decadent socialites, he sat with only a cup of tea before him, a stark contrast to the surrounding excess.

He kept his gaze lowered while brewing the black tea, his slender fingers gripping the pot as the water cascaded down. Through the rising steam, he lifted his eyes and looked at her.

In that instant, Calista's heart skipped several beats.

Noticing her dazed expression, Elijah tapped her forehead with a smile. "Forget it, Calista. You can fall for anyone, just not him. Among all the heirs in our circle, everyone indulges in vice except Theodore. He has been praying in the church since he was young and stays away from worldly desires."

Calista refused to believe Elijah. A troublemaker since childhood, she doubted that anyone could truly be without desire. Thus, she began to pursue Theodore, employing every tactic to provoke his interest.

She purposefully sat on his lap while he recited prayers, but he simply lifted her aside with one hand. She spiked his tea, but after finishing it, he merely said calmly, "Don't add so much cinnamon next time. It's too strong."

In her most daring attempt, she sneaked into the prayer room while he was in seclusion and lay on his bed wearing nothing but his white shirt. When Theodore opened the door, she deliberately let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, swinging them back and forth.

Instead of reacting, he turned and left. The next day, he sent her a box of brand-new shirts. "These are for you. Stop stealing mine."

Even Elijah couldn't stand it anymore. "Can't you have some self-respect?" he asked.

Calista replied defiantly, "I'm doing God's work! It's a total waste for a man this handsome to be living like a monk!"

She pursued him for four years, exhausting every effort, yet she failed to stir even a flicker of interest.

Just as Calista started feeling discouraged, she received a late-night call from Theodore on her birthday. "Come downstairs," he said.

She rushed down in her pajamas to find him standing in the snow, his shoulders dusted with white flakes.

"Let's get married," he said.

There was no ring, no confession—just those few words. But Calista was overwhelmed with joy and threw herself into his arms. "I finally got to you, didn't I?"

Theodore didn't hug her back and merely gave a soft grunt in response. Looking back now, she realized how perfunctory his response had been.

Two years into their marriage, they still hadn't consummated it. No matter how she tried to entice him, he would always turn away at the final moment and walk alone into the prayer room.

She had once believed that he had spent too long in devotion and simply needed time.

Everything changed three days ago, when she refused to give up and followed him into the prayer room. Witnessing the scene, she finally understood that he didn't lack desire—it simply wasn't directed at her.

The person he loved was Aveline, the girl his family had adopted when they were young. His devotion, his rosary, and his marriage to Calista were all just tools to suppress his feelings for his adoptive sister.

At that moment, her heart went completely cold.

Inside the prayer room, Theodore finally ceased his movements. He leaned down to kiss the doll's neck, his voice incredibly raspy. "Ave… I love you."

His voice was barely audible, yet it pierced Calista's battered heart. Her tears finally fell as she turned and walked away without looking back.

…

The next morning, when Calista woke up, Theodore was already dressed and ready to leave. Clad in a tailored black suit that emphasized his tall, lean frame, he still wore the rosary on his wrist. It was as if the man who lost control last night was merely an illusion.

Just as he was about to step out of the villa, Calista called out, "Wait!"

Without lifting his head, he said coldly, "I have a meeting today. Stop pestering me."

His words cut through her final hope like a blade. It turned out that in his eyes, she would always be nothing more than a persistent nuisance.

Calista suddenly laughed. "You misunderstand. I just want the keys to the Maybach. You can take another car from the garage. I'm more comfortable driving this one."

Theodore finally looked her in the eye, his tone remaining indifferent. "Are you heading out for errands today?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What kind of errands?" he asked, pressing further.

Calista pulled the keys directly from his suit pocket, a smile playing on her lips. "Something… that will make you happy."

She intended to leave him forever.

Calista didn't say her last line out loud. She turned around and drove straight to the embassy.

The process of applying for permanent residency in Nordland wasn't complicated, especially for someone with her family background. The Arden family had moved their entire business overseas a few years earlier. Her parents and brother had relocated abroad as well.

She was the only one who stayed behind for Theodore. And now, she would be leaving too.

"The processing should take about a week," the clerk said with a smile.

She nodded, took the receipt, and walked out of the embassy.

It was finally coming to an end.

