When I was in a car accident, the car passing by had Zach Stark with him.

Seeing me bleeding profusely and the baby in my belly barely clinging to life, the driver wanted to stop and help. But Zach stopped him, urging, "Don't bother her. She won't die!"

He ordered the driver to speed up and leave.

He was my husband. But he didn’t save me.

Later that night, as I lay in the hospital ward, I saw the news. His beloved Vicky Cain, his so-called “first love,” had returned to America.

I calmly picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer.

"Atty. Miller, please help me draft a divorce agreement."

The next day, I went to Zach with the agreement.

He was busy at the company, and his expression darkened the moment he saw me.

When I took out the papers, his frown deepened further.

"How old are you? Still playing games like writing our names together?" He sneered as he signed his name with a few quick strokes, cutting off any explanation I might have offered.

He didn’t even glance at the document. He assumed it was just another childish whim of a wife desperate for attention.

For seven years, I chased him. I begged for his love, forced his hand, and even saved him when the Stark family went bankrupt. That was when he became my husband. We had our moments of sweetness, fleeting as they were. But everything changed when Vicky came back.

He clearly saw me at the accident scene but left in a rush to pick her up from the airport. He couldn’t bear to let Vicky endure the cold wind, yet he left me bleeding on the ground.

This time, I decided to let him go.

He didn’t realize the papers he signed would soon take effect.

With an impatient tone, he urged me to leave. I returned home and started packing.

But then, Zach appeared. He walked in, holding a bouquet of bright roses.

"Yvette, I was too busy at work today. I didn’t treat you well this morning. You’re not angry, are you?"

I didn’t expect him to bring me flowers.

The pollen filled the air, and my throat began to burn like fire. I staggered, searching for my allergy medicine.

Seeing my reaction, Zach’s face turned impatient.

"Are the flowers I gave you not good enough? What else do you want, Miss?"

But when he noticed my labored breathing, his expression shifted to worry.

He rushed to me, his hands trembling as he held me. I could feel his rapid breathing as he carried me.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital again. Zach sat by my side, his eyes full of guilt as he held my hand tightly.

"Yvette, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trigger your allergy."

For the first time, his eyes were fully on me.

My throat burned as I croaked out the question I had buried for years.

"Zach, have you ever loved me?"

Through all these years of entanglement, I had wanted to ask this countless times.

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he touched my abdomen and murmured softly,

"Yvette, don’t overthink. I’ll treat you and the baby well from now on."

But his words pierced through me.

It hit me that, for seven years, I had been the only one fighting for us. He never loved me.

Our baby had died because of him.

Pain crushed my chest, making it hard to breathe. Zach gently patted my back, his face full of concern.

Then his phone rang, cutting through the tension. A woman’s voice came from the receiver. He gave me an apologetic look and left the ward.

Left alone, I curled up under the blanket and pulled out my phone.

I scrolled through Vicky’s social media, torturing myself.

[My ex-husband came to pick me up as soon as I landed in America. Those roses he gave me were so tacky.]

It turned out the apology gift Zach had given me was nothing but trash Vicky had rejected.

I came across Vicky's latest update.

[He came over immediately to bring me medicine when I caught a cold.]

I was in unbearable pain, yet Zach abandoned me without hesitation because of Vicky’s minor cold.

At that moment, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing—laughing at how ridiculous and pitiful I had become. But as I laughed, tears started streaming down my face.

Wiping them away, I picked up my phone and messaged the professor:

[Professor, I’ll be able to report to Florida in a week.]

I studied design in college and received an invitation from a foreign professor to further my studies. I turned down the opportunity back then because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Zach.

But the professor never gave up on me, and we kept in touch. For the first time, I agreed to his offer. He replied immediately, sending a flood of messages in excitement.

After responding to all of them, I fell asleep in the hospital ward.

I was half-asleep when the sudden ringing of my phone startled me awake. On the other end of the line, Zach’s familiar, slurred voice came through.

"Yvette, come pick me up. You have to come pick me up."

His brother took over the call, giving me the bar’s address. I hesitated for a while but eventually decided to go.

The dim lights of the bar cast a shadowy haze over the scene. There Zach was, nestled in Vicky’s arms, French-kissing her passionately.

His brothers jeered around him.

"Zach, you and the eldest sister-in-law still make the best match!"

"Zach, now that Yvette Lane’s back, you can finally stop enduring Vicky’s nonsense!"

My unexpected arrival silenced their teasing.

I could understand their perspective. From the outside, it must have looked like I was repaying Zach’s kindness. Maybe even Zach himself believed that.

Despite being in Vicky’s arms, the moment Zach saw me, he stumbled over and clung to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Yvette, hey, baby is here," he murmured drunkenly.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his behavior. He always acted like a spoiled child after drinking.

Under Zach’s insistence, I helped him to the parking lot.

The next morning, when he woke up, his face was clouded with irritation.

He barely touched the breakfast the maid brought, rubbing his temples instead.

"You didn’t make me hangover soup today," he grumbled.

I set my sandwich down and didn’t know how to respond.

