Molly Harding had just stepped out of her car at the jewelry auction in Harding Arts District when she spotted her husband at the entrance—with another woman on his arm.

Miles Vance stood there chatting with someone, his mistress pressed close to his side. She was beautiful, strikingly so, with a purity about her that seemed almost ethereal. Like moonlight given form.

Molly had always known her husband had exacting tastes. She just hadn't realized how well he could pick them.

She stared longer than she meant to, until her eyes began to sting.

Her friend squeezed her arm, voice soft with concern. "Don't go in. I'll bid for you."

Molly managed a thin smile. Catching your husband with his mistress wasn't exactly earth-shattering news.

Besides, Miles had already noticed her. His gaze swept over her with the same indifference he might show a stranger—no embarrassment, no discomfort, just a cold flicker of acknowledgment before he looked away.

He had never treated her like a wife. She was used to it by now.

Molly walked inside with her friend and found her seat. As luck would have it, Miles was directly in front of her, one row up. The woman leaned into his shoulder like she belonged there.

Molly forced herself to look past them. She was here for one thing only: a brooch she'd previewed twice already, hoping to win it for her mother.

It was a vintage piece—two feathers overlapping, one large and one small, crafted from gold, diamonds, and turquoise. Simple and elegant, yet utterly breathtaking.

The bidding climbed steadily. The wealthy socialites in attendance seemed to sense how much Molly wanted it. Out of respect for the young CEO of Breeze Fashion, they backed off one by one.

At six point two million dollars, the auctioneer raised his gavel—

And the woman draped over Miles lifted her paddle.

Molly's brow furrowed. Her friend, indignant on her behalf, immediately countered.

Back and forth they went, the price soaring to nine million.

Every time her friend bid, that woman followed.

Molly's expression darkened. She pulled out her phone and sent Miles a message: I want this brooch.

She watched him glance at his screen, then slip the phone back into his pocket without a word. He made no move to stop his mistress.

Molly inhaled slowly and typed again: This brooch means everything to me.

The message went through. Miles didn't look at his phone again.

Her hope crumbled with each passing second.

They had been married for three years. One week after signing the marriage certificate, he'd left for overseas. He came back a handful of times each year, and she was always the last to know.

Like today. If she hadn't stumbled upon him here, she would have assumed he was still abroad.

A husband who couldn't be bothered to acknowledge her existence—and she'd actually hoped he would help her?

She laughed bitterly at herself, then switched contacts and sent another message.

Moments later, Miles stood and stepped away to take a call. When he returned, his gaze cut toward her like a blade.

Molly ignored it. The brooch had belonged to her father. She'd had no choice but to call her mother-in-law and ask her to intervene—to pressure Miles into letting her have it.

But things didn't go as planned.

The moment Miles sat back down, his mistress called out a new bid: twenty million dollars.

Her friend fumed, ready to counter, but Molly stopped her, eyes rimmed with red.

In Harbor City, who could outspend the third son of the Vance family?

She had grown accustomed to his coldness, his neglect. But still—her heart felt like it was being torn apart.

After the auction ended, Molly found Miles.

She kept her voice low, her pride swallowed. "Can I have the brooch? I'll pay double what you bid."

Miles was tall, and he looked down at her with detached indifference.

Molly was beautiful—dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, skin pale as porcelain. The way she tilted her chin up, eyes bright with quiet desperation, could easily stir pity in anyone watching.

It was the same look she'd worn three years ago when she'd turned to his parents and said, "I want Miles Vance. Is that possible?"

The chill in his eyes deepened. "Once was enough."

The color drained from Molly's face. Once was enough...

Did he think today was the same as three years ago? That she was trying to steal something from this woman, just like she'd supposedly stolen him?

"That's not—"

Miles cut her off, uninterested in explanations. He accepted the jewelry case from the auction staff and turned to leave.

Molly panicked, grabbing his arm. "It belonged to my father—"

His gaze dropped to her fingers on his sleeve. The coldness there ran bone-deep, laced with undisguised contempt.