Theodore—the man she had pursued for six years, the reserved, chaste man she had once thought she could bring down from his pedestal—didn't belong to her after all.

She had sacrificed so much for him—adopting his vegetarian diet, embracing his abstinent lifestyle, and even toning down her vibrant personality just to get closer to him. Yet in the end, she couldn't even reach the deepest, most hidden desires in his heart.

She lowered her gaze to the receipt in her hand and let out a faint laugh, though her heart felt heavy. "Forget it. Theodore, if you don't like me, plenty of others do."

…

That night, Calista invited a group of close friends to a nightclub. She hadn't stepped into a place like that since marrying Theodore.

She wore a black slip dress, the hem swaying gently with each step to reveal her long, slender legs. There was a flicker of her long-lost boldness returning to her eyes.

Her best friend, Noelle Rowan, grabbed her arm. Noelle's eyes widened in surprise. "Calla, what's going on with you today? Ever since you fell for that cold ascetic, haven't you stayed glued to his side every day and stopped coming to places like this?"

Calista smiled and took a sip from her wine glass, her eyes turning slightly hazy. "Forget him. Tonight, I just want to have fun."

She turned and stepped onto the dance floor, swaying to the rhythm. Her body moved as if it had finally been unleashed, wild and uninhibited.

Her gaze swept over the male escorts nearby, a smirk playing on her lips. She reached out and lightly ran her hand over one man's torso, making him chuckle softly.

Noelle rushed over and grabbed her hand. "Calla, are you crazy? You've been touching all these guys and dancing so close. Aren't you afraid that Theodore will get mad if he sees this?"

"He's not even here," Calista said.

Noelle hesitated, then leaned close to her ear and whispered, "No… who told you he wasn't here? I've been trying to tell you—Theodore's in the back booth, and he's been watching you for a while!"

Calista's body stiffened, and she slowly looked up. Through the dizzying lights, she spotted him instantly.

Theodore wore a black suit that clashed with the surrounding chaos. He sat in a corner booth, his long fingers resting on the rim of his glass. His heavy gaze was fixed on her, and she had no idea how long he had been watching.

The music stopped at that exact moment.

She heard his friend beside him joke, "Theodore, Calla's been out there dancing for ages, and she's even touching other guys. If that were my wife, I'd have flipped the damn table by now. How are you still sitting here?"

Theodore's expression didn't flicker. He simply took a calm sip of his tea and replied coldly, "She knows her limits. She won't do anything inappropriate."

Those words hit Calista like a poisoned needle, striking exactly where she was most vulnerable.

Calista couldn't understand what he meant by knowing her limits. She wondered if he was certain she loved him too much to actually do anything with someone else or if he simply didn't care at all. Perhaps it was both.

"Wow, I'm genuinely outclassed by your level of detachment! I'm starting to wonder if there's anything in this world that could even faze you—"

The friend's voice suddenly rose mid-sentence. "Hey, Theodore, where are you going?"

Calista looked up instinctively and saw Theodore rise abruptly, his eyes fixed on the other side of the dance floor. A rare flicker of jealousy crossed his usually detached eyes.

She followed his gaze and saw Aveline standing at the edge of the dance floor in a white dress, exchanging contact information with a man.

Theodore strode over and grabbed Aveline's wrist, his voice terrifyingly cold. "Who allowed you to come to a place like this? And who gave you permission to give your number to others?"

Aveline was stunned for a moment, and then her eyes began to well up. "Why can't I be here? And why can't I give someone my number? Theodore, haven't you stopped caring about me? Then, what I do has nothing to do with you."

Theodore clenched his hand so tightly that his knuckles went white, his voice dropping to a low, heavy tone. "Who said I stopped caring about you?"

Aveline's voice broke with tears. "You did! You avoid me every day and refuse to see me! Theodore, you used to be so good to me. Why did everything suddenly change one day?"

At her words, Theodore's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice thick with suppressed emotion when he said, "That's because—"

Calista, standing nearby, felt a sharp pang in her chest. She knew Theodore couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth.

He could never admit that he avoided her because he liked her or that he lost all self-control the moment he saw her.

He could never confess that he loved her so obsessively that, despite being married for two years, he had never touched his wife. Instead, he commissioned a lifelike doll that looked exactly like her to ease his longing.

