Wilbert yanked the IV line from his arm and stepped in front of Imogen, shielding her with his own body.

"I said no one is allowed to touch her!”

"Enough."

His father's gaze cut through the room like a blade—quiet, but heavy with warning.

“Since you insist on protecting her, then tell me—who caused your injury?"

"No matter the reason, the one who destroyed the heir of the Patel family's hand must pay the price."

The air snapped into stillness.

Wilbert's body went rigid. His fingers curled without him realizing it.

He knew his father's methods better than anyone—precise, brutal, and utterly merciless.

Even toward his own son.

His eyes wavered between Imogen and Solana.

After a long, suffocating hesitation, he finally spoke, each word heavy and cold. "...It was Solana."

Solana shot to her feet, disbelief crashing into her like a cold wave.

"She threw a tantrum, set the fire on purpose, and caused my injury," Wilbert continued, eyes dead and emotionless. “It has nothing to do with Imogen.”

Each word landed like a needle dipped in frost, stabbing straight into her chest, choking her breath.

"Solana!"

Wilbert's father, Lloyd, slammed his palm onto the table, his gaze dark and poisonous.

"You’ve been married into the Patel family for years, yet your behavior grows more outrageous by the day. I tolerated you for your father’s sake—but today you injured Wilbert and sent him to the hospital. Do not blame me for being merciless."

His voice dropped to a chilling command. "Guards. Enforce the family punishment."

The moment the words fell, several bodyguards surged forward, pinning Solana to the floor.

"Get away from me!" She struggled violently, her voice turning hoarse, but she couldn’t break free no matter how hard she fought.

“Wilbert!” Solana screamed, despair cracking her voice.

“If you dare to let them do this—I swear I won’t let you go!”

But he didn’t even look at her.

Solana was dragged all the way from the hospital to the Patel family’s old residence.

Bang!

Her body was thrown to the ground. The back of her head struck the rough cement, and a white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes.

"You beasts—my father won't—ah!"

Before she could finish, a whip with barbed edges lashed across her back.

Agony detonated through her entire body, sharp enough to steal her breath.

Cold sweats soaked her forehead, but she clamped her teeth so tightly her jaw trembled, refusing to scream.

One lash.

Two lashes.

By the fiftieth, her back was nothing but torn flesh and blood.

Her strength emptied out. Her consciousness drifted like a dying flame.

In that haze, a memory surfaced.

When she was ten, she and Wilbert had been kidnapped.

To shield her, the small boy had endured blow after blow until he was covered in blood—but still forced out a tiny smile for her.

"Solana... don't cry. It doesn't hurt."

Because of that one sentence, her heart had been chained to him for ten years.

No matter how cold he was. No matter how deeply he ignored her. She never hesitated to love him.

But today—these fifty lashes shattered the last piece of her faith.

They shattered the last bond between them.

"Quit pretending you're dead!"

A sharp bark snapped her back to reality.

"Stand up!"

“Get up!” A bodyguard kicked her sharply in the knee.

Blood surged up her throat and spilled from her lips. She collapsed, unable to even raise her head.

In the haze of pain, she heard low, malicious laughter near her ear.

"Mr. Patel said you'll taste what it feels like to burn—let's see if you dare play games with Sir Wilbert again."

Then several blazing torches were hurled into the room.

"You..."

Solana tried to cry out, but the heavy door slammed shut.

Flames erupted instantly, devouring the room.

Thick, suffocating smoke filled her lungs. Her skin felt like it was being roasted alive. Every breath sent piercing pain through her body.

A burning mass of fire rolled toward her—Solana’s pupils shrank. With the last of her strength, she stumbled toward the window and hurled herself against the glass.

Bang!

Solana flung her arms wide and hurled herself off the third-floor ledge.

Blood burst beneath her like a red blossom, bones snapping one after another as she hit the ground.

Agony crushed every limb and joint. Her vision blackened instantly—and she lost consciousness.

...

When she woke up, the air carried a faint scent of disinfectant.

Wilbert rushed over the moment he saw her awake, his expression carrying emotions she couldn't decipher.

"You... are you alright?"

His voice—usually cold—held a rare thread of caution. He even reached out as if to check her wounds.

But the next second—Solana snatched the fruit knife from the bedside table and drove it straight into his right arm.

His eyes widened in shock.

She curved her lips faintly, though her gaze held nothing but frost. "That was to remind you that I, Solana Scott never leaves a debt unpaid."

When she raised the knife again, Wilbert seized her wrist violently, his dark eyes flashing a warning. "Enough."

"Let go." She struggled, slamming her fist against his chest.

As they wrestled, a vase toppled and smashed against the floor with a sharp crack.

"Mr. Patel!"

Bodyguards burst through the door at the noise, eyes sweeping over Solana in suspicion.

"You—"

"Get out!" Wilbert instinctively hid his wounded arm behind him, barking the order with a cold snap.

Seeing him like this—Solana almost laughed.

He was the one who had pinned the crime on her. He was the one who nearly had her burned alive. And now he had the audacity to act as though he was protecting her?

It was absurd in every possible way.

—

On the day she was discharged, Wilbert—under the guise of "making amends"—invited her to an auction.

He was generous to the point of extravagance, buying a dozen items without even opening his eyes to look at them.

A mountain of jewels and luxury pieces piled up in front of Solana, yet none of it stirred even a flicker of interest.

Not until the final piece appeared.

The moment she saw it, she shot to her feet, trembling from head to toe.

It was her grandmother's only dowry.

Her grandmother had refused to close her eyes on her deathbed because she couldn't find that bracelet.

