When I was eighteen, Ethan Shaw burst into my house and stabbed my father eighteen times.

As the police dragged him away, he smiled into the camera:

“Why should I regret it?

“There will never again be a beast who hides behind the name of family to hurt her.

“From now on, she is the freest girl in the world—Sophia Summers!”

When Ethan was released from prison, he saw me with no money in my pocket and my résumés constantly rejected. He stubbed out his cigarette, dove headfirst into the New York elite circle, and transformed himself into Mr. Shaw.

After our marriage, every password of his was set to my birthday.

But when I looked through his photo albums, I saw pictures of strange women. Over eighteen hundred of them. Not a single one of me.

It was as if he suddenly remembered. With a blank expression, he deleted all eighteen hundred photos, tossed his phone aside, and said:

“It’s all in the past. Just pretend you didn’t see it.”

I slid the divorce papers toward him. “I told you, sign it.”

He threw down the pen.

“I told you, between us there is no divorce. Only widowhood.”

…

Ethan didn’t sign.

Between us there was only widowhood, never divorce.

It was what he said when we got married.

He didn’t even glance at the divorce papers before storming out.

Not long after he left, a strange number popped up on my phone:

“You’re Sophia Summers, right?

“You must have seen it—he’s been collecting my photos since I was still in school.

“Ethan loves me, not you. If you don’t step aside, Ethan will make you regret it!”

The girl’s voice carried an innocence and boldness untouched by the world.

Or perhaps it was simply that Ethan had protected her too well.

Before I could respond, she sent over a dozen photos.

Her waist-to-hip ratio was perfect, a chain draped elegantly across her waist.

The large hand resting there sometimes forgot to remove the wedding band that belonged to me.

Until her belly began to swell, only then was the chain finally taken off.

“Sophia, Ethan has been married to you for three years and never let you bear his child. But he’s allowed me to carry his seed.

“Don’t you understand? Is clinging on still meaningful?

“I’m telling you, if you don’t step down, I’ll move into your home myself. Let’s see then—whose side will Ethan choose, yours or mine?”

When Ethan returned, he found the chat records alongside a roomful of crystal antiques I had smashed to pieces.

He only raised his brow faintly.

“You have nothing to explain?”

My ragged breaths mingled with the taste of his cigar smoke.

He chuckled lightly, exhaling a ring of smoke:

“She’s just a young girl, why bother with her?”

His airy tone made it sound as if the blood and storms of his rise in New York’s elite circle hadn’t fallen on us—but on that young girl and him.

“Yes, the little girl truly doesn’t understand.”

I tossed a medical record of a miscarriage onto the table.

He immediately sat upright.

I spoke lightly:

“So I simply taught her to be a real person.”

“Sophia!”

His hands clamped onto my shoulders with such force they nearly shattered.

My back pressed hard against the wall, lips curling as I watched his reddened eyes.

In this life, he had only ever shed tears twice.

Once, in our senior year of high school, when he saw my father drag me half-naked by my hair onto the street, threatening to drown me in the Mississippi River. Ethan stabbed my father eighteen times.

The second was now, when this girl miscarried.

He gripped my shoulders and accused me of being “cruel.”

“How rare,” I sneered, “to see Mr. Shaw in a panic.”

I smiled, without the slightest trace of remorse.

“You’re a woman too… how could you do this to her?”

“You’re the one who said it—between us there’s no divorce, only widowhood.”

I leaned in close. “If Mr. Shaw can’t manage to kill me, then I’ll just have to kill both of you!”

Blood dripped onto the floor.

Only then did he notice that my hand had been cut while smashing things.

His grip on my shoulders gradually loosened.

“Good. I didn’t want that child anyway.”

He lifted my hand and gently wiped away the blood.

When the iodine stung my skin, he blew on it softly, the way he always did.

He’d long been used to treating my wounds this way.

Back when my father used to beat me black and blue, Ethan could only use alcohol to disinfect me. Even though he no longer needed to use alcohol now, he was always careful not to hurt me.

A bloody handprint marked his face.

“Stop. It’s dirty.”

His face tilted slightly, not arguing whether I meant the blood was dirty—or he was.

He simply called for Mr. Walker, the butler, and handed him the medical kit.

The girl’s name was Natalie Reed.

When I tried to investigate further, everything vanished without a trace.

I knew—Ethan was protecting her.

If I hadn’t acted quickly, I wouldn’t even have learned her name.

I confronted Ethan:

“You like her that much, that you’d even block information from me?”

He sighed. “Sophia, what’s the point of holding on to her?”

Once more, I threw the divorce papers in front of him:

“Sign them, and I won’t pursue her any further.”