"Let go."

Molly remembered the day they'd signed their marriage certificate.

The moment she'd held that document in her hands, she'd wanted to spin in circles from sheer happiness. But he had looked at her with those same eyes and said, "Other than this piece of paper, you will get nothing from me."

Miles Vance was a man of his word.

Molly wanted to release him. But she had searched for this brooch for so long—just to give her mother something to hold onto.

She forced down the ache in her chest and pleaded, "Miles, I'm begging you..."

He shook her hand off. "Didn't I once beg you too, Ms. Harding?"

Miss Harding?

Three years of marriage, and he still refused to acknowledge her as his wife.

Seeing the disgust in Miles's eyes, Molly knew that no matter what she said or did, he would never give her the brooch.

Disappointment settled over her as she wondered how she could possibly get it back from him.

On the way home, her car stopped at an intersection. On the giant LED billboard across the street, news footage was playing: "Miles Vance wins Master Dylan Parker's Promise Brooch for $20 million—rumored proposal to girlfriend Sibyl Edwards."

Molly turned her head just in time to see a breathtakingly beautiful woman throwing her arms around Miles, beaming like a child on Christmas morning.

And her handsome husband was playing along perfectly—leaning down slightly, his palm resting on the woman's back, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes soft with tenderness.

Miles Vance, who was always so cold he barely seemed human, could actually look at someone like that...

Molly stared blankly at the screen, at the impossibly handsome man she had given her heart to.

So that's what the brooch was for. A proposal.

The Promise Brooch her father had designed for her mother—and Miles had used it to propose to his mistress.

Oh, Molly. What a joke you are.

She blinked slowly, brushed the tears from the corner of her eye with her fingertips, and dialed Miles's number.

"What is it?"

His tone was exactly as she expected—impatient, cold.

"Miles, just give me the brooch, and we'll divorce."

He didn't say a word. The line went dead.

Molly didn't call back. He found her tiresome enough already.

...

The next day, Miles finally came home around noon.

The house where he and Molly had started their marriage had become well-ordered since she moved in—every plant and piece of furniture arranged with care. To him, though, it felt like a stranger's home.

He had barely stepped into the foyer when the housekeeper approached. "Sir, Mrs. Vance sat in the living room all night. She only went upstairs a short while ago."

Miles acknowledged her with a nod and had the driver leave his luggage in the living room before heading upstairs.

The guest bedroom door was open. Inside, everything was neat and organized. Molly was still wearing yesterday's clothes, carefully placing books from the shelf into a cardboard box.

She heard him and turned around.

When she saw him, there was none of the eager delight that used to light up her face.

They regarded each other in silence for a moment. When she didn't speak, Miles couldn't be bothered to say anything either. He loosened his tie and retreated to his own room.

Even after marriage, they were strangers under the same roof.

Molly smiled bitterly to herself.

His affair with Sibyl had made headlines everywhere—he'd thrown the Harding family's dignity to the ground—and he hadn't offered her a single word of explanation.

Because she didn't matter. Because she wasn't the wife he wanted.

The Harding family had done the Vances a great favor. When Molly said she wanted to marry Miles, the Vance family had separated him from the woman he loved.

Maybe this is karma, she thought. Punishment for destroying his chance at happiness.

Three years ago, Miles had come to her and said, "There's someone in my heart. Whatever debt my family owes yours—I can repay it another way."

If she could go back to that moment, she would have agreed. Instead, she had said, "Miles, I only want you."

...

Once Molly had finished packing, she instructed the servants to load her things into her car. That's when Miles finally came downstairs.

He walked past her and settled onto the living room sofa. "Where are you going?"

Molly glanced at him. Miles was undeniably handsome, with an air about him that was almost impossible to put into words.

But the scent of Sibyl's perfume clinging to him cleared her head instantly. "I'll have my lawyer draft the divorce agreement."

Miles was reaching for a cigarette. He paused, looking up at her. "Haven't you caused enough drama?"

Drama?

He thought she was being dramatic?

