"Sophia, what's gotten into you? You actually bit me," Dillon Palmer shouted, trying to peel off Sophia's clothes while wincing from the sharp pain in his wrist where she had bitten him. Blood oozed from the wound.

Fuming with anger, he was all set to teach Sophia a lesson, but she had already broken free from his hold, hands protectively covering her belly. Her eyes, usually gentle and inviting, were now fierce with defiance and a hint of fear. Her lips quivered slightly, enhancing her fragile appearance, yet there was an undeniable strength in her eyes.

Somehow, Dillon's raised hand fell to his side, his face still twisted with anger, but his fury beginning to fade. "Sophia, I'm giving you one more chance: either stay or leave!"

Instead of striking her, as he'd seemed ready to do, he vented his frustration by hurling a pillow across the room. The action startled Sophia; he was not known for reining in his emotions.

Warmth spread through her palm, as if the life growing within her gave her strength. Taking a deep breath, she faced Dillon, the man she once adored, and said, "Dillon Palmer, I want a divorce."

The words were a stab to her heart, and she couldn't help but hold his gaze, anticipating his agreement. He had always been eager to break away. "A divorce? Is this why Grandma had me come here? Sophia, what do you want now?" Dillon scoffed.

His grandmother had already tasked him with spending one weekend a month with Sophia. Wasn't that enough? What more could she possibly want? He had always known her desires to be endless.

Dillon doubted Sophia was serious about the divorce. He caught her yearning gaze and assumed she was bluffing.

"Yes, I admit it was me who asked Grandma to arrange your visit before," Sophia admitted. "We hadn't seen each other for half a year, and I missed you. You wouldn't answer my calls, and I was at a loss for what to do."

Hearing her admission, Dillon's face lit with a smug smile, as if he'd known all along. But as Sophia continued, his smile faded.

"But this time, I didn't know. I know you won't believe me, so let's just go to court tomorrow morning and file for divorce."

She wanted to end things cleanly, avoiding future regrets. Dillon seemed incredulous, "You really want a divorce?"

Sophia nodded, "I even brought my ID."

"So, are we going at eight tomorrow morning?"

Sophia locked eyes with him, eyes that shone with a determination she once had when she first poured out her heart under the moonlight. Back then, she promised she would only look at him, begging him not to reject her yet.

He hadn't turned her down then, and now he couldn't give an immediate answer. It was unsettling. He couldn't quite identify the irritation.

Then, noticing the anticipation on her face, he understood. Why should things always go her way? She wanted a divorce, and he wouldn’t stop her, but he wouldn’t make it simple either.

"My time is precious, and you don't deserve me wasting it."

"You want a divorce? Then wait for it!" Dillon wanted to leave her presence, even for a moment. He straightened his clothes and stormed out.

Inside, Sophia could hear Dillon's grandmother chastising him as he departed. Nothing went as she had hoped. Hadn't he always wanted the divorce? Now that she offered it, shouldn't he be jumping at the opportunity? Was he really that busy?

Her mind was a whirl of questions, keeping her awake all night.

The next morning, she looked drained. Dillon's grandmother assumed she was distressed by his sudden exit and comforted her for a long time, promising he'd be with her next time.

Sophia knew there wouldn't be a next time. She didn't want to dismiss the elderly woman's kindness; she had always been good to Sophia.

After leaving the family estate, Sophia called Dillon's assistant, Julian, trying to sneakily inquire about Dillon's schedule. She wanted to finalize the divorce before her pregnancy became obvious. But Julian, as usual, was unyielding, and Sophia hung up feeling frustrated.

Later that afternoon, her friend Mara brought some promising news: a producer was interested in her TV series script and wanted to meet her for dinner that evening to discuss it.

At eight, Sophia arrived at the venue Mara had texted her, hesitating as she looked up at the lavish entrance of Dillon's preferred club. She didn't want an accidental encounter to complicate things further.