The papers didn’t last two seconds in his hands before being ripped to shreds.

He flung the scraps into the air.

“I told you, between us there’s no divorce. Only widowhood.”

I laughed.

The next second, a wine bottle crashed against his head.

Red liquid slid down his face, impossible to tell whether it was wine or blood.

I grabbed the knife from the table and drove it toward him.

He caught my wrist in an iron grip, resisting my downward force.

“Ethan.”

Our faces were less than an inch apart.

“You really think I won’t do it?”

Our hands trembled, but I refused to yield.

“Divorce—or one of us dies.”

The standoff lasted only a few seconds.

Then, with a quiet laugh, he shifted the force toward himself.

My hand, trapped in his, sank the blade deep into his shoulder.

Blood splattered across my face.

“I told you, I won’t let you die before me.”

“Ethan!”

Through gritted teeth, I watched him release my hand.

“Do it, Sophia.”

I wrenched the knife free.

He groaned, blood covering my face.

The scent of iron pulled my mind back to that rainy night in high school.

I staggered and fell, but he caught me swiftly.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay, I’m here.”

His hand brushed my cheek gently.

Blood from his forehead dripped onto my face, one drop after another.

His eyes held no concern for his own wound, only worry for me.

On countless nights when my father beat me half to death, he had held me the same way. Shielding me with his back against beer bottles, chairs, even knives.

Grinning at me through the curses:

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay, I’m here.”

We once embraced in blood, kissed in storms.

When love reaches its peak, betrayal becomes all the more monstrous.

I shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Stumbling, I left that room thick with blood.

For a time, we stayed apart.

And the girl—she remained sheltered under his protection, hidden beyond my reach.

But in the end, the girl was still young.

She couldn’t hold herself back and came to find me.

“Have you been looking for him lately? I’ll just tell you—he’s with me.”

Dressed in couture, she smirked triumphantly.

“You think that by ending my pregnancy, it’s all over?”

Leaning close, her smile was brimming with arrogance:

“As long as his love belongs to me, you can take away as many children as you want, he’ll only love me more.

“Lately, he’s been even more devoted. I should thank you for your help, sister.”

Her high-slit top revealed her flawless neck and the swell of her chest.

Countless hickeys declared again and again—

how completely Ethan had once adored this girl.

She pressed a hand to her flat belly, pride radiating from her expression.

“Too bad. I’m pregnant again.”

I calmly sipped my coffee. She plopped herself down on my custom-made sofa, propping her chin in her hands.

“I heard you’ve been married three years without a child.

“And when you finally had one…”

Her laughter rang sharp.

“Ha! You couldn’t even keep it!

“Sometimes, you really can’t blame men.”

The clink of porcelain against the table was followed by her scream.

The bodyguards watched in silence as Natalie clutched her stomach, blood seeping between her legs.

“Sophia Summers! You’ll die a miserable death!”

Her wails echoed as the bodyguards dragged her out.

“Sophia! Aren’t you afraid Ethan will take revenge on you?”

My fingers tapped lightly against the marble table.

“You need to understand, Mrs. Shaw is not a position won simply by having a man’s love.”

That night, Ethan returned.

With dozens of men, filling an entire floor.

He had never shown such force except against tough rivals.

This was his first time drawing battle lines against me.

We sat at opposite ends of the negotiation table, each backed by dozens of people.

“Twice now,” he said, his fingers tapping lightly against the marble surface.

“Sophia, you should apologize to her.”

“A fool who delivers herself to my door deserves to pay for her recklessness.”

Half of Ethan’s face was hidden in the dark, his expression unreadable.

“Does Mr. Shaw really think his wife so submissive, that she’ll sit quietly while a mistress walks in?”

The flare of a lighter cut the darkness, igniting the cigarette between my lips.

“Mr. Shaw, you should know—through all these bloody years in the New York elite circle, I’ve been bleeding beside you.

“To pit a canary against me—are you mad, or is she?”

Once more, I placed the divorce papers in front of him, exhaling smoke.

“This is your last chance.”

Moonlight cast across the marble table, hiding both our faces.

We stared at each other in the dark.

“Since childhood, you killed the beast who was my father, stormed through gates for me.

“I lost a child for you, bled myself dry for you.

“Mr. Shaw, let’s split clean—no debts between us.

“That would be the best outcome.”

“The best outcome…”

Ethan’s soft laughter echoed in the dark.

He picked up the divorce papers.

With the same lighter, he set them aflame.

The papers crumbled into ash.

“From now on, she won’t appear before you again.”

The ashes drifted with the wind.

He rose, leading his men in a grand departure from the estate.