Isolde had returned only to collect her belongings. The moment she stepped through the door, a shrill laugh cut through the air.

The man who had always prided himself on composure was sitting beside Sandra, telling pitiful jokes just to make her smile.

"Achoo!" Sandra let out a dainty sneeze.

"Are you cold?" Alan's expression tensed. He slipped off his tailored jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders.

Sandra looked up at him. Their eyes met, close enough that their noses nearly brushed. For a heartbeat, the air froze, thick with unspoken tension and something far too familiar.

From the entrance, Isolde let out a humorless half-smile. How blind she had been, mistaking Alan's tenderness toward Sandra as simple brotherly duty after his brother's death. In truth, their entanglement had begun long before that.

"Isolde?" Sandra turned, startled, her eyes wide like a frightened rabbit's.

Guilt and panic flashed across her face. "Please don't misunderstand. Alan was only worried I might catch a cold…"

'Worried?' Isolde almost laughed. In a heated house, she sneezed once, and he panicked. Yet last night, when she nearly froze outside in a thin shirt, he hadn't even shown himself.

'Forget it. None of this matters anymore,' Isolde thought.

She didn't spare the nauseating pair another glance. Without a word, she crossed the living room and went upstairs.

'Three years together, and everything fits into a single suitcase,' she mused.

The gifts Alan had given her—diamond necklaces for anniversaries, limited-edition handbags for birthdays, preserved roses for Valentine's Day, even the letters and trinkets from his courtship—went straight into the trash.

The man himself was tainted. Why would she keep anything that would only disgust her?

Isolde slipped the marriage certificate into the suitcase's side compartment and zipped it shut.

As she started to stand, a wave of dizziness struck her. She staggered and gripped the handle to steady herself.

'So I'm really sick…' The snowstorm last night had taken its toll. She would have to stop by the hospital before heading to Bruce's place.

Forcing herself upright despite the spinning in her head, Isolde grabbed the suitcase and moved toward the door. But Alan was there, tall and unyielding, blocking her path.

His gaze fell on the suitcase, and his expression darkened. "I thought you'd come to your senses after a night to cool off."

She almost laughed out loud. As if one night could erase years of humiliation and pain. As if she were some obedient pet, ready to wag her tail and resume the role of dutiful "Mrs. Princeton."

"You're right," Isolde said coolly. "I have come to my senses. A filthy man is no different from a sausage dropped in a gutter. It's best to throw it away and move on. Congratulations, Alan. May you and your sister-in-law live happily ever after, and crank out enough brats to fill your mansion."

"Isolde!" Alan's face reddened with fury. "I told you Sandra's pregnancy is about responsibility. It's for the family. There's nothing improper between us."

He drew a slow breath and said solemnly, "It was done through IVF."

As if that made any difference.

Isolde gave a sharp, cutting laugh. "Oh? So when the child is born, will they call you Uncle or Father?"

"Do you have to be so cruel? I've explained everything. What else do you want me to do?"

"Explain?" Her voice dripped with scorn. "Will your explanation make the child disappear? Turn back time? Since when does saying sorry mean I have to forgive you?"

She shoved past him and dragged her suitcase behind her. "The moment you decided to have a child with your sister-in-law, we were finished."

"Finished?" Alan caught her and pulled her back, his arm locking tight around her waist. "Yell, curse, throw things if you want, but don't ever say it's over. Isolde Vancrest, remember this: you'll always be my wife."

Wife?

Isolde laughed sharply. "Really? Do we even have a marriage certificate?"

Alan froze. He had forgotten that detail.

Then his expression changed. He chuckled softly, almost amused. "So that's what you want? You want it official? Fine. I can do that."

He took her hand and said in a coaxing, almost gentle voice, "Now that Sandra's pregnant, my mother won't object anymore. We can go down to the courthouse and get married today. But Isolde, once we get the marriage certificate, I expect peace. No more fighting. You'll take care of the house and… Sandra."

