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?

"Isolde!" Alan's face turned ashen. He no longer cared about anything else as he strode after her.

The moment she stepped out of the private room, Isolde called Walter. "Walter, there's been a slight change of plans. Lunch is canceled. I'll go straight to view the wedding venue. Send me the contact number of the person in charge."

"Ms. Vancrest, this way, please."

Isolde looked up and saw Walter standing in the elevator with a smile. He had already been waiting there. She returned his smile and stepped inside.

As the elevator doors slowly closed, Alan came out of the private room and caught sight of Isolde and Walter standing together.

He frowned. "Why is Walter here?"

A nearby server answered respectfully, "Mr. Princeton, Mr. Williams is here to view the wedding venue. The Prince is holding a wedding at the end of the month. Didn't you know?"

Bruce had grown up abroad and returned to the country six years ago. In those six years, he had used ruthless, bloody methods to cleanse Southbridge's business world. The violent storm he stirred up lasted a full month. Since then, everyone in the circle feared him like a Prince of Hell and respectfully called him "The Prince."

Alan couldn't hide his surprise. "He's getting married?"

Over the years, his grandfather had sent countless daughters of prestigious families his way, but he had remained unmoved. Now he had suddenly decided on a marriage? What kind of formidable woman could capture his interest?

Still in disbelief, Alan pressed the button for the next elevator. He had to hurry and get Isolde out of there before she accidentally intruded on Bruce's territory and provoked him. His cousin was a true madman—one who would never show mercy, not even to women.

…

When the elevator reached the top floor, the doors slid open silently.

Walter stepped aside and gestured ahead. "Ms. Vancrest, this way, please. Sky Mirror, Southbridge's pinnacle wedding venue, is just ahead."

Isolde followed Walter into the dreamlike hall filled with light and glass reflections. Moments later, the elevator next to theirs opened.

Alan stepped out, his sharp gaze sweeping the corridor. It was empty. When he didn't see Isolde, a tightness gripped his chest.

His expression darkened as he turned toward the entrance of Sky Mirror.

"She went inside?" he muttered.

It was exactly what he had feared. Bruce's temper was vicious, his methods ruthless. Anyone who crossed him met a miserable end.

Anxious, Alan strode toward the venue.

"Please stop, Mr. Princeton." The etiquette hostess stationed at the entrance extended her hand to block him politely. "There are distinguished guests inside. Entry is not permitted without an appointment."

"Move aside!" Alan's tone was sharp as he pushed the door open.

"Alan!" Sandra rushed forward and grabbed his arm, her face pale with worry. "Calm down! Bruce already has animosity toward you. If you barge in now, especially when he's selecting his wedding venue, you'll only anger him further."

Alan's brows knit together. "Isolde is inside."

"Look at the elevator. It's already gone down to the first floor. She must have taken it downstairs and left long ago." Sandra pointed to the elevator that Isolde had used earlier.

Alan looked up at the display showing the number 1. His tense nerves finally relaxed, and he let out a long breath of relief.

Sandra noticed the deep relief and tenderness in his eyes, and jealousy flared violently in her chest. Even after everything, even after the scene Isolde had caused, he still cared for her this much.

Sandra said bitterly, "Alan, I shouldn't say this, but I can't bear to see you being played like this anymore. Think about it. The AI emotional interaction project she's poured three years of her heart into is about to succeed.

"Once it launches, she'll have both fame and fortune, and she'll become a rising star in the industry. Do you really think she'd give all that up and resign at such a critical moment?"

Her tone sharpened with certainty. "She's just throwing a tantrum, deliberately sabotaging the signing to scare you into coaxing her—to make you beg her!

"At the same time, she wants to force you to abort our child. But if you don't give in, when the press conference starts, she'll be the one who panics."

Alan's unease gradually subsided, and his rationality returned.

Sandra's words made sense. The project was Isolde's only chance to prove her worth to the Princeton family. She wouldn't leave the Princeton Group, and she certainly wouldn't leave him.

The tense lines of his shoulders eased. His expression regained its usual composure and the stern control that had always defined him. If she wanted to play games, then he would wait for the day of the press conference and see how she handled it.

…

In a dimly lit room, Sandra dialed a number with an icy expression. "Where are you? Come back to Southbridge immediately."

A man's teasing voice answered, "What's up, baby? Miss me already? Makes sense. You're in the late stage of pregnancy. Perfect timing for some fun. I even bought an outfit—"

"Shut up!" Sandra interrupted sharply. "You'd better keep those thoughts to yourself if you don't want Alan to find out that the child is yours and have you dismembered and thrown into the sea to feed the fish."

