It was an ordinary, everyday surprise for Quincy. Still, for Harley, it was something extravagant, something out of reach. That bouquet of yellow roses in Quincy's arms reminded her of the past. Back when, on every holiday, every birthday, every little occasion, James would always prepare a bouquet of red roses for her. Because she loved them. Because he once said she was like a red rose, passionate, thorny, and stubbornly alive.

Harley couldn't look away from their happiness. Gradually, she felt a coolness on her cheeks. She touched them, realizing she was crying. She wiped her tears, worried about smudging her makeup, and went to the restroom.

She turned on the faucet and washed her hands, but tears fell uncontrollably into the sink. Why wouldn't they stop? She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her pale face was gaunt, the exhaustion showing through her makeup. She reapplied her lipstick.

"Harley." Suddenly, a voice called from behind her.

Harley caught sight of her in the mirror, her expression stiffening for a brief moment before she silently continued adjusting herself. Quincy walked up beside her, washed her hands, and struck up a conversation. "I saw you the moment I came in. What a coincidence! Eating alone?"

"Yeah," Harley replied nonchalantly.

Seeing the lack of warmth on Harley's face, Quincy's lips curled into a subtle smirk. "I heard you called James, but he had already promised to celebrate with me this morning, so he turned you down. Sorry about that."

Harley's fingers paused slightly, her fist tightening just a little. Even if Quincy had said that deliberately to provoke her, there was nothing she could do to win this game. So, she could only walk away. Just as she turned, Quincy's voice sounded behind her. "When are you finally going to divorce James?"

Harley stopped in her tracks. Quincy wiped her hands, then stepped in front of her. "You know deep down that the person James loves is me. If it weren't for you holding onto the title of Mrs. Franklin, he would have married me long ago. Don't you think you're the one tearing us apart? Making everyone miserable?"

Her words were full of accusations as if everything was Harley's fault. Harley looked at her and asked, "You seem anxious."

Her calmness made Quincy uneasy. She quickly retorted, "I've waited for three years! Isn't that long enough?"

Harley tilted her head slightly. "Then why don't you have James say it himself?"

Quincy pursed her lips slightly. "If it weren't for James' grandmother, do you really think he wouldn't have? If you initiate the divorce, it'll make things easier for him. You've already dragged him along for three years, it's time to end this."

Harley studied Quincy's face, which bore a resemblance to her own. Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Sometimes, I really wonder. Does he love you, or just the body you happen to inhabit?"

Quincy's expression changed. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Harley's voice was indifferent. "Divorce is between me and James. It has nothing to do with you."

After that, she turned to leave. Unfortunately, Quincy wasn't willing to let it go. How much longer did she have to wait? How much longer would she have to endure? As long as Harley remained, Quincy would never be able to marry James. Jealousy burned inside her, twisting her expression.

"Harley!" Quincy reached out and yanked Harley's arm. The sudden force made Harley's purse slip from her hand, its contents spilling onto the floor. Her cosmetics, phone, keys and a newspaper clipping.

Quincy's eyes focused on the newspaper, and she quickly picked it up from the ground. After seeing it clearly, she looked at Harley with confusion.

Harley's face darkened. "Give it back."

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Quincy smirked. Her voice dripped with mockery. "Harley, it's just a piece of newspaper. What's got you so worked up? This Mark was just a drug dealer who died years ago. Do you know how many people he harmed? And yet, you keep this like it's some kind of treasure. Scum like him deserved to die!"

"He wasn't a drug dealer! Give it back!" Harley lunged for it.

Quincy dodged, her tone turning even colder when she saw how much it meant to Harley. "If he wasn't a drug dealer, then what was he? Do you really think I don't know? Mark Lupone was a notorious drug lord, executed by the police years ago! Harley, your values are twisted!" With that, she tore the newspaper clipping into shreds.

"No!" That piece of paper held Mark's photograph. It was the only thing Harley had left to remember her father's face. Now, it was nothing but scattered scraps on the floor. Harley's pupils contracted as she watched the torn fragments slip through Quincy's fingers, just like the feeling of her heart being ripped apart. She reached out, trying to gather them, but the pieces slipped through her fingers one by one. At that moment, the light guiding her went out.