Revulsion twisted in her gut. Even now, after everything, he thought a piece of paper could fix this. That she would keep playing caretaker to Sandra and their illegitimate child.

"Wake up, Alan Princeton. I've already married someone else." Her voice was frigid.

"Alan!" Sandra's voice came from the doorway.

She clutched the frame, her face pale with pain, and had one hand over her stomach. "My stomach hurts… Can you take me to the hospital?"

Alan's attention snapped to her instantly. He released Isolde and rushed over to steady Sandra in his arms.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly. "I'll take you right now."

He turned back briefly. "Isolde, we'll talk about getting married after I get back."

Sandra leaned weakly against him. "I-I don't think I can walk, Alan…"

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and carried her downstairs. From over his shoulder, Sandra looked back at Isolde, her eyes gleaming with smug triumph.

Isolde smiled faintly. 'So Sandra isn't even pretending anymore.'

She watched the elevator doors close, then pressed down the ache in her chest, tightened her grip on the suitcase, and walked out.

…

At the hospital, the tests were done. Isolde's fever raged, her body heavy and fading toward unconsciousness.

"Ms. Vancrest, the IV contains a sedative. You might fall asleep, so someone should stay with you. Where's your family?" the nurse said gently.

Family? The word sounded almost foreign.

Isolde's cracked lips twitched. Her trembling fingers unlocked her phone. The screen lit up, revealing a social media post made just minutes ago.

In the photo, Sandra nestled against Alan's shoulder on a hospital bed, her face glowing with satisfaction.

The caption read: [Told him it was just a tiny bit of discomfort, but someone overreacted. He canceled his hundred-person meeting just to stay with me. Sigh… Being cared for too much can be such a burden.]

Even with his face turned away, Isolde knew Alan's silhouette by heart.

Her fingertips went numb. The phone nearly slipped from her hand as her body trembled. She stared at the screen for a long time, until her trembling stopped and the last trace of warmth in her eyes went out.

She turned to the nurse. "Please… could you call a caregiver for me?"

Inside the private hospital's VIP ward, Sandra leaned weakly against the bed, sipping the warm water Alan had poured for her.

"Alan, I heard from the maid that Isolde came home this morning in a Rolls-Royce," she said softly. "She didn't come back last night… Do you think she might have stayed out because she was upset and did something foolish?"

"No." Alan didn't even look up. His long, elegant fingers moved awkwardly over an apple as he tried to peel it.

"Isolde would never do something that betrays me. Besides, she told me she wanted to get married today." His tone was calm but absolute.

"You're getting married?" Sandra's eyes widened, jealousy flaring like wildfire.

Her husband was dead. Alan was now the father of her child. Why did Isolde always have to compete with her? Couldn't she let Alan go just once?

The phone on the bedside table rang sharply, and Alan picked it up.

Ruth's irritated voice burst through the receiver. "Alan! What's wrong with that Isolde? She just left the house with a suitcase! She's gone, so who's going to take care of everything now? Who's going to cook for Sandra?"

"She left?" The knife in Alan's hand froze midair. His pupils narrowed in disbelief. She had hinted at the marriage certificate today. What was she playing at now?

"Why is she so bad-tempered? You've already agreed to marry her. What more could she want? Any woman would be lucky to have a man who spoils her like you do… Unlike me, my husband's gone…" Ruth finished.

Meanwhile, Sandra lowered her gaze, tears dripping quietly onto the white bedsheet. "You should go talk to her, Alan. Don't worry about me. If I don't feel well, I can always call a nurse. They're busy, but… I'll manage somehow."

Alan looked at Sandra, who was frail, gentle, and trying her best to stay strong. Then he thought of Isolde, always stirring trouble. Frustration flared through him.

'My mother is right. Isolde really has been spoiled,' he thought. 'Sandra is pregnant, yet Isolde shows no empathy, no sense of decency. She's jealous, irrational—and now she storms out of the house? Completely absurd.'

His expression hardened as he called his assistant. "Freeze all of Isolde's cards immediately. Once she runs out of money, she'll have no choice but to come home."

