During the variety show, both my sister and I fell into the water.

Without a moment's hesitation, my husband, Damien Hale, jumped in—to save my sister.

He carried her out with a tense, anxious expression, never once looking back.

By the time the staff pulled me from the water, I was on the verge of drowning.

The next day, I handed him the divorce papers.

His expression darkened. “Callie can’t swim. I had to save her first. Are you seriously jealous over that?”

I met his gaze calmly. “Just sign it.”

——

We went through the divorce formalities without drama. Damien furrowed his perfect brows the entire time, but it no longer stirred anything in me.

He slipped his ID into his pocket. “I’ll take you home.”

I shook my head. “No need.”

He frowned, clearly displeased. “Serena, don’t be like this. We were married for three years. Divorce doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again.”

I blinked, surprised he’d say something like that. Now that Callie was back, I thought he’d be thrilled I was stepping aside without fuss.

“Mr. Hale,” I said softly, “to me, divorce is divorce. We’re neither relatives nor friends.”

“You—”

“Besides, we don’t have children. There’s no reason to stay in contact.”

I must have struck a nerve. He turned and walked away without another word.

I watched his retreating back and sighed.

Then I checked the balance on my bank card—and instantly felt better.

Although I was the Sutton family’s biological daughter, I never received a cent from them. Ironically, it was the divorce that finally made me a wealthy woman.

Knowing the Hale family would never agree to an equal split, I asked my lawyer to settle for 20 million. Damien agreed—and added two luxury apartments in New York and L.A., three properties in Hawaii, and six commercial units in prime locations.

It was more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life.

Staring at those cold, hard numbers, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Finally, I could live for myself.

The very next day, I moved into a downtown apartment already transferred to my name. For the first time, I felt a sense of real security.

I thought leaving Damien would crush me. After all, I did love him during our three-year marriage.

But to my surprise, I slept soundly that night. So soundly, I didn’t wake until noon the next day.

Our marriage had always been a business arrangement. Damien and I got married because our grandfathers—war buddies who had survived life and death together—wanted to bind the families through marriage.

But the one meant to marry Damien was Callie, the so-called rose the Sutton family had nurtured for eighteen years.

I, on the other hand, was the true daughter—switched at birth, raised in an orphanage.

Damien and I were never meant to cross paths, let alone fall in love.

I was eighteen when the Sutton family finally found me. They cried, saying I was their real daughter—that a nurse’s mistake had torn us apart.

Back then, I lived in poverty. Seeing their luxury cars, I naively thought my life was about to change. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to collect trash to pay school fees anymore. The orphanage was poor. Not every child could even afford to attend school.

But what awaited me wasn’t love or compensation—only cold indifference.

Still, I told myself: as long as I could go to school, it was enough.

They claimed the fake daughter’s adoptive parents had died, so they wouldn’t send her away. But the difference in how they treated us was glaring.

I wasn’t treated like the second daughter of the family—but more like the nanny’s child.

I didn’t learn the real reason behind the arranged marriage until my parents called me in.

Only then did they tell me: the handsome boy Callie had been chasing had gotten into a serious car accident. The doctors said his legs would never fully recover—he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

Callie had cried and screamed that she would never marry a cripple.

So, the task fell to me.

I could’ve refused. But when I thought of that sun-kissed face I hadn’t seen in over a year, I agreed—without knowing why.

I was twenty then, just about to start my sophomore year. My parents arranged a leave of absence from school, and I got married far earlier than most.

When I went to see him, Damien was furious. He smashed a vase at my feet and shouted for Callie.

But she was already gone—studying abroad, courtesy of the black card my parents gave her.

The Sutton family’s business depended heavily on the Hale family. Callie didn’t want to marry a disabled man, but they still needed someone to maintain the alliance. So, they pushed me forward instead.

It was the first time my mother, Abigaile Sutton, showed me any warmth. She cried, said the family was struggling, said Callie was pitiful, and that my father’s hair had turned white from stress.

But I wasn’t moved.

Why say all that? I wasn’t marrying for them. I was doing it for Damien.

When I was a freshman, he was a senior—the most talked-about boy on campus. A campus heartthrob and a school bully rolled into one. The confession wall was full of declarations for him, and elite families sent their daughters his way. But only Callie stood by his side.

Because of that, she became the envy of everyone.

She flaunted her exclusivity with pride, claiming a place in Damien’s heart no one could shake.

Yes, I admired his looks—but I admired his mind even more.

He was brilliant. His dedication to mathematics led him to publish several peer-reviewed journals. I read every one of them, and a few even helped me solve problems I’d been stuck on.

It was easy for admiration to turn into love.

On our wedding day, Damien didn’t smile once. I was nervous, palms sweaty and trembling. When he took my hand, I nearly tripped.