The man's tone shifted, annoyed. "If we can't have fun, why do you want me back in Southbridge?"

"The AI-emotional interaction software press conference is taking place in a few days. I want you to kidnap Isolde so she can't show up."

If Isolde failed to appear at the press conference, Alan would be furious, and their relationship would collapse beyond repair. Then Sandra could take the stage herself, claim the project as her own, and seize all of Isolde's achievements. Three years of dedication, all her glory, and all her benefits would be Sandra's.

Once she gained that success, Sandra would finally have the power to approach Nightfall Corp., which stood at the peak of the global AI industry.

The bionic robots they developed were revolutionary, an epoch-making creation. If she could negotiate a partnership with them and join their project, the Princeton Group would rise to the forefront of the AI field, and she would become the company's greatest contributor.

…

After finishing the venue inspection, Isolde took a car back to Crestmont Estate. Just as she stepped out, her phone rang with an international call.

The man on the line spoke with a foreign accent, his tone brimming with excitement. "Ms. Vancrest, I just received news that you're leaving the Princeton Group?!

"Apologies for my enthusiasm, but this news is incredible! I've been waiting for this moment for three whole years!

"The offer Nightfall Corp. gave you three years ago is still valid, and the compensation has doubled. The position of Director of Global AI R&D has always been kept open for you.

"Join us, Ms. Vancrest. The world is your stage—not a small company like the Princeton Group, where you're limited to developing emotional interaction software. Come to us and fulfill the concept you proposed three years ago. Develop real AI bionic robots! You'll lead the dawn of a new era in artificial intelligence."

Three years ago, Isolde had proposed the concept and data model for bionic robots. Only Nightfall Corp. had the technological depth and foundation to support her research and bring her vision to life.

Back then, she had given up that dream for Alan. But now?

The light that had long dimmed in her eyes reignited—clear, resolute, and brilliant.

"I agree," she said. "I'll relocate abroad and assume the position at the beginning of next month."

…

'Getting married and then immediately leaving the country…' Isolde thought it over carefully. 'Bruce deserves to know.'

She went to find Walter. "Walter, when will Bruce return? I have something I need to discuss with him."

Walter had noticed the ring on her finger earlier, and during the trip, he had heard she'd run into Alan at the hotel.

Bruce had once mentioned that she liked pink, yet the wedding theme she selected was blue, a detached, perfunctory choice. Earlier, she'd sounded cheerful on the phone, laughing easily, but now her face was solemn.

Everything pointed to one conclusion: she hadn't come to talk about the wedding. She'd come to end this brief marriage.

Walter's eyes flicked toward a shadowed corner of the room, and his expression turned grave.

"Ms. Vancrest, the matter Mr. Bruce is handling is particularly difficult this time. I fear it will take more than a few days," Walter explained. "He may not even return within a fortnight."

Isolde was at a loss for words. Evidently, a face-to-face conversation was out of the question. Online communication felt less polite, but she had no other choice.

Retrieving her phone, she found Bruce on WhatsApp, composed a message, and clicked send.

Isolde: [Are you busy? Can you spare a few minutes? There's something I need to tell you.]

A single gray check mark appeared beside her message. She stared at it, confused, for a full half-minute before understanding dawned.

She let out a knowing smile. 'Of course. Bruce only agreed to marry me to spite Alan. As for me... his feelings are likely unchanged from the past: distant, even disgusted. Why would he need or want to know if I went abroad?'

Silently, she put her phone away and turned back toward her room. She casually twisted off the ring and tossed it onto the bedside table, planning to sell it at a luxury reseller when she had a moment. The proceeds would nicely cover the 280,000-dollar commission Sandra had stolen from her.

"Ms. Vancrest, this is a calming candle to help you sleep," a maid offered, lighting the wick.

A tranquil fragrance soon permeated the room, and before long, Isolde fell into a deep slumber.

…

In the silent night, Isolde's bedroom door eased open from the outside. A tall, upright shadow moved soundlessly to her bedside. His gaze fell upon the ring on the table.

He reached out, his slender fingers closing around the band before curling into a tight fist. His knuckles turned white, as though he meant to crush the offending object. A thin line of blood slowly welled between his fingers and dripped to the floor.

The sharp pain caused the violent obsession churning in his eyes to recede slightly. He let out a self-mocking laugh, flicked his wrist, and threw the blood-stained ring into the trash can.