Her father was not a drug dealer. He was a hero. He had only been with her until she was nine years old. A gentle and righteous man. The team called him back, and he left after just one visit home. She remembered her mother standing at the doorway, eyes red, watching his retreating figure for a long time. Back then, she didn't understand. She thought her father was going on a work trip, but she never saw him again.

Her mother fell into a daze, plagued by nightmares, constantly fearing that one day their family would face revenge. To protect her, her mother sent her to live with the Jackmans. In all these years, she had only seen her father once.

When he returned, his temples had turned gray, his skin darkened by the sun, and his face weary. However, his gaze remained as firm as ever. He stroked her head and said, "Yelena, if something happens to me in the future, don't believe what others say. Only trust what you see with your own eyes. Your father will never do anything wrong. I will always be loyal to the people and to my country."

Then, he died. Branded as a drug dealer. No one knew the truth that he was a righteous police officer who had spent decades undercover, sacrificing his identity to protect the people and his family. No one could understand the suffering he endured. So, how could she forgive? How could she forgive Quincy's insults? Harley's cold gaze locked onto Quincy. That woman flinched under her stare, taking a few steps back.

Harley's voice was sharp and resolute. "I'll say it one more time, he was NOT a drug dealer!" She raised her hand to slap Quincy, but before she could, a strong grip caught her wrist mid-air. Pain shot through her arm, the pressure so intense it felt like her bones were about to break.

Harley looked up. James stood in front of Quincy, shielding her. His tall figure cast a shadow over them, his handsome face cold, lips pressed tightly together, and his sharp eyes filled with something venomous. Quincy's face turned pale. "Harley, I didn't know this meant so much to you. If I had known, I wouldn't have torn it. I was just angry."

She softened her voice, her eyes turning red. "James, I didn't do it on purpose. I thought Harley felt the same way as I did."

Harley's heart ached unbearably. Anyone else in the world could misunderstand her father, but not her. It mattered more than anything. She gritted her teeth. "Stop pretending. This has nothing to do with you. You had no right to tear it apart!"

"She was wrong, huh?" James' voice was icy as he stared at her.

Harley met his gaze. There was no warmth in his expression, only chilling indifference. "Harley," his voice was even colder now, "How come you pity a drug dealer? That makes you just like him, disgusting."

James shoved her hand away. She stumbled back several steps, her waist slamming into the edge of the sink. A sharp pain shot through her, making her whole body tremble. James didn't spare her a second glance. He coldly took Quincy's hand and led her away. Quincy cast one last look at Harley, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips before following him out.

Harley bent over, staring at the mess on the ground. Her eyes burned red, but the words James had just spoken pierced her deeper than anything else. Disgusting. Had it really come to this?

Her face turned even paler, her lips quivering. Then, her strength gave out. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed to the ground. Even as she fell, she still reached out, desperately gathering the torn fragments. She refused to let anyone tarnish her father's name. Then, her vision went black, and she lost consciousness.

When Harley woke up, she was already in the hospital. A doctor stood nearby, jotting down notes. She hurried to sit up and lay back down again. The doctor, a woman, looked at her with concern. "You're really pushing yourself to the limit. Your anemia is severe. Luckily, a kind person brought you here in time."

Harley lowered her gaze and said nothing.

"Where's your family? Do they know about your condition? You should call them."

Harley thought about James staying by Quincy's side. She didn't want to call anyone and cause unnecessary worry. "There's no need, doctor."

Sensing her reluctance, the doctor softened. "At the very least, you should get a full-body check-up. Women need to take better care of themselves." The doctor meant well, but Harley knew her own body. No amount of tests would change anything. The doctor wanted her to stay in the hospital for observation, but Harley left quietly.

By the time she got home, it was already late. The house was dark. She switched on the lights and immediately noticed the shoes by the entrance. James was home, and his suit jacket was casually draped over the sofa. She walked over expressionlessly, tidied his clothes, and hung them up. Then she went to the bedroom. James was already asleep. Well, it was their marriage. He never waited for her.

Noticing his furrowed brows and the way his blanket had slipped off, Harley moved closer. His face was sweaty, perhaps from the heat. She instinctively reached out to adjust his blanket.