...

After five IV drips, Isolde finally felt as if she had crawled back from the edge of death.

The caregiver, May Reeva, approached hesitantly, holding out a card. "Ms. Vancrest, I just went to pay your medical fees, but the card was declined. It seems your account has been suspended."

"Suspended?" Isolde's foggy mind cleared in an instant, like ice water had been poured over her.

After their engagement, she had turned down a top-tier job offer to work at Alan's company, the Princeton Group, as the so-called "CEO's fiancée." She managed projects, oversaw operations, and practically ran his empire beside him. Because of that, she had never been on the official payroll.

Alan had handed her control of the company's finances and given her an unlimited black card for expenses. What had once been a gesture of trust and affection had now become a weapon turned against her.

How ironic. He could lift her to the heavens when he adored her and crush her the moment he didn't.

May fidgeted as she whispered, "Ms. Vancrest, you'll have to settle the bill before you can be discharged… and there's my caregiver fee too. Should I call your parents?"

Her parents were in Northbridge, both in poor health. If they learned she couldn't even afford her hospital bills, it would break their hearts. Alan knew she'd never want to worry them. However, what he didn't know was that she wouldn't throw a tantrum or wait for him to come begging this time.

She truly didn't want him anymore. Even if it meant dying on the street, she would never return.

Isolde slipped the dazzling diamond ring from her finger and said steadily, "May, please take this to a nearby luxury resale store and sell it."

She hadn't realized she was still wearing it when she packed her things in a hurry. Perhaps it was fitting. It could buy her a way out. Love that had already died might as well serve one last purpose.

She picked up her phone and called someone.

"Mr. Davis, please help me file for labor arbitration. Yes, against Alan Princeton. He never gave me a contract and withheld my salary for three years." Her tone was cool and resolute.

...

When she left the hospital, Isolde took a cab straight to Crestmont Estate.

Standing at the foot of the mountain, she looked up at the vast property that stretched across the hillside like a sleeping beast. It was familiar and suffocating all at once.

The memories she had fought to bury surged back in waves. If she weren't desperate, she would never have returned. But Alan was powerful and vindictive. He wouldn't let her go easily, and her parents could become collateral damage if she resisted.

If she wanted to sever ties completely and walk away unscathed, she needed someone stronger—someone even Alan feared. That person was Bruce Princeton, Alan's cousin and the true heir of the Princeton family.

He was brilliant, ruthless, and dangerously capable. In the family's internal power struggle, Bruce was the one everyone expected to win. Even Alan had to lower his head and treat him respectfully. No one in Southbridge dared challenge Alan when it came to women, except Bruce.

Isolde took a long breath, then another, until her pulse steadied. She clutched her small suitcase and stepped forward, determination hardening her gaze. She would face him, whatever it took.

The butler, Walter Williams, a man in his fifties dressed in a crisp suit, hurried forward with a polite smile. "Ms. Vancrest, welcome home. Mr. Bruce had to leave on urgent business overseas. He won't be home for a few days."

'He's not home? Perfect!' The tightness in her chest eased.

Walter caught the flicker of relief on her face and smiled knowingly as he led her into the main villa. "This is your room, Ms. Vancrest. Everything has been prepared—clothes, jewelry, daily necessities. If anything doesn't suit you, it will be replaced immediately."

He gestured toward a table. "Here is your allowance: an unlimited black card, 1 million in cash, and a 15-million-dollar check for your personal use. These are the household staff assigned to serve you—108 people in total, rotating in three shifts. You'll be cared for around the clock."

Isolde froze, staring at the rows of maids and attendants. "That's… far too many."

It was more than ten times the luxury she'd had with Alan.

Walter smiled modestly, as if it were ordinary. "Ms. Vancrest, your husband is Bruce Princeton. Compared to him, Mr. Alan's household is, shall we say, provincial. What Mr. Alan couldn't give you—what he didn't deserve to give you—Mr. Bruce considers the bare minimum.

