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!"

A violent tremor shot through her, cold rising from the soles of her feet and swallowing her whole. Her lips quivered uncontrollably.

"Impossible..."

Ignoring the pain in her injured arm, Solana grabbed her car keys and bolted for the door. But the very next second, a hand seized her wrist.

She turned—only to crash into the turbulent gaze of Wilbert.

"I'll go with you."

Seeing her reddened eyes, his chest tightened as if gripped by an invisible fist.

Realizing this, he stiffened, ruthlessly pushing down the absurd thought. His tone turned deliberately cold.

"Don't overthink it. I'm only doing this for the cooperation between our families."

By the time they arrived at the hospital—having rushed the whole way—Solana was about to dash inside when the sudden, piercing alarm of the monitors exploded through the corridor.

Her mind went blank. Her body froze as if nailed to the floor.

It took her a long moment to turn her head toward the room.

The ventilator had already turned into a flat line. A doctor gently drew a white sheet over her mother's face.

In that instant, the entire world seemed to fall silent.

Every ounce of her strength evaporated. Darkness swallowed her as she collapsed.

...

When she woke up again—Solana didn't even stop to put on her shoes. She sprinted straight to her mother's ward.

Seeing the empty bed, she grabbed the nurse's arm in panic.

"Where's my mom? Where did my mom go?!"

The nurse looked troubled, stammering for a long time before managing a complete sentence.

"Miss Scott... your mother... after her surgery... she was sent for cremation..."

Cremation?!

A deafening buzz filled Solana's ears.

She hadn't even seen her mother one last time—who dared to send her for cremation?!

"Who did it?!"

Her eyes reddened with fury, her voice a raw scream ripped from her throat.

But then, a single word from the nurse made her freeze. Her gaze sharpened instantly.

"What surgery? My mom is gone—what surgery could she possibly have undergone?!"

"It was... an organ donation surgery..."

The nurse trembled harder, afraid to even lift her head.

"Your mother... she got into an accident because a young girl drove against traffic. But... but Mr. Patel didn't even try to seek justice for his mother-in-law. Instead, the moment he saw the girl's injured eyes... he forced the hospital to give her your mother's eyes..."

Her voice cracked at the end.

And when Solana heard the name of the girl—Imogen Turner—her vision shook.

Her heart felt torn apart by a thousand blades, pain exploding viciously inside her chest.

So that was it.

Wilbert never came with her out of concern.

He was thinking about how to deliver her mother's eyes to the murderer!

The very woman who destroyed their marriage.

A hollow laugh escaped her throat, brittle and wild. Rage devoured every shred of reason.

When she finally found Imogen's ward—the sight before her made blood roar in her ears.

Wilbert sat at the girl's bedside, feeding her porridge spoon by spoon. In his eyes was a tenderness Solana hadn't seen once in all the years they'd known each other.

And she?

Her mother had died a brutal death. Even her body was desecrated. Yet the killer sat here, enjoying her husband's affection.

Why?!

Why should the murderer bask in warmth while she drowned in grief?

A tidal wave of fury seized her.

Solana kicked the door open, stormed forward, and grabbed Imogen by the collar.

"You wretch! I'll take your life for hers!"

Imogen's face turned ghostly pale. Her voice trembled. "No—ahhh—!"

Before she could finish, Solana slammed her head against the wall.

Blood splattered instantly. Imogen let out a raw, piercing scream.

Solana didn't stop. She yanked her hair again, lifting her head for another strike, but the next second—

"Get away from her!"

Wilbert kicked Solana aside, his eyes colder than a blade.

She staggered, crashing into the wall. Pain exploded through her bones like shattering glass.

After soothing Imogen, Wilbert's icy gaze skewered Solana—but before he could speak—a wet, choking sound burst from her throat.

Solana vomited a mouthful of dark blood and collapsed.

Wilbert froze.

The accusation on his tongue lodged in his throat as he stared at the pool of blood spreading across the floor. His fingers twitched beneath his sleeve, instinctively drawn toward her.

Just as he took a step—his arm was tugged.

"Wilbert... my wound hurts..."

Imogen's tear-glossed eyes clung to him, trembling.

Worry for Solana vanished from his face, replaced instantly by distress for Imogen. He scooped the girl into his arms and strode out without looking back.

...

After several days of rest in the hospital, Solana finally managed to get out of bed.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The door was kicked open.

Wilbert stood there, eyes bloodshot, fury seething from him like poison. "Solana! How could you be so vicious?!"