"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.

"Harley."

Harley froze, thinking James had woken up. But then, she heard him murmur, "Why did you do this to me?" The same words he had mumbled in his hospital bed the day they broke up. Her hand stiffened, her face paling. She looked down at him. His eyes were shut, his breathing deep. He was still asleep. It seemed like he had a nightmare. Their entire history must have been a nightmare to him. Only in his dreams did he seem to remember.

Harley prepared to pull away, but a warm, strong hand suddenly grabbed her wrist. Her heart clenched. She instinctively tried to withdraw, but before she could, James pulled her onto the bed. James was awake. He pinned her down, his eyes filled with murderous intent, red and sweaty as if he wanted to kill her. How much did he hate her to react like this? Harley clenched her fists, anxiety twisting inside her. She didn't dare to speak first.

James' gaze cleared slightly when he recognized her. The rage in his eyes faded, but his expression only grew colder. "What are you doing?" His voice was harsh, wary.

Harley answered calmly, "You were having a nightmare. I was just covering you with a blanket."

James pushed himself off her, his face still unreadable. Harley quickly sat up. Seeing his sweat-soaked forehead, she offered, "You're drenched in sweat. Let me get you a towel." After that, she got out of bed.

"Harley." His deep voice stopped her in her tracks. James stared at her silhouette. "How much longer are you going to keep this up?"

Her eyelashes trembled slightly, but she kept her composure. "I don't understand what you mean."

James' voice was sharp. "Three years. Aren't you tired of this yet?"

Harley understood exactly what he was referring to. Three years of marriage without love. Just her endlessly giving while he remained indifferent. No matter how much he resented her, how cold he was to her, she never got angry. She played her role as Mrs. Franklin quietly and obediently.

Sometimes, she would ask herself why was she doing all this. Did she hope that one day, he would change his mind? She never forced him, did she? It could be more out of guilt. She felt that if it weren't for her, he wouldn't have had to suffer so much. Yet, her kindness toward him had become a burden, making him hate her even more. It was as if she were trying too hard to please him only to push him further away.

Harley turned her head and met James' cold, handsome face. She smiled faintly. "It'll be over soon."

It would all be over soon. However, James didn't pay attention to the meaning behind her words. The man only showed indifference, not even wanting to look at her. He stood up and left the bedroom first. "That's for the best!"

With a loud bang, the door slammed shut. Harley was left alone in the room. She no longer needed to put on an act. Slowly, she crouched down and stayed there for a long time. Meanwhile, James sat in his study, his brows furrowed in a deep crease that never eased. The dreams were becoming more frequent. Over and over again, the same ones. Fragments of memories piecing themselves together, strangely familiar but just out of reach.

His head ached. A heavy feeling weighed on him, especially when he looked at Harley. The feeling became even stronger. She was like an endless abyss, something he dared not touch.