With deliberate restraint, his bleeding fingers brushed against her sleeping face. In the darkness, his gaze was so intense it was almost tangible.

"Isolde... don't ever think of leaving me again," he whispered.

…

Although Isolde's official start date abroad was a month away, she refused to waste time. She decided to begin organizing data immediately.

The necessary software and files were all stored on her personally purchased laptop, which she had left at the company. As such, she had to retrieve it.

When Isolde arrived at the Princeton Group, news of her presence reached Alan's office instantly.

"Mr. Princeton, Ms. Vancrest has returned to the office."

Alan set down his documents with a faint, expectant smile. "Finally, she's willing to back down."

He withdrew an exquisite velvet jewelry box from his desk drawer.

"Have this delivered to her. It's the pink diamond necklace I just acquired at the auction. And book a candlelight dinner. I'll dine with her tonight." He paused, reconsidering. "No, I'll go personally."

…

The moment Isolde entered the project department, she sensed an unusual atmosphere. Her former assistant, Mia Blake, was desperately trying to catch her eye with meaningful looks.

As expected, when she walked into her old office, she found Sandra occupying her desk. She was lounging leisurely in Isolde's custom-made chair with an openly provocative expression.

"Oh my, Isolde. Weren't you fired? How do you have the nerve to come back? I thought you had more backbone." Her tone dripped with contempt, and she made no move to rise. "But even if you're back, this office is mine. As the director and your direct superior, the best position belongs to me."

She gestured through the glass wall toward the most remote corner, where a workstation was piled with miscellaneous items. "You should sit over there."

The move from a private office to a cluttered desk was a profound humiliation.

Isolde observed Sandra's mean and smug appearance and laughed coldly to herself. This was just an unwanted office in an obsolete department. She didn't care.

"Where is my computer?" she asked coldly.

"Over there." Sandra curled her lip and nodded with ill intent toward a trash can. "It's just a broken computer, and you still want it? How stingy. If you want it, go fish it out yourself."

Isolde looked. Her laptop, along with her other personal belongings, had been dumped in the bin and were now covered in bread crumbs and coffee stains.

Her expression darkened completely.

Sandra supported her bulging belly as she stood and stepped closer. From an angle invisible to others outside, her expression twisted into something vicious. "You already left. Why did you come back?

"My husband is dead. Alan is my child's father now. He's my only support. Why must you haunt me like a ghost and compete with me? Can't you be sensible and just give him to me?"

Isolde was nearly breathless with incredulous anger. The woman's logic was utterly unhinged.

Sandra continued, "Isolde, did you know? I never conceived through IVF. We slept together for so many, many nights. At first, he was still guilty, blindfolding himself while venting his passion on my body, calling your name.

"Later... he could even hold me and pant in front of the mirror. He has been my man for a long time. With me here, there is no place for you in this family!"

As the final word fell, Sandra suddenly grabbed Isolde's hand and slapped herself with it, falling backward with the momentum.

"Ah!" Sandra screamed as she landed on the floor. She covered her cheek, her expression instantly shifting back to that of an innocent, pitiful rabbit.

"Isolde!" An angry roar erupted from the doorway.

Alan strode in and carefully helped Sandra up while shoving Isolde away. "She's pregnant with my child! How could you be so vicious?"

The push was forceful. Isolde was caught off-balance and slammed her lower back into the sharp corner of the desk. An excruciating pain, as if her spine had snapped, shot through her. Her face turned deathly pale, and a cold sweat broke out instantly.

However, Alan had eyes only for Sandra, sternly rebuking Isolde. "Apologize to her right now!"

Sandra's eyes gleamed with triumphant satisfaction as she nestled against Alan's chest. Meanwhile, her tone was a careful blend of wounded grace and feigned generosity. "Alan, don't blame her… I'm not really hurt.

"Isolde has every right to be angry. It's all my fault. If not for the Princeton bloodline, I never would have… Isolde, you can slap me as many times as it takes to feel better."

Watching Sandra's tearful performance of compromise and then comparing it to Isolde's stony silence, Alan felt a surge of hatred for his former lover. His icy gaze brimmed with disgust.

As Isolde watched the two cling to each other, a wave of nausea churned in her stomach. The emotional ache for a moment surpassed the severe pain in her back.

"You said I could slap you as many times as I wanted?" Isolde repeated coldly.

She raised her hand and delivered two sharp, resounding slaps across Sandra's face.

"Fascinating! I have never met someone so eager to be struck. Are two slaps enough? If not, I will gladly give you a few more, free of charge," she said mockingly.