Just as if sensing her hesitation, Mara called her, "Sophia, are you here yet? Director Harris and Mr. Smith are eager to chat about your script. Hurry, they’re really interested; if it pans out, you could earn a hundred thousand dollars for it."

"A hundred thousand?" Sophia was stunned. As a rookie without any famous works to her name and having penned a suspense thriller, she'd never expected it to fetch much.

"Yes, a hundred thousand! So, come quickly..." Mara's voice mingled with the clinking of glasses and the crowd's urging to drink. Through the phone, Sophia overheard Mara's conversation with others. "Sophia's nearly here. Let's have another drink while we wait."

After wrapping up her call, Mara continued, "We're in 4311. Hurry up."

Sophia could tell Mara had drunk quite a bit. She knew it was for her sake, so whether for the money or Mara's support, she had to go.

A club employee led her to room 4311. Just as she opened the door, a strong hand grabbed her wrist. A man she didn't recognize, reeking of booze, pulled her into a laugh and said, "They always say the last one to show up is the most stunning. Let's see how lovely you are."

Seeing her face, the man's eyes widened. "Wow, this place has some real beauties."

He mistook her for one of the club's escorts. Sophia struggled, "You've got the wrong idea, I'm not—"

She scanned the room for Mara, in search of help. But a quick glance revealed no sign of her friend, though she did spot Dillon.

He sat on a couch, detached, a cigarette lazily perched between his fingers, seemingly unfazed by the raucous scene. Beside him, Carolina Lopez nuzzled up to him, offering a glass of red wine. She seemed shocked to see Sophia and assumed Dillon had invited her to unsettle her. But noting Dillon's indifference, Carolina knew even if he had, it was just to demean her.

Carolina shot Sophia a triumphant look, feeling victorious.

The drunk man pressed on, "So, you're not late? Don't fret; make me happy, and I won't mind."

"Now, give me a kiss." The man, foul-smelling and corpulent, leaned closer, his lips nearing her face.

"Get off!"

"I just walked into the wrong room. If you lay a hand on me, I'll call the police."

Sophia Palmer struggled desperately, but her efforts were in vain against the man's strength; she couldn't break free. Her gaze involuntarily drifted towards Dillon Palmer, but all she found was a cold stare, mixed with a hint of mockery, observing from the sidelines like everyone else.

Dillon saw her plea for help but felt no obligation to assist. Wasn't she the one who asked for a divorce? Since she wanted that, he had no reason to intervene. Besides, she was the one who ended up here—it was her own doing. He wasn't in the habit of interfering in such matters, especially hers. At least, not immediately.

But as he took another sip of whiskey, it tasted bland, leaving him increasingly dissatisfied. No one was stepping in to help her.

Sophia's bright eyes lowered, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, evoking a sense of vulnerability.

The man couldn't resist such allure and pinned her down on the couch with intent. The jeers of the men and the spiteful giggles of the women in the room made Sophia feel sick. She lifted her knee and aimed fiercely at the heavyset man's groin, determined to ensure he wouldn't act indecently in the future.

"Ah!"

A piercing scream echoed.

The hefty man never imagined the petite woman beneath him would dare strike. Clutching his leg, he shouted, "You witch, you're done for!"

He reached out to grab Sophia, but she swiftly dodged and kicked him off the couch. As the hefty man tumbled to the floor, a whiskey glass shattered beside him.

Glass shards flew, slashing his brow, causing blood to spill and stain his eyes red.

The room fell into an eerie silence; those who had been watching the spectacle were now mute. The one who threw the glass was none other than the intimidating Dillon Palmer.

The pudgy man could no longer afford to be angry at Sophia. With a trembling voice, he asked, "Mr. Palmer, is something wrong?"

"This whiskey is terrible."

Everyone knew Dillon was a powerhouse in the business world. The event tonight was meant to curry favor with him, and the whiskey had been carefully selected to match his tastes. How could it not suit him?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Palmer. I'll have it replaced immediately."

