Everyone in Chicago said Damien Sinclair was a cold-blooded monster.

He kept a house full of venomous snakes—yet none were colder than he was.

I married him only because our engagement had existed before the Carter family went bankrupt.

Over the years, he toyed with countless women. And I, his so-called wife, was left to deal with them.

When I knelt to write checks to make them leave, those women would lift my chin with the tips of their high heels and sneer,

“Mr. Sinclair said you should kneel to send us off.”

Every time, Damien would sit on the second floor, swirling a glass of red wine, watching with cold indifference.

Then Amber came along—a factory girl from the countryside.

One day, the hospital called. They’d finally found a kidney match for my sister.

I called Damien in a panic. But it wasn’t him who answered.

It was Amber’s delicate voice.

“Miss Secretary? Mr. Sinclair said my foot hurts. Could you bring me a Band-Aid?”

That night, it was raining hard. I stood drenched outside the presidential suite, Band-Aid in hand.

From inside came Damien’s languid voice.

“Come in. Bring the Band-Aid.”

A pause.

“And the three boxes of condoms on the table.”

I stood frozen, listening to the sounds of their intimacy.

Then my phone rang.

It was the hospital. The doctor’s voice was hesitant.

“Madam Elena... your sister said something disrespectful to Miss Amber, and Mr. Sinclair ordered the medical team removed…”

“She... she pulled out her own dialysis tube...”

The screen lit up with my sister’s final message.

Sister, stop kneeling for me.

——

I rushed to the hospital. The nurse looked at me apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Madam Elena. After your sister offended Miss Amber, the team was removed... we didn’t get to her in time.”

I stood there, numb, my blood running cold.

Another message arrived. It was from Damien.

"Elena, this is just a small warning. If you want to save what’s left of your family, behave—and don’t upset Amber again."

Tears slipped silently down my face as I stared at the screen.

When my family collapsed, everyone said I married him for money.

No one knew I had loved Damien in silence for ten years.

When I stood at the gates of the Sinclair family holding our marriage certificate, I truly believed I could thaw the ice in his heart.

I watched countless women come and go. I never cared. Because I thought it was all just a game.

But Amber was different. She was never a game.

After my sister’s cremation, I left the funeral home in a daze, her ashes in a small porcelain jar clutched to my chest.

I returned home, took out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago, and went straight to Damien’s company.

When I opened the office door, I saw him holding Amber in his arms, kissing her as if no one else in the world existed.

His face—always cold, always distant—was now tender, full of warmth I had never seen.

In five years of marriage, he had never once embraced me.

Sex was mechanical, wordless. When he was done, he turned away. No eye contact. No warmth.

But now he cradled Amber like something sacred. She playfully hit his chest, and he smiled, brushing her hair from her face.

Then he finally acknowledged me.

“She’s on her period,” he said without even looking up.

“Go buy her some sanitary pads.”

I glanced down. Draped around Amber’s waist was Damien’s six-figure designer suit jacket.

Suddenly, I remembered last month—how I had collapsed with a fever during my own period.

I had weakly tugged on his sleeve, asking for help.

He had shaken me off.

“You’re uncomfortable? Go see a doctor.”

When I returned with the shopping bag, Amber had already gone into the bathroom.

I leaned against the wall outside the door, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind drifting.

Suddenly, something wet and heavy slapped against my face.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood flooded my nose.

“Oh—sorry.” Her sweet voice drifted out from inside.

“Sister Elena, could you help me wash my underwear?”

She paused, then added with a smug lilt,

“Mr. Sinclair said my hands are for serving him. I’m not allowed to get them wet.”

I didn’t say a word. I quietly washed the bloodied underwear with trembling fingers.

Damien sat on the sofa nearby, a snake coiled leisurely around his hand, a glass of red wine in the other.

He often looked like this—detached, elegant, dangerous.

Like the cold-blooded creatures he kept, beautiful and heartless.

I approached, placing the divorce papers in front of him.

“Sign it.”

He didn’t even glance at me at first. I studied his profile, that sharp jawline, those emotionless eyes.

I suddenly remembered the first time I heard about his past.

Back then, a kidnapping had left his brother dead and him abandoned in the dark.

I thought… foolishly, that I could warm his soul.

He looked up, sarcasm flickering in his eyes.

“So impatient?” He sneered. “Fine. The medical team can return.”

Then he pointed lazily toward Amber, who was curled on the couch like a fragile porcelain doll.

“But first, apologize to Amber.”

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees.

“Miss Amber,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. My sister was wrong to say what she did.”

Damien’s brows furrowed.

He’d seen me kneel before, but never like this.

There was no humiliation in my voice, no resentment in my expression. Just calm, jarring indifference.

And that unsettled him.

Amber’s eyes reddened immediately. She wiped at imaginary tears.

“Your sister said I was a homewrecker.” Her voice trembled. “But the truth is you’re just old and can’t keep Mr. Sinclair’s heart.”

She turned to him, her voice pitiful and aggrieved.

“Is it because I’m a factory girl? That I don’t deserve to be respected?”

His expression softened instantly.

He gently wiped away her tears.

“Don’t say that. You saved me during that mudslide. You’re not like the rest.”