So even when she said "divorce," he hadn't believed her—thought she was just playing games?

Molly let out a soft laugh. "I finally understand how you felt back then. I'm truly sorry, Mr. Vance."

Miles's hand froze mid-motion as he was about to light the cigarette. He looked up at her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and there was a fragility about her—something broken—that he had never seen before.

It caught him off guard.

But before he could dwell on it, she had already turned and walked away.

Molly had just gotten into the car when her mother-in-law called, asking her to come to the Old Estate.

She hung up and glanced outside. Miles had changed his clothes and was waiting by the entrance, clearly intending to go with her.

In front of his family, their marriage had always appeared to be one of "mutual respect."

This time, Molly didn't move. She'd made up her mind to divorce him, and she was done catering to Miles's feelings.

The tall man finished a cigarette before finally losing patience and rapping on her window.

"I'll drive myself," Molly said, her tone flat.

"My mother can't be upset." She had surgery coming up soon. If they arrived separately, she'd overthink things.

Molly didn't respond. Even if her mother-in-law got upset, that was his doing, not hers.

She raised the window, but Miles spoke suddenly. "The brooch—you don't want it anymore?"

Molly looked at him. One hand braced against the roof of the car, his posture deceptively relaxed, yet he had her completely cornered.

She pressed her lips together. In the end, she got out.

Sharing a car with Miles—this was the first time in three years of marriage.

Something she'd once longed for so desperately now brought her no joy at all.

The driver was steady. Molly sat pressed against the window, catching in her peripheral vision the crisp press of his trousers, not a single wrinkle.

Neither of them spoke.

Twenty minutes later, the car arrived at the Vance Old Estate.

Miles fastened his suit jacket, stepped out, and took her hand.

Molly's fingers trembled. Looking down at their interlaced hands, she felt worse than she had waiting up for him all night.

She was repulsed. She tried hard to shake him off, but couldn't.

Miles said nothing, his expression as emotionless as ever. He wasn't even gripping tightly, yet she couldn't break free.

Molly laughed in frustration. "Your parents are smart—they'll see right through us. Just give me the brooch, and I'll help you get through this with them."

Miles studied her, his gaze heavy. He didn't believe she'd actually go through with the divorce.

He stayed silent. Molly took that as agreement.

After all, he'd proposed to someone yesterday. How could he bear to keep his precious darling hidden away any longer?

Since she couldn't shake him off, she let him hold her hand.

When they entered the living room, Mrs. Vance looked pleased to see them hand in hand. Then something crossed her mind, and she shot her son a look, her tone sharp. "Get upstairs. Your father's waiting."

She immediately turned warm again, pulling Molly aside to talk.

"Molly, what happened online—he was completely out of line. I owe you an apology." Mrs. Vance spoke with genuine concern.

Everyone in the Vance family treated her well. Everyone except her husband.

"I know you've been wronged. Tell me what you want, and I'll make that bastard pay!"

Molly appreciated her mother-in-law taking her side, but the more she did, the more Miles resented her.

She was exhausted by this life. "Mom, I want to divorce him."

Mrs. Vance had expected Molly to be furious, but she never imagined it would come to divorce.

"Molly, he's not planning to go abroad again after this. I'll make him cut things off with that woman. Give it time—he'll come to love you. It would be such a waste to give up now." Mrs. Vance was desperate.

"There's no point dragging out something meaningless. Cutting losses early is the right thing to do. Even after we divorce, I'll still visit you."

Seeing that Molly had made up her mind, Mrs. Vance didn't know what else to say.

Molly hugged her gently. "You're the best mother-in-law in the world. Because of me, you and your son have grown distant. Let me go talk to Dad—don't be too hard on him."

Mrs. Vance went with her.

"You've been abroad for years, far from the Vances' core management. Taking over the company won't be easy. If word of a divorce gets out—even from a secret marriage—it would be extremely damaging." Noah Vance's voice was stern.

"If you agree to let me divorce Molly, I'll give up my share of everything in the Vance family."