Laughter rippled around us, and I felt small, out of place. When someone whispered Callie’s name, I saw Damien’s expression turn even colder.

He must love her, I thought. Why else would he hate me so much?

In that moment, I regretted everything—the marriage, and my one-sided love.

That night, he treated me like an outlet for his anger. But his legs weren't steady, and the pain became too much. I pushed him down and stopped him, straddling him instead. Slowly, carefully, I took control. Our breathing grew heavy. His face flushed with red, and for the first time, I felt myself sinking—not just into him, but into the moment.

There were no power struggles in the Hale family. Oddly enough, I was more comfortable there than I’d ever been in the Sutton household.

I loved books and continued studying, even though I’d left school. My curiosity for academic questions never left me.

At first, Damien barely came home. Days would go by before I saw him.

But slowly, that changed. He began coming back every evening. Even when work kept him late, he’d message me to explain where he was.

I started learning massage techniques from an old doctor, hoping I might be able to help with his recovery.

The first time I offered, I was shy and hesitant.

But over time, I became more confident, learning every massage point by heart. After six months, my hands grew strong and practiced.

Life was actually quite dull. So when I went to Damien's company one afternoon to drop off a document he had forgotten at home, I didn’t expect anything unusual to happen.

But as I stepped into the building, an editor from a short web drama happened to see me. She approached and asked if I’d be interested in playing the third female lead in their upcoming project—a top student with a quiet, bookish temperament. She said I looked the part.

On a whim, I agreed. Damien didn’t object either.

To my surprise, the short drama became a breakout hit. Despite playing a minor role, I gained a small fanbase of my own.

It was novel, thrilling even. I had never imagined myself in the entertainment industry—it felt like a world completely unrelated to mine.

Hale family owned a diverse empire of businesses, and Halestone Entertainment was just a small subsidiary. Damien told me, as long as I didn’t use the Hale family name, I could do whatever I wanted.

So, gradually, I took on more roles. I signed with an agent, Ruth Davidson, and got a small assistant. Soon, I was appearing as the fourth, fifth, even sixth female lead in a few big-name productions.

Technically, I was just a low-tier actress—but I found it strangely fun. Sometimes, I’d scroll through Twitter and laugh at the fans’ comments.

One night, I was reading fan messages aloud to Damien in bed, smiling as I pressed gently on his leg with one hand. Without meaning to, I touched a spot that made him groan.

Startled, I tossed my phone aside and leaned over, thinking I’d hurt him.

But Damien pulled me down onto the bed and kissed me.

It all unfolded naturally after that—one thing led to another, and we both found comfort in the intimacy.

Since then, our relationship began to shift, deepening in quiet, meaningful ways.

He would surprise me with my favorite desserts, buy me clothes and jewelry, take me to movies, or stroll with me by the lake.

We started to resemble a real couple.

Thanks to daily massages, his legs gradually improved. Even the doctor called it a miracle. Now, as long as he didn’t walk too fast, you could hardly tell he’d ever been injured.

But in the third year of our marriage, Callie came back.

The day she returned, Damien—who had grown used to clinging to me—suddenly seemed distant.

My parents called and asked the two of us to return home.

Callie had been abroad for the past three years and hadn’t returned even once. During our rare family gatherings at holidays, my parents would make excuses, saying she was too busy with her studies.

Damien always stayed silent when they said that. I never knew what he was thinking.

After all, their real daughter had rarely visited since marrying him—but the Sutton family had still received endless benefits from the Hale family.

When we arrived at the Sutton house, I saw a graceful, elegant woman rush toward Damien and throw herself into his arms.

I stood off to the side and watched as Damien didn’t push her away.

She looked more mature now, but still called him “Brother” as tears streamed down her face, soaking his suit jacket.

I stood there, watching the scene unfold, and felt a sharp pain in my chest. I regretted agreeing to come back.

Then, Callie turned and looked at me. “Sorry, sister,” she said with a smile, “I was just too happy. Damien—oh, wait, should I be calling you Brother-in-law now?”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Damien’s face. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and led me to sit beside him.

I saw the shock in Callie’s eyes.

That meal was excruciating. My parents didn’t ask how I’d been or how my life was going. Instead, they steered every conversation back to Callie and Damien, pushing them to reconnect.

They even said, with almost no subtlety, that Callie had always missed her “Damien.”

A strange thought crept into my mind: were they trying to sell their daughter to him again?

From that day on, Callie started appearing around us more and more—like a buzzing fly I couldn’t swat away.

Within a month, Damien went from ignoring her to quietly accepting her presence.

Then, she said she wanted to join the entertainment industry.

And Damien? He assigned Halestone Entertainment’s top agent to manage her.