It had been her last wish.

Wilbert clearly recognized it too. Bending close, he murmured by her ear, "Don't worry. I'll get it back for you."

In the end, he bought the bracelet—for a staggering eight hundred million.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"Seems the rumors are true! Mr. Patel treats his wife like she's made of gold—whatever she wants, he gives!"

But no one knew.

That so-called generosity was nothing more than compensation—payment for making Solana bear the blame for Imogen.

Solana let out a cold breath of laughter and rose to leave. But a shrill voice sliced through the air behind her.

"Wilbert! Do you even know my entire hometown can't make ten thousand a year—and you spend eight hundred million with a flick of your hand!"

Imogen's eyes were red, filled with stubborn, fragile indignation. "It's clear we're not right for each other. Let's end things once and for all."

She wiped her tears dramatically and bolted toward the exit.

Wilbert's composure shattered.

Ignoring the stunned onlookers, he rushed forward and wrapped her in his arms, voice filled with a softness Solana had never once heard directed at her.

"My little princess... then tell me what to do. I'll listen to whatever you say, alright?"

Imogen pouted, then threw Solana a direct, provocative look. "Then smash everything."

Solana instinctively shielded the bracelet behind her, her gaze icy. "That was my grandmother's last keepsake. Don't you dare touch it."

Wilbert stiffened, his hold on Imogen tightening. "This..."

But as tears streamed uncontrollably down Imogen's cheeks—his hesitation melted into pure pity.

His eyes snapped toward Solana, cold and merciless. "I'll compensate you later. But this time..."

He pause, then his expression hardened completely. "You must listen to Imogen."

At once, bodyguards entered carrying iron rods.

“Wilbert!” Solana’s voice trembled with fury. She struggled, but someone held her down. Desperation cracked through her voice.

“I’m begging you! Don’t touch it—please!”

But her pleas drowned under the weight of Wilbert’s blind devotion.

He took the rod, and swung it down.

Bang!

The priceless bracelet shattered on the floor—pieces scattering like fragments of Solana’s last hope.

Her heart felt as if it had been crushed into the same broken shards. Pain surged so fiercely she could barely breathe.

At that exact moment—a crazed woman suddenly burst through the doors, screaming hysterically as she rushed inside!

The woman lifted the bucket of sulfuric acid and hurled it straight toward the three of them.

"Careful!"

In a heartbeat, Wilbert lunged forward—shielding Imogen beneath him.

Caught off guard, Solana was shoved violently aside—directly into the path of the acid.

"Ah—!"

The corrosive liquid splashed across half her body, searing into her skin with a burning agony so intense her nerves shrieked. She collapsed, trembling uncontrollably as pain tore through her.

Through the chaos, her fading vision caught what looked like Wilbert running toward her.

"W-Wilbert—" She reached out weakly, gathering every breath she had left to call his name.

But the next second, she watched him sprint right past her—stooping instead to scoop up a handmade doll behind her.

"Thank goodness... the doll Imogen knitted for me is fine!"

Solana's lips curled into a powerless, bitter smile.

So that was how little she mattered.

Even a five-dollar rag doll was more precious to him than her life.

She remembered their wedding day—how he had once smiled softly and said he would protect her forever.

What a joke.

When life hung by a thread, his eyes held only another woman. He didn't spare her even a glance.

As his figure retreated, carrying Imogen in his arms, Solana forced her fingers to move and dialed her family doctor.

"Uncle James... come save me..."

—

Back at the villa, her private doctor had just finished tending to her burns when a knock sounded at the door.

It was Wilbert.

He glanced at the pile of blood-soaked gauze scattered by Solana's feet, his brows faintly tightening.

"Sorry. I panicked back there. I forgot you were beside me." His voice was low, tinged with something like guilt.

Forgot?

Solana repeated the word silently—biting at its absurdity.

As if "forgetting" could erase the fact he abandoned her. As if "forgetting" could erase five years of coldness. As if "forgetting" could erase the acid still burning through her skin.

No.

She, Solana, was done degrading herself.

Taking a steady breath, she met his gaze. "Let's get a divorce."

Wilbert froze, irritation flaring beneath his eyes. "Solana, I already apologized. Don't start again."

A cold laugh slipped past her lips, but her tone was utterly serious. "You didn't care when you thought I slept with other men. Why pretend you care now that I'm asking for a divorce?"

His expression darkened. After a few seconds, he muttered, "You think I didn't know?"

Before she could react, he leaned in close, his breath brushing her ear. "Those men were just actors. You used them to get my attention—didn't you?"

Solana's eyes widened, her nails digging sharply into her palm.

So he knew.

He had always known—known how much she loved him, known how desperately she tried to make him look at her. Yet he stood by with that same icy indifference, watching her twist in pain.

If only he knew—the woman who once loved him to the bone now found him repulsive.

"Believe what you want," she said flatly. She took a document from her bag and held it out to him. "Sign it. And we're finished."

Wilbert's casual façade cracked, something dark gathering in his gaze.

After a long moment, he let out a low, humorless laugh. "You're serious?"

Solana nodded without hesitation.

His jaw tightened. He snatched the agreement, scribbled his signature, and slammed it onto the table.

"Fine. I'll play along. Let's see how long you can keep pretending. Don't come crawling back to me later."

Solana didn't bother replying—she was already calling someone to escort him out. But before she could speak—her phone rang.

A piercing mix of sirens and wailing voices bled through the speaker.

A frantic voice shouted, "Miss Scott—your mother was in a car accident on her way to see you! Her condition is critical—she may not survive the night!"