"From now on, everything you wear, use, or touch will be of the highest standard. Mr. Bruce instructed that you live in complete comfort. You need not concern yourself with anything else."

Isolde was speechless. The extravagance was dizzying.

Bruce's face, his deep, commanding gaze, and the low rasp of his breath when he was close flashed across her mind. She even remembered the small mole beneath his collarbone, glistening with sweat.

She crushed the thought quickly, steadied herself, and said quietly, "Walter, please let me know before Bruce returns."

"Of course, Ms. Vancrest. Also, your wedding ceremony is scheduled for the 28th of this month. A top-tier team will handle the arrangements, but the style, venue, and gown selection must be approved by you. When would you like to discuss the details?"

"You can decide," she said too quickly.

"Oh, Ms. Vancrest, that won't do. It's your wedding. Your happiness comes first. Mr. Bruce gave strict instructions that everything must reflect your taste."

'My taste…' The words stung.

When she and Alan held their engagement party, it was a small, joyless affair controlled entirely by Ruth. No one had asked what she wanted.

Alan had promised that someday he would make it up to her with a grand wedding ceremony. Three years later, that promise had turned to dust. And now Bruce was the one to fulfill it instead.

It was truly ironic.

Isolde wondered what Alan would think when he saw her walk down the aisle. A faint, bitter smile touched her lips. "I'm free these days."

"Very well, Ms. Vancrest. Please rest for now. If you need anything, there's a call button by your bed that connects directly to my office." With that, Walter bowed and closed the door behind him.

As the door clicked shut, a pair of dark, unreadable eyes lingered from the end of the dim hallway. A tall figure stood half-hidden in shadow, his presence heavy and suffocating.

He didn't move. He simply stared at the closed door, his gaze sharp and unnervingly intent, as if it could burn through the wood and reach the woman inside.

The next morning, in the CEO's office of the Princeton Group, Alan slammed a file onto his desk, agitation flashing in his eyes. His fingertips tapped impatiently against the polished mahogany surface. "Is Isolde still not back at work?"

The assistant lowered her head. "No, sir. Ms. Vancrest hasn't shown up for three days."

Alan's brows drew tighter. She had no money, so how had she survived these past few days? Was she starving? Sleeping on the streets? Curled up like a stray cat in some dark corner?

The thought made his chest ache. He had spoiled her far too much. That was why she had become so stubborn, willing to suffer anything rather than bow her head.

Alan pressed his fingers to his temple, feeling the weight of exhaustion and helplessness. "Find out where she is. I'll pick her up myself."

At that moment, the office door flew open, and Sandra, seven months pregnant, rushed in.

"Alan." Her voice trembled as she held up a glittering diamond ring. Panic flickered in her eyes. "I was shopping with friends when I saw a woman wearing this. I recognized it right away. It's Isolde's wedding ring! You had it custom-made by a master jeweler. There's only one like it in the world."

She hesitated, her expression uneasy. "I asked the woman where she got it. She said… she bought it from a luxury resale store."

The expensive pen in Alan's hand snapped in two.

His face darkened, and veins bulged at his temples.

"Isolde Vancrest, you've done well, haven't you?" Each word came out between clenched teeth.

He had been worrying she might be suffering, while she had gone and sold their wedding ring for cash.

"Alan, it's all my fault. If it weren't for me, you and Isolde wouldn't have ended up like this…"

Sandra wiped away her tears, her face full of sorrow. "That ring symbolizes your love. If she sold it, doesn't that mean she wants to break up with you?"

"Break up?" Alan let out a short, humorless laugh, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

A storm brewed in his eyes as he spoke. "She loves me to the bone. Breaking up would be like tearing out her heart. She couldn't bear it. She's just throwing a tantrum, trying to provoke me by selling the ring.

"When she gets emotional, I usually let her have her way. But when it comes to something as serious as continuing the family line, that's the bottom line. She can't possibly think she can threaten me over this.

"It's time she learns a lesson and sees things clearly."

