In five years of marriage, Solana had been "caught cheating" by her husband, Wilbert, a total of ninety-nine times.

On their wedding night, paparazzi photographed her pressed close to a male model, dancing in the neon glow of a bar.

On the day of their family banquet, headlines exploded: she had reportedly spent the night outdoors with three foreign men.

During their honeymoon, she was accused of an eight-hour tryst with Wilbert's own half-brother.

...

And today—supposedly their fifth wedding anniversary—the top story dominating every major media outlet was: [Mrs. Patel caught in an hours-long steamy car encounter on the street!]

Camera flashes devoured the man standing before them.

"Mr. Patel, the scandals involving your wife are causing quite an uproar. What do you think of her... activities?"

Not a hint of anger crossed Wilbert's face. His expression was as calm as someone commenting on the weather.

"What does that have to do with me?"

On the other side of the screen, Solana nearly crushed her phone.

There it was again.

The same line she had heard ninety-nine times.

Five years of resentment burst at once. She stormed straight to Patel Corporation's president's office, kicked the door open, and slammed the interview video onto his desk.

"Wilbert! Do you have nothing to say at all?!"

Her voice cracked with raw, frantic fury. But from beginning to end, Wilbert did not spare her even a glance.

Only after a long moment did he speak, unhurriedly. "It's just sleeping around. Why make a fuss?"

Just?

Solana almost laughed through the ache in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but then, his phone rang.

"What?!"

The indifference on his face vanished. For the first time in years, his voice carried unmistakable anger.

"Imogen stayed alone with another man for a minute and still hasn't come out?!"

"Watch her for me. I'm coming now."

He rushed out without a backward look.

Stunned, Solana spotted his sports car streaking out of the garage—and hurriedly followed.

The car screeched to a stop outside a café. Wilbert strode in, face dark as a brewing storm.

Less than a minute later, he emerged—carrying a young woman in his arms.

When Solana saw the girl's face—a deafening shock thundered through her mind. Her scalp tightened; her whole body trembled violently.

It was her—Imogen, Wilbert's former sponsored student.

Rumor had it she confessed to him right after graduation and was unsurprisingly rejected.

Heartbroken, she left the country to study abroad.

And at that same time... Wilbert married Solana.

A month ago, Imogen had suddenly returned and—out of nowhere—entered the Patel Corporation's upper management.

The social circles had been buzzing nonstop.

Some said Wilbert intended to hide her away as a kept beauty.

Solana was worried, just a little. But he had brushed her concerns aside with a casual, "I only see her as a younger sister. Don't think so lowly of us."

She'd believed him.

Because a man like Wilbert never bothered to lie.

Not until now—when she saw the truth with her own eyes.

The girl in his arms blushed furiously, pounding her fists against him.

"Let go of me! Don't touch—mmph!"

Wilbert silenced her with a forceful kiss.

Watching them, Solana felt her heart clamped by an iron fist, leaving her breathless.

Five years of marriage and they had never even held hands.

Yet here—barely a minute had passed—and this rigid, austere man was kissing another woman on the street with reckless fervor.

Ten whole minutes later, they finally pulled apart reluctantly.

His fingers traced the girl's brows, his gaze filled with warning.

"Why can't you ever behave?"

Imogen huffed, pouting and turning her face away. "Wilbert, you're impossible! Your possessiveness isn't normal!"

"When I added a guy as a friend—you broke his leg. I say a few more words to my senior—he gets blacklisted from the entire industry. I have coffee with a childhood friend—and you bankrupt his entire family!"

"Is that necessary? Besides you're already married! Why don't you watch your wife instead?!"

"Are you jealous?" He chuckled lowly and pulled her tighter into his arms. "Baby, I do all of this because I love you too much."

"As for Solana—" His tone chilled, dripping with casual contempt. "My family forced that marriage on me. She's nothing but a decoration. Hardly a wife."

Just a handful of words—sharp as poisoned needles—stabbed straight into Solana's heart.

What she thought was a marriage had been nothing but a transaction to him.

Five years of devotion was dismissed as an ornament. Every syllable engraved itself deep like frostbite.

Back then, the Patel family was in turmoil, and his inheritance was hanging by a thread. No wealthy lady dared take the risk. Only Solana starved herself for a week to force her father to agree to the marriage.

Everyone warned her Wilbert was not a good man, that she would only suffer. But she had believed that even a stone would warm with enough sincerity. That someday, patience would give way to moonlight.

Five years she endured. Five years she tried. Wilbert never once stepped into their marital bedroom.

