Calvin thought nothing of signing the agreement. To him, it was just another routine document. After scribbling his signature, he teasingly tapped Amber on the nose, a fleeting gesture of affection that meant nothing. He failed to notice the sadness lingering in her eyes, veiled by the cascade of her long, dark hair.

Before marrying Amber, Calvin had flitted through numerous lovers—each one more dazzling than the last. Some were the picture of innocence and sweetness; others oozed seduction and sophistication. In the elite world they inhabited, a powerful, wealthy man like Calvin was expected to maintain a roster of paramours. Fidelity was almost a quaint concept, overshadowed by the spectacle of affluence.

When those relationships inevitably ended, Calvin's solution was always the same: a luxury car or a lavish home, tokens of his indifference disguised as generosity. To him, any problem that could be solved with money wasn't a problem at all.

Amber had been Calvin's wife for three long years, during which she came to understand her place in his world. She wasn't his partner, confidant, or even friend. She was a contract, a role he could fulfill with money and public gestures. Amber had tried to console herself with this reality: "If there's no love, at least there's wealth." But even the sparkle of diamonds couldn't hide the emptiness in her heart.

Divorce. It was the only way out. She had repeated the mantra to herself so often that it began to feel true: "I don't love him anymore. I can't love him anymore." Divorce meant freedom—from waiting up alone at night, from covering her silent tears with the sheets and from living in the shadow of Iris.

Amber's love for Calvin had started years ago, on her first day as a transfer student in high school. He had been tall, aloof and devastatingly handsome, the kind of boy who made teenage hearts race. As the daughter of a wealthy family herself, Amber wasn't accustomed to rejection. But Calvin, with his cold indifference, became her first.

She shamelessly pursued him, letting her pride take a backseat to her feelings. She brought him water at basketball practice, only to see it ignored alongside offerings from other girls. Calvin only drank from the bottles Iris handed him. Amber orchestrated accidental meetings on weekends, carefully planning every detail to seem spontaneous. But Calvin saw through it all, refusing even to acknowledge her presence.

Even his best friend, Jason, had once joked about her misfortune: "Amber, you really picked the wrong guy to like."

Now, three years into their marriage, Calvin still celebrated their anniversary with mango cakes. Beautifully decorated and undoubtedly expensive, the cakes were Iris's favorite. Calvin never cared—or perhaps never bothered to remember—that Amber was allergic to mangoes. She ate them anyway, forcing a smile through every bite, unwilling to spoil his mood. The following day, she'd end up at the hospital, her body covered in rashes, all because of him.

That night, as the moonlight faded behind the rain-heavy clouds, Amber lay sleepless once more. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol as Calvin snored softly beside her, his presence a cruel reminder of their reality.

With painstaking effort, she managed to drag his limp body to their bedroom. Suppressing her revulsion, she unbuttoned his shirt, wiped the sweat and liquor from his skin and pulled the covers over him. Then she quietly retreated to her side of the bed, careful not to disturb him further.

Her relief was short-lived. Less than half an hour later, the shrill ring of Calvin's phone sliced through the silence.

Amber flinched, her heart sinking when she saw the caller ID flash on the screen: [Iris.]

Before she could react, Calvin stirred, his hand darting out to snatch the phone. "Shh," he whispered sharply, pressing a finger to his lips as if Amber were a noisy intruder.

"Iris?" His voice was soft, tender in a way Amber had never heard before.

On the other end of the line, Iris's voice was equally delicate, tinged with tears and desperation. "Calvin, I have a fever again. Can you come to the hospital? I'm scared. I don't want to be alone."

Amber's chest tightened as she listened to the exchange, but Calvin didn't so much as glance at her.

"Don't worry, Iris," he said, his voice brimming with concern. "I'm on my way."

Throwing off the blanket, he bolted upright, fumbling to button his shirt and grab his jacket. Turning to Amber, he barked an order: "Get up. You're driving me to the hospital. I've been drinking."

Amber wanted to refuse, to let him feel the weight of his choices, but years of habit kept her silent. She grabbed the car keys and an umbrella before stepping into the storm.

The rain poured in sheets, soaking the ground and turning the air icy. Their mansion, perched in a remote, exclusive area, was surrounded by winding mountain roads. Amber gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, as Calvin sat beside her, restless and anxious.

"Hurry up," he snapped, his eyes glued to his phone as if willing updates from Iris to appear. "Can't you go faster?"

Amber bit her lip, refusing to respond. She could barely see through the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up with the relentless downpour. At one treacherous turn, the tires skidded and the Maybach spun dangerously close to the edge of the road.

