The year Desmond Knight went bankrupt and crashed his car, I knelt in the rain for a day and a night.

I begged my parents to let me marry him.

For six years of marriage, Desmond cherished me, respected me—but he never loved me.

In Desmond’s heart, there was always his ex-girlfriend.

And no matter how hard I tried, in six long years, I never managed to take her place.

Hearing him personally say he didn’t love me, I signed the divorce papers without hesitation and finally gave up on our entanglement.

Desmond, that cold, distant man, suddenly dropped to his knees, just like I had back then—

Begging me to come back.

…

“Leaving again? Didn’t you promise you’d stay and have dinner with me?”

Desmond was already dressed, clearly about to head out.

At my words, he gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry. Something urgent came up at the company. I have to deal with it.”

“Don’t wait up for me. Just eat first.”

As the door closed, I lowered my head, and the last shred of hope inside me crumbled.

I knew exactly who Desmond was going to see.

At the airport—

A reporter lifted a microphone. “Miss Hale, may I ask what brought you back to the country so suddenly this time?”

The camera turned.

“Because of someone,” the woman replied.

She slowly took off her sunglasses, revealing a face I knew all too well.

“We missed each other for many years because of some… circumstances. This time, I came back for him.”

Confidence and a fierce determination lit up her features.

I turned off the TV.

Seraphina Hale—currently one of the hottest rising actresses.

She was also Desmond’s ex-girlfriend.

Near midnight, half-asleep, I heard the sound of the lock turning.

The living room light snapped on. The harsh brightness forced my eyes open, and I instinctively glanced at the clock.

It wasn’t midnight yet. Overjoyed, I jumped up from the couch.

Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose, looking tired. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait up?”

My smile froze.

I had thought he’d rushed back because he remembered what day it was.

I lowered my head in disappointment. “You forgot what today is.”

Desmond paused.

The living room was different tonight—carefully decorated by me.

He hadn’t noticed at all.

In the center of the dining table sat a cake with words piped across it.

It had been sitting there so long the frosting was starting to melt, but the words “Happy Anniversary” were still clearly visible.

Midnight had passed. Yesterday had been our fifth wedding anniversary.

By the time Desmond realized, it was already too late. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I was so busy, it slipped my mind.”

I didn’t call out his lie.

Desmond stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. “Whatever you want, just buy it. I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

His scent wrapped around me, thick and cloyingly sweet. The perfume made my stomach churn.

Desmond never wore cologne.

I knew exactly whose fragrance it was. Swallowing back the tears, I wondered if he had held her the same way he was holding me now.

Desmond agreed to make up for missing our anniversary.

That evening, he booked a reservation at a hotel restaurant.

I hadn’t expected to see Seraphina so soon.

Success had only made her more striking. Gone was the girl from six years ago; now she was a woman polished by fame and red carpets.

She didn’t look the least bit surprised to see us. She had clearly come here for Desmond.

“Hello, Desmond’s wife.”

Seraphina looked down at me from where she stood, and from her I caught the exact same perfume I had smelled on Desmond that night.

She emphasized the word “wife,” biting down on it, her tone edged with resentment.

Of course. If it weren’t for me, six years ago Desmond never would’ve agreed to marry.

“What are you doing here?” Desmond snapped, frowning.

“What, I’m not allowed?” Seraphina’s tone turned teasing, almost flirtatious, as she sat down beside Desmond right in front of me, not bothering to hide the desire in her eyes. Then she gave me a taunting little smile.

She glanced around the room, and her gaze finally landed on the cake with “Our Anniversary” written on it.

“Just slipped out after an event. Haven’t eaten yet. You don’t mind, do you?” she said lightly.

Before either of us could speak, she had already taken the knife and sliced the whole cake cleanly in half.

I looked over at Desmond. He didn’t stop Seraphina.

Seraphina wasn’t here for cake. She tilted her head, voice soft. “Tell me, if I hadn’t left back then… would the one sitting here celebrating our anniversary with you be me?”

She looked like she was drowning in regret. She was clearly talking to Desmond, but her eyes never left my face.

“Seraphina, stop it,” Desmond said, sounding helpless, as if he never knew how to deal with her.

I laughed bitterly to myself.

His words only encouraged her. She pushed even further. No wonder she was an actress—her tears came on cue.

She cried as she reminisced about her past with Desmond, insisting she wanted to drink the wine sitting in front of him.

Desmond stopped her hand. “You’re allergic to alcohol,” he blurted out.

The moment the words left his mouth, he froze, then lifted his eyes to look at me.

I went still, then let out a bleak little laugh. “You remember that so clearly.”

Our wedding anniversary he could forget. Seraphina’s alcohol allergy, he never did.

Desmond looked like he wanted to say something to me, but in the end his attention was pulled back to Seraphina.

She covered her mouth, feigning surprise. “So many years have passed, and you still remember I’m allergic to alcohol.”

I had to admit, she got exactly what she wanted. Just sitting here, I was humiliating myself.