Until despair finally drove her to remember a friend's cynical words: No man could tolerate being cuckolded.

A crazy thought quickly formed in her mind, and she began to "cheat."

From then on, her name was dragged through the mud—slut, whore, disgrace.

Even then... Wilbert never once looked her way.

She consoled herself that he was simply cold, born without jealousy or desire. But seeing him now—this man whose possessiveness toward Imogen was absolute—Solana finally understood.

He wasn't emotionless. He simply didn't care about her.

A sour ache surged through her chest, quickly swallowed by blazing fury.

She sacrificed her reputation. Offered the Scott family's billions in support.

All of it—just to pave the throne for someone else?!

If they refused to let her live well... then none of them would!

She blinked back the heat in her eyes, her expression turning cold as she strode straight toward them.

Before either of them could react—Solana's hand whipped across Imogen's face with a sharp, ringing crack.

"Solana!"

Wilbert's pupils constricted.He hurriedly pulled Imogen behind him, shielding her. His eyes when he glared at Solana were cold—terrifying.

"Are you insane?!"

He barely finished the sentence before—

Smack!

Solana swung again, this time landing the slap squarely on his cheek. Her beautiful eyes glimmered with frigid resolve.

"You two—neither of you will get away with this!"

With that, she grabbed her bag and walked off without looking back.

She had loved wholeheartedly; now she could let go just as cleanly.

A heart that would never warm—she no longer wanted it. A man stained beyond saving—she didn't want him either.

That night, Solana dialed her father.

"Dad... I want a divorce. I want to go abroad and stay with you."

Hearing her words, Joel froze. Then, realizing what must have happened, his voice soared in panic and rage.

"Sweetheart, why suddenly? Did Wilbert hurt you?!"

Solana opened her mouth to deny it—yet found she didn't even have the strength to speak.

Her silence said everything.

Joel's fury erupted; a teacup shattered between his fingers. "That bastard! How dare he treat my daughter like this! Don't worry—your father won't let him off easily!"

"Fortunately, I left a clause in your prenup back then. No matter whose fault it is, once you divorce, the Patel family must transfer 50% of their shares to you! If he doesn't die from it, he'll shed half his skin!"

Solana didn't want to cry, yet her eyes burned uncontrollably. "Thank you, Dad..."

"No need for thanks. But I can't leave my project right now—I'll send your mother back to bring you home."

After the call, Solana stepped toward the elevator.

The moment she entered, a violent crash shook the entire shaft.

A sickening drop wrenched her body upward—the elevator plummeted. She slammed into the wall as agony tore through her spine.

The sealed darkness pressed in on her. Sweat drenched her clothes as her body trembled uncontrollably.

Her claustrophobia clawed at her sanity. Every second inside felt like slow, vivid hell.

Just as she was about to lose consciousness—the doors were kicked open.

Wilbert stood there.

Solana's hopeless heart sparked with desperate instinct. She reached out a trembling hand.

"Help me..."

He said nothing. He walked toward her with measured steps.

But the moment his hand touched hers—

Crack!

He twisted her wrist sharply. His deep eyes were colder than midnight steel. "Solana, these hands need to learn a lesson."

"Don't touch people you shouldn't."

Her face went ghost-pale. Pain stole her breath, yet she bit back any plea.

"She deserved it," Solana choked out. "I'll slap her every time I see her—ah!"

Crack!

Her other wrist snapped. Her scream tore through the shaft. She collapsed to the floor, curling in sheer agony.

Wilbert stepped forward and seized her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"Next time, I won't stop at breaking your hands."

Then he turned and walked out, without a shred of hesitation.

As the elevator doors slid shut again, Solana stared at the darkening gap, then at her mangled wrists. Her tears broke free and fell uncontrollably.

Five years... Five whole years. And this was the first time Wilbert had ever stepped into their marital home—only to defend another woman.

How utterly pathetic.

...

A week later, Solana was finally released. Only because the Patel family's monthly banquet required her attendance.

Seeing her ghastly pale face, Wilbert's breath hitched—an unfamiliar, tangled emotion coiling faintly in his chest.

He hurried to catch up with her, his voice stiff.

"I may have gone too far last time." He pulled a gift box from behind him. "The bag you liked before. Consider it compensation."

Solana blinked.

Five years of marriage—this was the first gift he had ever given her.

Once, she would have been ecstatic. But now... her warmth had long been extinguished—in the coldness of his daily neglect, in the sight of him kissing Imogen, in the pain of his hands breaking hers.

She let out a soft, icy laugh and shoved the box back into his arms.

"I don't need it. Take it back."