Then he coaxed,

“Little fool, tell me. What do you want to forgive them?”

Amber lifted her chin. Her eyes gleamed with cruelty.

“I want her to crawl into Bruno’s doghouse and sleep there tonight.”

Bruno, Damien’s German Shepherd, lived in a kennel in the living room.

I stood frozen. My chest tightened.

In the past, I had endured humiliation from other women. But this... this was different.

I looked at Damien instinctively, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that he would show a flicker of hesitation.

But he didn’t.

“Do as Amber says.” He sipped his wine as if discussing the weather.

“If she’s satisfied, I’ll call the medical team back tomorrow.”

My nails dug into my palms as I fought back the heat rising in my eyes.

“If I sleep there for one night… will you sign the divorce papers?”

He smiled coldly.

“Of course. As long as Amber is happy.”

My head dipped. My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Okay.”

Gasps echoed from the watching servants as I dropped to my knees and began crawling toward the kennel.

Bruno snarled, teeth bared, and I curled up in the corner of his doghouse, trembling.

Upstairs, laughter and moans echoed through the floorboards—unbearable, endless.

I bit my lip so hard it bled.

Just one more night, I told myself. One more night and I’ll finally be free.

The wind outside was sharp and merciless.

Curled up in that filthy space, drifting between wakefulness and fevered dreams, I lost track of time.

By morning, when a servant opened the kennel, I was already burning with fever. My vision darkened.

“Where’s Mr. Sinclair?” I croaked. My voice barely sounded human.

The servant looked away, speaking in a hushed tone.

“He left early to celebrate Miss Amber’s birthday.”

I forced myself to the banquet hall, fevered and swaying with every step—just in time to see Damien fastening a diamond necklace around Amber’s neck.

The look in his eyes… I’d never seen it before.

Soft. Tender.

“Amber,” he said gently, “meeting you is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

My heart clenched.

Then Amber spotted me. Her voice rang out, deliberately loud.

“Sister Elena! Today’s my birthday, and that necklace you’re wearing—how special! Give it to me as a gift, okay?”

I stiffened.

The wooden necklace around my neck was the last thing my sister ever made for me. Her final gift.

“Give it to her.” Damien didn’t even look up from his wine.

I bit back the pain, forcing a hollow smile. I unclasped the necklace, placed it into Amber’s hand, then reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce agreement.

Without a word, Damien signed it.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Go find Assistant Miller. He’ll arrange a new medical team for you.”

Then he turned to Amber and pulled her into his arms.

Just as I was about to leave, Amber grabbed my wrist. Her expression shifted to mock concern.

“Oh no, Sister Elena, your hand is burning up. Let me get you some antipyretics.”

She gripped me tighter. I tried to pull away, but I was too weak.

Then she leaned in close and whispered, her voice dripping with poison.

“By the way… what do you think Bruno would like for a treat today?”

Before I could react, she pulled a small porcelain jar from her coat pocket—the one I knew too well.

My sister’s ashes.

“Give it back!” My voice cracked as I lunged toward her.

But she let go on purpose.

The jar hit the ground with a sharp crack, shattering.

The ashes scattered across the floor.

Bruno came bounding over, tail wagging. He sniffed the mess—and began to lick.

“No!” I screamed, falling to my knees. “Stop! Please!”

Amber stood above me, smiling as if she were watching a performance.

“Mr. Sinclair only has me in his heart,” she said sweetly. “Why do you keep embarrassing yourself?”

Then she tossed the wooden necklace into a nearby trash bin.

“You and your short-lived sister? You both deserved it.”

“Shut up!” I slapped her across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about my sister!”

She held her cheek, then smirked.

“Why not? She’s dead. Isn't it fitting her ashes fed a dog?”

I raised my hand again—but it never landed.

Damien caught my wrist midair. His face was a mask of fury.

“Elena,” he said darkly, “are you looking for death?”

Amber immediately turned on the waterworks.

“She called me a country girl. Said I was no better than a chicken. Said I didn’t deserve to stay in the Sinclair family…”

At a glance from him, two bodyguards rushed forward and forced me to my knees.

“Hit her,” he said coldly.

Amber hesitated for show.

“Isn’t that… a bit too much?”

But Damien took her hand himself and swung it hard across my face.

The slap rang out, sharp and final.

My skin stung, my mouth filled with the taste of blood. My face went numb on one side.

I lifted my head, dazed.

And I looked at the man I had loved for over a decade.

He wasn’t even looking at me.

He was gently cradling Amber’s hand, rubbing it like something precious.

“Did that hurt, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

That’s when I finally woke up.

To him, I wasn’t even worth the attention he gave a dog.

Damien looked at me again, frowning.

“I think I’ll take back the medical team—”

But before he could finish, I let out a bitter laugh.

Tears streamed down my burning cheeks.

“There’s no need,” I said hoarsely. “My sister died long ago. Her ashes are gone now, too.”

He stared at me, briefly speechless.

Then he turned away—cold, unmoved—his arm around Amber as they walked off together like nothing had happened.

I dragged myself back to the villa, every step heavier than the last.

I began packing what little I had.

Five years in this place, and nothing truly belonged to me.

The wardrobe was filled with dark dresses—his favorite.

He hated bright colors. So I never wore them.