Amber's heart leaped into her throat as she slammed on the brakes, fighting to regain control of the car. For a moment, time seemed to freeze—the only sounds were the rain hammering the roof and the squeal of the brakes.

Once the car steadied, Calvin erupted in frustration. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, his face a mixture of anger and panic. "Are you trying to kill us? Can't you even drive properly?"

"You can't even handle something as simple as driving? What else are you good for besides spending money?" Calvin's words cut through the tense silence like a blade. His tone dripped with disdain, stopping just short of outright calling Amber a useless burden.

Amber's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel, her trembling hands betraying her fragile composure. Her heart pounded erratically, still caught in the terror of the near accident. The sound of rain hammering the car mingled with the echoes of Calvin's harsh criticism, creating a chaotic storm both outside and within her.

She fought back tears that threatened to spill, unwilling to let her emotions cloud her already shaken focus. The road stretched ahead, dark and treacherous, illuminated only by the thin beams of the headlights struggling against the relentless downpour.

When Amber remained silent, Calvin's interest in berating her waned. He turned his attention to his phone, scrolling idly as if she weren't even there. Amber clenched her jaw, the taste of humiliation sharp on her tongue. Here she was, risking her safety in the middle of a storm—all for a phone call from Iris.

The hospital loomed in the distance, its cold fluorescent lights piercing through the rain. As soon as the car stopped, Calvin bolted out, leaving Amber to trail behind with dripping hair and soaked shoes.

The moment Calvin entered the private room, Iris's eyes lit up like stars breaking through a cloudy sky. Her smile bloomed, radiant and sweet, but the second she caught sight of Amber behind him, her expression faltered, her lips curving downward.

Wrapped in a thick quilt, Iris looked like the perfect picture of vulnerability—her pale complexion and doe-like eyes seemingly begging for comfort. She cast a hesitant glance at Amber, her voice soft and fragile. "Calvin, who is she?"

"A driver," Calvin replied dismissively, not even bothering to turn around.

Amber froze, the word slicing through her like ice. A driver. That's all she was to him now. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to accept it. "Fine," she thought bitterly. "A driver it is. It doesn't matter anymore. After today, we're done. We'll be strangers. Less than strangers." She repeated the thought like a mantra, as if it could dull the ache in her chest.

But Iris wasn't so easily satisfied. She continued to scrutinize Amber, her gaze sharp despite the frail demeanor. She refused to close her eyes, even as Calvin adjusted her blanket and spoke to her in soothing tones.

Amber shifted uncomfortably. Her presence was clearly unwanted.

"Alright, you can leave now," Calvin said over his shoulder, waving her off like an afterthought. "This has nothing to do with you."

The dismissal stung more than Amber wanted to admit. In that moment, she felt less like a person and more like an obedient dog—summoned at his convenience, discarded just as easily.

Her mind drifted back to their high school days. This wasn't her first encounter with Iris.

It had been during their first year, back when Amber's love for Calvin burned bright and naive. One afternoon, between classes, she had been leaning against the third-floor corridor railing, her gaze fixed on the basketball court below. She had watched Calvin countless times from this spot, hoping he'd glance her way or at least notice her.

But that day, he wasn't on the court. Amber scanned the grounds, wondering where he might be. Suddenly, Calvin appeared, jogging toward her from the direction of the snack shop, his hair damp with sweat and his steps hurried.

He stopped in front of her, catching his breath. "Hey," he said, startling her.

Amber's heart skipped a beat. Calvin was talking to her.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked, holding out a black plastic bag.

Amber hesitated only for a moment before nodding eagerly. "Sure, anything."

"Great. Can you deliver this to the third stall on the left in the girls' restroom? It's for a girl named Iris. She needs it urgently."

The words hit her like a blow. The excitement she had felt seconds ago evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache. But Amber swallowed her feelings and took the bag.

"Thanks," Calvin said, flashing a brief smile before running off.

Amber had done as he asked, rushing to the restroom to deliver the bag to Iris, who looked up at her with teary gratitude. Even then, Iris had the same effect on people—a delicate vulnerability that made you want to protect her.

Years later, here Amber was again, running errands for Iris, this time in a storm.

By the time Amber made it home, the first rays of dawn were beginning to creep over the horizon. She was soaked to the bone, her body heavy with exhaustion. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep, but her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn't eaten.

In the kitchen, she prepared a simple bowl of noodles, the steam rising to warm her cold, damp face. She sat at the counter, staring blankly at her phone.

The screen lit up repeatedly, but it was never a message from Calvin. No updates, no thanks, no acknowledgment of her existence.