Then she turned and stepped into the car.

Wilbert stared at his hand hanging uselessly in the air, momentarily stunned. Before he could process it, his phone rang.

Whatever was said on the other end—Solana had never heard such urgency, such panic, in his voice.

"Imogen, don't be scared! I'm coming right now!"

Wilbert barked the order while already twisting around to shout at the driver, "Turn the car around—go to Imogen's place. Now!"

The driver froze, looking conflicted. "Sir, today is the family banquet—"

"Shut up!" Wilbert's dark eyes surged with fury. "Her house is on fire. I'm not leaving her alone!"

Before the driver could respond, Wilbert lunged into the driver's seat and slammed his foot onto the accelerator.

The car tore through the streets, racing toward Imogen's home.

Billowing black smoke smothered the sky. Neighbors fled in panic, keeping as far away from the flames as possible.

Only Wilbert charged straight toward the burning building as if his own life meant nothing.

His assistant tried to restrain him. "Mr. Patel! The firefighters are already inside—you don't need to risk your life!"

But Wilbert shoved him aside coldly. "Move."

Solana watched his silhouette disappear into the smoke and stairs.

Her eyes reddened; the corner of her lips lifted in a hollow, mocking curve.

A year ago, she'd been traveling when a sudden earthquake struck. She was trapped under rubble for three days before being rescued.

She remembered watching others reunite with their loved ones—one by one.

While she waited alone.

A week passed, yet no one came.

She had clung to her half-broken phone, searching for a signal through the ruins—just to call Wilbert.

After a hundred failed attempts, the call finally connected.

She, who rarely cried, broke down for the first time over the phone.

"Wilbert... the place I'm staying at—there was an earthquake—"

Before she even finished, his cold voice sliced through her trembling words.

"Find the rescue team. I'm busy. Figure out your own way back."

After saying that, he hung up.

In that mechanical beeping tone, Solana felt what it meant for a heart to die.

Yet she still forced herself to believe, He was just emotionally cold. He treated everyone like this.

But today, watching him rush into a burning building for another woman without hesitation, she finally understood.

Her hope had always been nothing but a tragic, lonesome joke.

...

An hour later, Wilbert stumbled out of the smoke, carrying Imogen in his arms.

His prized custom suit had been burnt into ash—nothing left but ruined fabric clinging to his frame.

He didn't care at all. His entire focus was the unconscious girl in his arms.

"Imogen, are you hurt? Does anything feel wrong?"

Solana watched calmly, though a bitter smile tugged at her lips.

The next second, a loud thud sounded.

"Wilbert! Wilbert, what's wrong?! Wake up!"

Solana snapped her head toward the sound.

Wilbert had collapsed.

His right arm was scorched black. His back was soaked in blood, his shirt shredded and burned.

He had taken such severe injuries... Yet he had never uttered a single sound.

...

Three hours later, the emergency operation finally ended.

The Patel family rushed over in chaos. The banquet dissolved instantly as all the elders arrived with pale faces.

"Although Mr. Patel pulled through..." The doctor sighed heavily after reviewing the results.

"The injuries are far too serious. Combined with the delay in treatment... I'm afraid his right hand will be permanently disabled."

"What?!"

Madam Patel staggered, face drained of color, nearly collapsing. "Disabled? You're saying my son's hand is ruined?!"

The elders present exchanged grim looks.

The heir of the Patel family became a cripple?

It was impossible to accept.

Something flashed across Madam Patel's expression. Her face twisted with fury.

"Who? Who did this to my son?!"

She grabbed a teacup and smashed it across the floor, her glare sweeping the room like a blade.

Her gaze landed on Imogen, trembling in a corner.

Her eyes sharpened instantly. She lunged forward, yanking Imogen's hair and dragging her out.

"Was it you, you little tramp? You nearly killed my son—I'll beat you to death!"

Imogen screamed, tears spilling down her face. "N-No... It wasn't me..."

Suddenly her eyes darted around—then fixed on Solana.

Her trembling finger shot up. "It was her! She threw a tantrum and demanded Mr. Patel go inside to coax her! It has nothing to do with me!"

"You—stop lying!" Solana snapped her head up, fury blazing through her. "You were the one who called him. Don't you dare push this onto me!"

Madam Patel hesitated, her sharp stare turning toward Solana.

Solana met her gaze calmly, her lips curving into a cold arc.

"If you don't believe me, check the call logs. That will tell you everything."

Imogen's face drained even further, panic leaking from her eyes.

A bodyguard moved in to take her phone.

Just then—

"Stop!"

A voice rang out behind them.