Calista gave a self-deprecating laugh and turned to leave, but then, she heard Aveline cry out, "Theodore, can we go back to how things were? I want my old brother back—the one who only had eyes for me!"

Theodore's voice was low and hoarse. "I'm married now. I can't keep revolving my whole life around you."

Aveline suddenly looked up, a hint of madness flickering in her eyes. "Does that mean if your wife disappears, we can go back to how things were before?"

Calista had just picked up her bag to leave when she saw Aveline snatch a wine bottle from the table and stride toward her.

With a loud crash, Aveline smashed the bottle onto Calista's head. The sound of shattering glass rang in Calista's ears as warm liquid streamed down her forehead.

Noelle's scream rang out beside her. "Calla!"

Calista stumbled backward, only to see Aveline raising a second bottle.

"Go die!" Aveline shouted.

The second strike landed even harder and knocked Calista out. She collapsed into a pool of blood, the world around her fading into nothing but a blur of frantic screaming.

Calista woke to a sharp, throbbing pain.

The smell of disinfectant filled her nose, and the bright fluorescent light overhead made her eyes ache. She instinctively lifted her hand to shield her eyes, but the movement tugged at the IV needle on the back of her hand, and a sharp hiss escaped her lips.

The nurse was changing her dressing and sighed with relief when she saw her awake. "You're finally awake. Who could hate you enough to do this? Two bottles were smashed over your head, and it took over 30 stitches to close the wounds."

Calista reflexively touched her bandaged head and asked in a raspy voice, "Where is the person who brought me here?"

"If you mean your friend, she stayed by your side all night but had to leave for a business emergency. She asked me to tell you that she hired a caregiver to look after you," the nurse replied.

Calista froze for a moment. She realized that the person who rushed her to the hospital wasn't even Theodore. She wondered where he could possibly be.

She reached for her phone, and as her fingers brushed the screen, an Instagram story from Aveline popped up. The caption read, "Theodore still knows exactly how to make me feel better."

In the video, Aveline held out her hand and pouted. "Look, I even cut my index finger while smashing those bottles."

The camera cut to Theodore crouching in front of her. His long, slender fingers held a bandage, which he carefully pressed onto her fingertip. He then lowered his head and pressed a restrained kiss to her finger, his voice low and husky. "There. It doesn't hurt anymore."

Calista stared at the screen, feeling as if the wound on her head had been ripped open again and doused with a bottle of alcohol. The phantom pain was so sharp it left her fingertips numb.

She took a deep breath and dialed 911. "Hello, I'd like to report an assault."

…

That night, Theodore pushed open the hospital room door. He was dressed in a black trench coat, his expression grim with a flicker of anger hidden in his eyes. "Did you call the police and accuse Aveline of intentional injury?"

Calista looked him straight in the eye. "Yes. What she did was intentional assault, and it's serious enough to press criminal charges."

Theodore's voice was deep, his brows furrowed with displeasure. "It was wrong for her to hit you in anger, but I've already punished her. This matter is settled."

Calista let out a cold laugh. "Punished her? How exactly did you punish her?"

Theodore replied, "She has a volatile temperament, so I grounded her for the day."

Calista froze for a moment before bursting into laughter, laughing so hard that her wounds ached. "I got over 30 stitches, and you only grounded her for a day? Theodore, did you keep her from leaving the house to punish her, or were you secretly protecting her because you were afraid that I'd go after her?"

Theodore's expression darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course it was a punishment.

"I've already had the police drop the charges. There's no point in reporting it to other stations—no one in all of Jorville would take this case."

Calista gripped the bedsheets tightly, her nails nearly digging into her palms.

There were countless things she wanted to say, but in the end, all she could do was ask, "Theodore, in the six years I've spent chasing after you, what exactly did you think of me? Since you don't care about me, why did you even marry me?"

Theodore's frown deepened. "Who said that I don't care about you?"

After a pause, he continued, "That's enough. Let this end here. I'll stay at the hospital to look after you for the next few days, and I'll compensate you once you're discharged. Stop making a scene."

He spoke as if he were granting her some magnificent favor.

Calista suddenly found it laughable. And yet, she realized that it was true. In the past, she had always been the one chasing him—chasing him to tell him she loved him, chasing him to be with her, chasing him to bed.

He had never taken the initiative. Now that he chose to stay on his own, it truly felt like a tremendous favor.