At Crestmont Estate…

Walter asked respectfully, "Ms. Vancrest, would today be convenient? The Palace Hotel has made all the arrangements. You can visit anytime to choose a wedding venue."

"This afternoon is fine." Isolde rubbed her temple. "I have a meeting with Mr. Miller at noon to sign a contract."

She had worked on this project for three months. Everything was ready, and all that remained was the final signing. It was also the last project she would handle at the Princeton Group. She wanted to finish what she started.

More importantly, the commission was 280,000 dollars. It was rightfully hers, and she wasn't about to walk away from it. Once she signed the deal, she would begin arbitration, collect her severance, and leave the company for good.

"Understood, Ms. Vancrest. Where will the signing take place? I'll have the car ready this afternoon," Walter offered.

"No need. It's at the Palace Hotel."

…

At noon, Isolde arrived at the private room right on time.

When she opened the door, she froze. Two unexpected figures were waiting inside—Alan and Sandra, the latter looking smug.

Sandra held a pen, signing her name on the last page of the contract. She looked up at Isolde with a triumphant smile.

"Oh, Isolde, you're here? I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you. Alan thought the department needed stronger leadership, so I joined as the new director. That means I'm your supervisor now. As for this contract…"

She lifted the document in her hand. "I went ahead and signed it for you."

A woman seven months pregnant—someone who should have been on maternity leave—had parachuted in as director just to steal her project. It wasn't just sabotage. It was deliberate humiliation.

Rage surged through Isolde's veins, and she glared at the real culprit. "Alan Princeton! I spent three months on this project. I lost sleep over it. I poured everything into it, and you just gave it away? What right does she have to sign my contract?"

Alan's eyes locked onto hers, darker than ever, his anger burning hotter than hers. He strode toward her and hissed, "How dare you sell our wedding ring? Isolde Vancrest, do you even care about me at all?"

Isolde almost laughed in disbelief. She had expected him to stoop low, but dragging personal grudges into work was beyond petty.

"This is just a small warning," he said coldly. "From now on, don't ever let that ring leave your finger again, or else…"

Alan grabbed her hand, his grip tight enough to crush bone, and forced the cold diamond ring back onto her finger. His tone softened, but his words dripped with threat. "Don't blame me for firing you. Isolde, face reality. Everything you have, be it your title as future Mrs. Princeton or your career, comes from me. Without me, you're nothing.

"I don't want to be cruel, but you need to know your place. Come home, accept the child, and I'll forgive everything. I'll treat you just like before."

His voice sounded gentle, almost tender, but his words made her stomach churn.

'So this is his version of love,' she thought.

When she obeyed, he showered her with affection. When she didn't, he stripped it all away, using threats and humiliation to crush her. He had truly forgotten who she was.

Three years ago, fresh out of university, she had received offers from several leading global firms. Even Nightfall Corp., the world's top tech company, had invited her to head its AI Research Division.

Yet she had turned them all down, choosing instead to build the Princeton Group from the ground up for one reason: Alan's simple request.

"I need you," he had said.

For three years, she had poured her heart into the work, almost single-handedly keeping the company's AI department alive and helping it secure a foothold in a cutthroat market.

The upcoming AI emotional interaction project was her brainchild. Once released, it would propel the Princeton Group to the top of the industry. Without her, that department was an empty shell.

"Fire me? Mr. Princeton, by all means. Just make sure my full severance and arbitration settlement hit my account." Isolde gave a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Oh, and one more thing." She turned to John Miller, smiling politely. "As you can see, Mr. Princeton is terminating my employment. Unfortunately, I can no longer provide the core optimization technology I promised your company—"

With that, she turned and walked out without hesitation.

A furious slam echoed through the room.

"The contract is canceled!" John shouted.

Alan stared in shock at the torn papers, then at Isolde's retreating figure. Sharp and unfamiliar panic gripped his chest.

In the past, no matter how bitter their fights became, Isolde always compromised for him and the company. She swallowed her pride every time. She was supposed to yield again. She always did.

But this time, she hadn't even looked back. Could it be that this time, she truly meant it?