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."

They had just reached the study when they heard that.

Miles truly loved that woman. Years ago, the Vance family had forced him to choose between his position as heir and her. He'd chosen her without a moment's hesitation.

Three years had passed, and his resolve hadn't wavered. Amid her heartache, Molly felt an unexpected twinge of emotion.

Mrs. Vance's anger, barely contained, flared again. "Miles! If Molly's father hadn't saved your life back then, you wouldn't even be here. How can you say such things?"

"My survival had nothing to do with her father."

Mrs. Vance was so furious she started to cry, unable to fathom why her son refused to acknowledge this.

Molly didn't want him thinking she'd orchestrated this scene.

She gently embraced Mrs. Vance, murmuring something in her ear. The older woman's expression shifted, and she laughed.

Just like that, the tension dissolved.

Miles couldn't help glancing at Molly. She wore gray tailored trousers and a black knit sweater—minimalist and sharp. Paired with that striking, memorable face, the effect was dazzling.

Especially with that smile at the corner of her lips. Dazzling enough to be unforgettable.

His gaze darkened, and he looked away.

After they went downstairs, she said calmly that they shouldn't have married three years ago.

Miles studied her. Her tone was even, her eyes steady. She wasn't lying.

So she genuinely wanted a divorce?

Sensing his gaze, Molly met it without flinching—no longer blushing shyly as she once had.

Mrs. Vance clearly adored her, clasping her hands tightly. "After you divorce this foolish son of mine, just be my daughter instead. Your family's kindness—I haven't forgotten."

Mr. Vance agreed with the suggestion and asked what Molly wanted from the divorce settlement.

Molly hadn't expected things to go this way. Before she could find words for this awkward situation, her assistant called about an urgent matter at the company.

"Mom, Dad—there's an issue at the factory. I need to go handle it."

The factory?

"Isn't that out in the suburbs?" A two-hour drive, at least.

"Molly didn't bring her driver. You're her brother now—go with her." Mrs. Vance directed the last part at Miles.

He sat on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him. He didn't refuse, but everything about his posture radiated cold indifference—I'm not going.

They were getting divorced anyway. Molly didn't care about something this trivial.

"It's nothing major. I can handle it myself." She said goodbye to Mrs. Vance.

Mrs. Vance kicked her son's leg and leaned close to warn him: "Miles, keep pushing your luck and you can go live with that woman. Drop the Vance name entirely. Calling you her brother is already the biggest concession we're making."

Molly was putting on her coat in the foyer when Miles walked over, his jacket draped over his arm.

Once, this kind of compromise from him would have made her ecstatic.

Now, she just found it tiresome.

She didn't want his company, but she needed a driver. Without dwelling on it, she handed him the keys.

In the car, they didn't exchange a word—same as before.

Molly spent the entire two-hour drive on calls, dealing with work. She didn't stop once.

Miles glanced at her. A strand of hair had fallen against her cheek. From his angle, he could just make out the elegant slope of her nose, the vivid red of her lips.

When they arrived, Molly was about to get out when she remembered him. Covering the phone's mic, she said, "Thanks. And don't forget to get the brooch back—brother."

Miles's expression went cold. He let out a derisive scoff. She'd slipped into her role fast enough.

He stayed in the car, watching through the window as a crowd surrounded her.

He pulled out a cigarette, bent his head to light it, and sent Felix Henson his location—asking him to pick him up. He wasn't waiting for her.

Less than a minute later, Felix's voice call came through. "Bro, your wife becoming your sister—is that actually true?"

"Who told you?" Miles's voice was frigid.

"Your mom. She wants to throw Mol—I mean, your sister—a matchmaking party at the old estate this Saturday. Asked me to round up some decent-looking, reliable guys." A pause. "Bro, Molly's gorgeous. You two were never together together? Don't you think that's a waste?"

Miles ground his teeth. "And how would you know that?"

Felix didn't hold back. "Your mom again. She said, 'A wife that beautiful and he makes her his sister—is Miles an idiot?' The whole circle's talking. The going theory is you've got... performance issues."

Why else would a man keep a wife that stunning at arm's length?

Miles hung up and exhaled slowly.

Felix took two hours to arrive. Miles had planned to nap in the car, but the constant flow of vehicles through the industrial park grated on his nerves.

Felix took one look at Miles's sour mood and thought for a long moment. "Bro, this thing with Molly's company—it's blown up. Everyone's waiting to watch her fail. Are we really just... leaving?"

Miles leaned back in the passenger seat, eyelids lifting lazily. "You're suggesting I help her?"

"Professionally, this is a Vance factory. Personally, Molly's your wi—sister. Shouldn't we step in?"