I had already made up my mind to cut Zach out of my life.

I simply looked at him silently, offering no reply. My indifference made him uneasy, and he spoke again, panicking:

"I didn’t do anything bad last night, did I?"

I had seen him being intimate with Vicky and heard his brothers’ taunts. But I didn’t feel anything anymore. I needed moments like these—painful and undeniable truths—to harden my resolve.

My silence only deepened his guilt. He suggested dinner that evening, speaking with a flattering tone.

We met at a restaurant later that night.

The private dining room was beautifully decorated, with a breathtaking view of the Bund. But Zach’s sudden departure to fetch wine turned into an encounter with Vicky.

When he returned, he explained curtly, "Just ran into a friend."

I smiled faintly and nodded, pretending not to care.

As I quietly ate, I watched them talking just outside the room.

After Zach stepped away again, Vicky entered, her gaze sharp and confrontational.

"Didn’t you see it all?" she sneered.

I ignored her comment, but she grabbed my collar, her previously composed demeanor replaced with fury.

"Don’t think that just because he went home with you last night, you’ve won."

I calmly pushed her arm away and kept my distance. Before I could respond, her lips curled into a strange smile. She suddenly leaned back, letting herself fall.

Zach’s angry voice echoed as he rushed into the room.

"Yvette, what are you doing?"

He hurried to help Vicky up as she leaned weakly against his chest.

In a trembling, wronged tone, she murmured, "Zach, it’s okay. I just lost my balance."

She was clearly lying, yet Zach harshly accused me:

"Hurry up and apologize to Vicky!"

I caught a glimpse of Vicky’s triumphant smirk.

Keeping my tone indifferent, I repeated, "It wasn’t me. This has nothing to do with me."

Zach grabbed my collar, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Why do you still act like some spoiled princess?" he spat.

"Don’t forget—you don’t have your parents to shield you anymore. You’re nothing but a dog I keep around now."

Zach always knew how to cut me where it hurt most.

My parents passed away suddenly a year ago. They had been my pillar of strength, and their loss left me adrift. Since then, Zach’s treatment of me had grown colder and more distant. It was only the news of the baby that brought some warmth back into our relationship.

But now, his words crushed me.

It wasn’t enough for him to trample on my love—he ground my dignity into dust.

Despite the bitterness welling up inside, I lifted my chin and said, "If you don’t believe me, check the surveillance footage."

Zach glared at me with disappointment in his eyes before turning to embrace Vicky. Without another word, he walked out of the private room with her in his arms.

I stared at the river view through the window, but all I could feel was the piercing ache in my chest.

I never thought he would look at me with such disdain. When my parents passed away, I entrusted all their wealth to him, thinking we were building a future together. Yet, he regarded me as useless and reduced my worth to nothing more than an object.

Late that night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, when my phone buzzed with a series of messages.

[Little sister, I heard you’ve been chasing Zach for seven years. Funny how I’ve only been back for a few days, and you’re already losing.]

[Do yourself a favor—step aside now. I’d hate to see you humiliated any further.]

She even sent me intimate photos of her and Zach.

The images burned into my mind: their bodies entwined in bed, her perched on the kitchen counter with him between her legs. Every detail was visible.

My hands trembled as I stared at the screen.

I hadn’t expected Zach to be so eager. Vicky had only been back for three days.

I pulled the quilt over my head. Strangely, I couldn’t cry anymore. It was as if I’d already accepted the reality that Zach never loved me.

I didn’t know when he came home, but I felt his arms wrap around me as he sighed softly.

"Yvette, what am I going to do with you?"

I caught sight of faint kiss marks on his neck and the unmistakable scent of another woman’s perfume clinging to him.

Still, he held me close.

"You shouldn’t have hurt Vicky," he said.

I pulled away from his embrace, but his expression darkened.

"You’re so childish," he muttered.

"You’re coming with me tomorrow to apologize to her."

I closed my eyes, unwilling to see or speak to him any longer.

His hand moved to my abdomen, and his voice softened.

"The baby needs a good mother."

Those words hit me like a blow. The loss of our child was a painful reminder that Zach and I should have ended long ago.

When I didn’t respond, his anger flared.

"If you don’t apologize, I’ll scatter your parents’ ashes."

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. His threat was merciless. My parents had been the ones to save him, yet he now weaponized their memory against me.

My voice trembled as I replied, "I’ll apologize."

His expression eased into a satisfied smile, while despair crushed me like weight.

The next morning, Zach dragged me to the villa next door.

Vicky greeted us in her pajamas, her eyes brimming with glee.

Zach pushed my head down, forcing me to bow.

"Apologize to her," he ordered coldly.

Swallowing my pride and choking back tears, I said, "I’m sorry."

Vicky wrapped an arm around my shoulders with faux graciousness.

"It’s nothing serious," she said sweetly.

But as soon as Zach’s back was turned, she leaned in and hissed,

"Little sister, didn’t I tell you? You don’t stand a chance against me."

Her voice dripped with venom as she added,

"I’ve only been back a few days, and Zach’s already given me a villa and moved me right next door—just so we can spend more time together."