The hefty man was about to call for a wine change when Dillon, with a loud crash, kicked the table over, creating chaos.

Standing with one foot on the overturned table, Dillon leaned slightly forward with an imposing air, saying, "Who told you to replace it?"

"It seems you don't even know what you should and shouldn't do."

The man, usually composed, now wore a mask of barely contained anger, and his invisible wrath silenced everyone.

Dillon was known for his self-control and rarely showed his emotions. When his temper showed, it was catastrophic.

The hefty man's face turned pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he crawled to Dillon's feet, trembling. "Everything is my fault. Please, Mr. Palmer, calm down."

"You want me to calm down?"

Dillon leaned back on the sofa, looking down at the man at his feet like an ant. Seeing him nod repeatedly, Dillon let out a cold laugh.

"I hate waste."

"Drink all the whiskey you bought."

To appease Dillon, he had procured an entire truckload of whiskey. Drinking it all would be a death sentence for the hefty man.

He knelt there, pleading, but one of the wealthy heirs he had invited snapped his fingers, signaling the staff to bring in all the whiskey.

The heir advised, "Mr. Palmer is really angry. Better start drinking. Drink it now, and you'll just end up in the hospital. Refuse, and you can't imagine the consequences."

The hefty man understood this all too well. He had to drink until Dillon was placated.

Sophia watched the once-arrogant man now reduced to a pitiable figure, unable to utter a word, drinking until he vomited, only to drink again.

She glanced at Dillon, standing alone. Everyone feared him. He had the power to ruin empires, and he was not someone to cross.

She was once again reminded of Dillon's ruthlessness; just one bottle of whiskey not to his taste, and he could torment a man to the brink.

She silently vowed to keep her distance for her child's sake.

Experience had taught her well. Sophia no longer entertained the illusion that Dillon's actions were out of concern for her.

She pulled her clothes tighter, trying to blend into the corner. Once the staff had cleared the room, she'd quietly slip away.

"Dillon, are you thirsty? How about some whiskey? Or maybe some fruit?"

Carolina Lopez was well aware that the man's focus was on Sophia. Even if it was just a glance or two, perhaps even Dillon wasn't aware that since Sophia entered, he'd been on edge, observing her intently despite his diverted gaze.

She suspected Dillon's anger wasn't about the whiskey but Sophia.

"No thanks."

His voice was cold, almost indifferent.

"I bought a new, sexy nightgown. Want to come over and see?"

The implication was clear.

The woman in his arms matched Musetta to perfection, both in makeup and expression, and her invitation should have enticed him. But he wasn't in the mood tonight.

"I'll have the driver take you home later."

It meant he wouldn't be visiting tonight.

Their lack of progress in that department unnerved Carolina, especially after tonight.

"But I..."

Carolina wanted to say more, but Dillon had already stood up.

He watched as Sophia's figure disappeared, knitting his brows in irritation.

Had she really left? Not clinging on as she usually did, impossible to shake off.

To think she simply vanished after that ordeal—where could she be heading?

The scene from earlier, with her pinned down, left him inexplicably agitated.

Finally, when that newly closed door swung open again, Dillon's annoyance dissipated.

He knew Sophia wouldn't just leave like that. She must have gone to great lengths to track him down.

Sophia peeked her head in, careful not to step inside. She had already left but, thinking of the child, returned out of concern to give Carolina a gentle reminder.

Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, she kindly advised Carolina, "Miss Lopez, you shouldn't drink while pregnant. For the sake of your child, avoid alcohol."

"And with that, I'll leave you all to it."

Sophia departed.

But no one paid her any attention now; they were too stunned by the revelation.

Carolina's friends were thrilled at the prospect of her capitalizing on her pregnancy—they hoped to benefit as well.

Everyone knew Dillon was dissatisfied with his wife, which is why their marriage was kept secret. Nobody knew what she looked like. Now, with Carolina pregnant, there was a good chance she'd replace the hidden wife.

As they were about to congratulate her, Carolina's face turned ashen.