The housekeeper, Florence, came downstairs to start her day and stopped in her tracks when she saw Amber. The sight was jarring: Amber, pale and gaunt, picking listlessly at her noodles.

Florence hesitated, then softly asked, "Mrs. Sawyer, are you alright?"

Amber looked up, offering a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."

Before the Danton Family went bankrupt, Amber had lived a life most could only dream of, where even the smallest details of her existence—right down to every strand of her hair—were meticulously tended to. Raised as a privileged heiress, she carried herself with an air of entitlement. She walked with her head high, never sparing a glance at her feet, secure in the belief that her path would always remain smooth, free of obstacles. She was like a proud white peacock, resplendent and untouchable.

But life has a way of humbling even the mightiest. The Danton Family's fortune collapsed under the weight of debts her father had concealed. Unable to bear the shame, he took his own life, jumping from the rooftop of their family estate. The once-pristine Danton name was dragged through the mud, leaving Amber to pick up the pieces.

Her mother, grief-stricken, fell gravely ill. Her younger brother, studying abroad, required financial support. The world that had once revered Amber now turned its back on her. She had alienated many in her prime, dismissing people as beneath her. When the tables turned, not one hand reached out to help.

Desperate, she swallowed her pride and approached a woman she had once scorned—a former mistress of her father. The woman, now running an exclusive private club, agreed to let Amber work there as a server.

Word of the fallen heiress working among common folk spread quickly. Some customers, driven by curiosity and cruelty, flocked to the club, eager to savor the spectacle of her downfall. Reduced to her lowest point, Amber endured evenings serving drinks and fending off the leers of men old enough to be her father, sometimes her grandfather, just to earn enough to survive.

When Calvin discovered this, his fury was volcanic. He smashed a room full of expensive liquor bottles, the shards reflecting his outrage.

"Amber," he thundered in front of everyone at the club, "I'll give you a home. You can't lower yourself to this. You're better than this. The Amber I know has a spine and doesn't bow to anyone."

And he did give her a home. But Calvin also took her dignity, piece by piece.

When Harvey, Calvin's grandfather, mocked Amber as unworthy of the Sawyer name, Calvin didn't defend her. Instead, he smirked and assured Harvey he'd grow tired of Amber within three years and move on.

A month ago, Amber had confronted Calvin about completing a list of "100 Couple's Must-Do Activities" with Iris. His response wasn't what a husband should offer—it was indifference. Calvin admired Amber for her tenacity, her spirit. Yet, it was he who crushed it beneath the weight of his disregard.

That night, Calvin stayed by Iris's side at the hospital. The following morning, instead of returning home, he went straight to his office, diving into work and alcohol. He had completely forgotten about the divorce agreement he'd signed the night before.

Friday marked their third wedding anniversary. Calvin left the office late, but with a rare flicker of consideration, he purchased a mango cake for Amber. He remembered how she always valued these occasions, making them feel special with her own quiet efforts. She had even texted him earlier in the day, reminding him to come home early.

As Calvin drove, the image of Amber's gentle texts lingered in his mind.

[Are you tired from work? Should I have Florence bring you some food? Will you be home early tonight?]

He had ignored every message, as he always did. Yet, scrolling through the unread green bubbles, a strange pang of guilt surfaced. Amber's patience, her willingness to stay even when he neglected her, should have been comforting. Instead, it unsettled him.

But before he could dwell on it further, Iris's call came through. In an instant, Amber's texts were forgotten, replaced by Iris's familiar voice.

He arrived at the hospital with the cake in hand, only to find an unexpected scene: his stepmother, Sonya, standing in Iris's room with Amber by her side.

The moment Calvin entered, his face darkened. He didn't wait for explanations. His eyes narrowed as he barked, "Who told you to bring her here to see Iris?"

Before Amber could respond, Calvin's temper erupted. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist tightly as he dragged her out into the hallway.

With a forceful shove, he slammed her against the cold tiled wall. The impact sent a jolt of pain up Amber's spine.

"I didn't... Ah!" she gasped, her voice trembling as she winced, instinctively trying to free her wrist from his iron grip.

Her eyes watered from the pain. She looked up at Calvin, who stood looming over her, his expression twisted with rage.

Earlier that day, Amber had wanted to make their anniversary meaningful, even if it was their last. She had spent hours with Florence in the kitchen, learning to cook a simple meal. She had carefully chosen the dishes Calvin liked, hoping to create a semblance of normalcy before their inevitable separation.

But just as she was rinsing vegetables, Sonya had arrived unannounced, her imperious demeanor filling the mansion.