I set my fork down. “Miss Hale, there’s no need to be so impatient. Desmond and I aren’t divorced yet. If you want to pick things up where you left off, at least wait until we are. Do you really need to rush to be the mistress?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I caught Desmond frown, displeased.

What was he unhappy about? That I’d called Seraphina a mistress?

“You’re the mistress,” Seraphina snapped, my words hitting right where it hurt.

“Rosalind Foley, Desmond was mine to begin with. If I hadn’t left back then, how the hell would you ever have married him?”

She wasn’t wrong. It was the truth. Still, I couldn’t help glancing at Desmond.

He didn’t react to what she said. It didn’t seem to matter to him.

Disappointment washed over me yet again. “Miss Hale, you said it yourself—that was in the past. Right now, I’m still Desmond’s wife.”

“You’re so eager to take my place? At least wait until Desmond and I are divorced.”

“Big star that you are, you don’t want to be known as the homewrecker mistress, do you?”

My voice rose with every sentence. When I finished, I pushed my chair back and stood up. I didn’t care how either of them reacted—I didn’t want to stay in that room a second longer.

The night wind outside cut straight through me, making me shiver as I stood by the side of the road. Desmond didn’t come after me.

He didn’t come home until very late. He stopped by the bed, the cloying sweetness of someone else’s perfume clinging to him.

“Don’t overthink it. There’s no way this is going to work out,” he said.

When I didn’t stir, he turned and went into the bathroom.

No way this is going to work out—meaning not that he didn’t like me, but that we had no future.

I didn’t open my eyes. I lay there, silent, swallowing my sobs as the tears slid down.

After that night, I didn’t speak to Desmond for days. Or rather, I gave him the cold shoulder on my own. Desmond didn’t seem to care either way.

From the moment Seraphina came back, I knew this was where Desmond and I would end up. That was when I started rethinking our marriage.

I only found out at the very end that Seraphina had snatched the endorsement for the company’s top luxury brand halfway through the process.

To be honest, Seraphina is popular, but she’s still far from qualified to front a top-tier luxury label.

But once I learned the person who made the final decision was Desmond, I wasn’t surprised anymore.

Even after being apart for six years, he’ll still, without hesitation, give her the very best.

This luxury endorsement was something I’d already agreed on with the award‑winning actress Jessamine Wilde. Back then, Desmond had tacitly acknowledged that the power to choose the spokesperson was mine. And now, without a word, he handed the job to someone else. I wasn’t going to accept that.

I was on my way to confront him when I accidentally overheard their conversation.

“Desmond, I know you still haven’t let me go. Otherwise, how could you have agreed to marry Rosalind right after I left? You were just trying to spite me. But I really had no choice back then—that was my only opportunity. You understand me, don’t you?” It was Seraphina’s voice.

There was a long stretch of silence from Desmond.

I stayed hidden outside the door.

All I wanted was to hear his answer.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I did agree to Rosalind’s request because I’d lost all hope. I went bankrupt that year, and marrying her really could help the company survive the crisis. I don’t like her.”

I’ve always liked Desmond’s voice, but in that moment, I had never felt such disgust listening to it.

I didn’t dare listen any further. Panic drove me away.

Memories from the past six years surged up, turning into a sharp blade that stabbed straight into my chest. At some point, tears had already blurred my vision.

Hearing those words from Desmond’s own mouth—

I finally realized how one‑sided these years had been.

Six years. I thought that no matter how cold a heart was, six years would be enough to warm it.

Even if Desmond was still madly in love with Seraphina, after six years together, I thought he would feel at least a little pity for me.

I underestimated how ruthless Desmond could be.

Or rather, I underestimated how much he loved Seraphina.

Desmond was ruthless. Completely.

When I slid the divorce papers across the table to him, he stared at them in silence for a long time.

In the end, I was the one who broke the silence. “Desmond, let’s get a divorce.”

A flicker of emotion flashed in his eyes. After a long pause, he simply said, in a low voice, “Okay.” He didn’t even bother to ask why.

Of course he didn’t. I’d clung to him for six years. He could finally cut ties with me—why would he question it?

He just made a phone call and had the lawyer draft a new divorce agreement and send it over.

I went through the revised agreement. There were a lot more terms compensating me.

I didn’t hesitate anymore. I signed my name neatly at the bottom.

These compensations would repay the help I gave him six years ago. After this, we’d owe each other nothing.

Six years ago, not long after Desmond had started his company, it was hit by a bankruptcy crisis.

The girlfriend he’d been dating for years chose that moment to break up with him.

Under the double blow, Desmond fell into a complete slump and ended up in a car accident.

His parents had passed away long ago. I, as the closest thing he had to family, signed the consent form for his surgery. The doctor told me to be prepared—Desmond might end up in a vegetative state.

I refused to believe it. I stayed by his side day and night. Thankfully, Desmond woke up.

But right after he woke, the bankrupt company dragged in a wave of debt collectors who came to the hospital to make a scene. Lying in his hospital bed, Desmond gave a bitter, mocking laugh. “You should’ve just let me die.”

To help him, I came up with a solution.

“Desmond, let’s get married,” I said. “I’ll help you.”