I've always been one who doesn't express many emotions. That is, until I've married Vanessa Tate.

But the happy life I look forward to living doesn't come to me. Instead, all I see is Vanessa cheating on me with other men to her heart's content.

When she brings another man home for the seventh time and fills the guest room with loud moans, I walk over to the door and knock on it gently. Even my tone is soft and tender.

"My bedtime is between 10:00 pm to 8:00 am the next morning. As long as you keep the noise level down and don't disturb my sleep, I can pretend that this never happened."

The door is opened from the inside, and Vanessa struts out. She casts me a nonchalant glance.

"Got it." Her languid voice is tinged with impatience. "I'll keep it down. You should rest in your room instead of standing in the corridor in the middle of the night."

The young man, who's a new boy toy of Vanessa's, leans against the bedpost. He leaves his collar open purposefully as he says to me in a taunting manner, "You really are composed. No wonder Vanessa keeps claiming that you're the most gracious husband in the whole wide world."

I merely smile wanly, not bothering to give the boy toy an ounce of my attention.

After returning to the master bedroom, I take the liberty to send the photo I've just taken to my mother-in-law, Evelyn Sinclair.

"Mom, I already told you that Vanessa will never be able to control her urges, and yet you refuse to believe me.

"We already made it clear that you'll have to pay me 100 million dollars every time she cheats on me with a man. I hope that you can stick to your end of the bargain."

The next morning, Dylan Pierce sauntered out of the guest bedroom, wearing my silk bathrobe of all things.

"Vanessa, does Mason really drink his coffee out of cups like this? He's pretty particular, isn't he?"

I sat at the head of the dining table, barely offering a glance as I lifted my eyes. Dylan, on the other hand, had no sense of boundaries at all, walking straight toward my side of the table.

Just then, a hand reached out from the side and caught him firmly by the wrist.

Vanessa Tate's voice still carried the thick, lazy drawl of someone who had just woken up.

"Sit over there. That's his spot," she said.

Dylan pouted, but Vanessa forced him down into the other chair anyway.

"It's just a robe. I'll have my assistant pick out a few dozen pieces from this season's couture collections for you later, so leave his things alone."

She spoke with complete indifference.

Once seated, Dylan deliberately dragged his chair closer to mine. "Mason, your coffee smells so good. May I have a sip?"

As he spoke, he reached for my cup.

Vanessa tapped her fingers on the tabletop, stopping him.

"Your stomach isn't well, and you can't handle something that bitter. Sharon, get him a glass of warm milk."

Then, she turned to me.

"And you—drinking black coffee on an empty stomach first thing in the morning again. How many times have I told you to get rid of that awful habit?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she reached over and pulled the mug away from me.

I stared at the empty spot on the table.

"Got it," I replied, rising from my seat and heading into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of warm water.

Vanessa's voice echoed from behind me. "Did you hear a single word I just said?"

Carrying my glass back into the dining room, I paused next to her for a couple of seconds.

"I heard you. I won't drink it. Enjoy your breakfast."

Dylan suddenly let out a dramatic, whiny groan. "Ugh, my back is so sore, and my legs hurt. Last night was so…"

Vanessa began gently massaging his lower back.

"If it bothers you, go back upstairs to your room," she said, looking up to lock eyes with me. "Mason, you always have this completely detached attitude. It's like nothing in this world actually matters to you."

She paused, her tone shifting back to that of casual entitlement.

"Dylan just came back from abroad, and he's feeling insecure. Since you're my husband, you should be more patient with him, and stop acting like a drill sergeant all day."

There it was again—that convenient excuse.

I was already used to it. In just six months, I had been asked to make room for six different men.

I took a sip of warm water and answered calmly, "Sure."

With the glass in my hand, I went upstairs and closed the door behind me.

I climbed into bed, pulled the covers up high, and rolled over. Picking up my phone, I sent Vanessa a voice message.

"Do whatever you want. Just don't come knocking on my door before 10:00 pm tonight."

I closed my eyes. The faint scent of her perfume seemed to still linger on the pillow.

I had always been detached by nature. Nothing interested me much, and even normal social obligations felt unbearably tedious.

But after we got married, I had someone I cared about and a relationship I wanted to maintain.

For her sake, I forced myself to learn how to play nice and smile through the small talk with the other husbands in our wealthy social circle. I learned how to be the perfect, supportive partner.

Back then, the thing I looked forward to most each day was waiting for Vanessa to come home late at night. She would wrap me tightly in her arms, smelling of the night air and her perfume, and kiss me.

She would rest her chin on the top of my head, her sighs thick with affection.

"Mason, before I met you, I never even thought about getting married," she had told me. "You're so reserved. I'm always terrified that if I look away for a second, you'll slip through my fingers. I only feel at ease when I can keep you right here in the palm of my hand."

The love we once had was real, and the way she once cherished me was real, too.

It was just a shame that her complete indifference now was equally real.

The peace lasted until the afternoon, when it was shattered once again.

"Come to the study."

At 2:00 pm, Vanessa pushed open my bedroom door, dropped those words, and left.

When I entered the study, Dylan was curled up in the armchair by the window, playing on his phone. The moment he saw me, he deliberately nudged closer to Vanessa.

Vanessa sat upright behind her desk.

"I need you to sign the paperwork and transfer the deed to the lakefront mansion in Northridge to Dylan."

I looked down, my eyes skimming the address on the documents.

No. 17, Crestwood Park.

It was the first property we had chosen together before we got married. I vividly remembered that day, her fingers tightly interlaced with mine.

"Mason, this will be our home from now on," she said. "When we're old and gray, we'll sit out in the yard and soak up the sun together. Doesn't that sound nice?"

For that house, I personally oversaw eight months of renovations. I even planted climbing roses along the courtyard walls until they were completely covered.

But later on, every time Vanessa brought home a new lover, she would ruthlessly sever another bond we shared, casually giving away our memories to someone else.

In that brief moment of distraction, the tip of the pen nicked my index finger, and a tiny bead of blood welled up.

Vanessa, who had been leaning back in her chair, immediately bolted forward.

She caught my wrist, pulled my finger to her lips, and took that drop of blood into her mouth.

Then, she opened a drawer, found a Band-Aid, and kept her head down as she carefully wrapped it around my finger.

Even after it was on, she didn't let go right away.

Holding onto my fingertips, she pushed the document toward me. "Now that you're patched up, get this signed. Dylan loves the view over there. You barely ever go anyway, so just let him have it.

"It's just a house. Don't worry. You'll always be my husband," she assured me.

I looked down at the Band-Aid she had wrapped so carefully around my finger.

I picked up the pen again and signed my name without a second thought.

"There. Take it."

Dylan let out a soft chuckle by the window.

Without giving him so much as a glance, I turned to leave.

"Wait."

Vanessa reached out and caught me by the chin. "Are you sure you're not upset?"

She seemed to be searching my eyes for something.

Her jaw clenched tightly.

"You're getting more compliant these days. You'd better keep being this sensible," warned Vanessa.

"Unless there's anything else, I'm going back to bed to catch up on some sleep. I didn't rest well last night," I said.

She released me, and I walked toward the door without a second thought.

Just as I was about to step out, a woman's blazer was draped over my shoulders. Vanessa's hand lingered on my shoulder for a brief moment.

"The AC is freezing in here. Keep the blazer on. If you get sick, I'll be the one who has to deal with it."

She paused, then added, "The kitchen is making your favorite fish and chips tonight. I'll have dinner with you, so make sure you come downstairs."

"Got it."

I left the study with her blazer over my shoulders.

But as I passed the hallway, I took it off and casually draped it over the railing.

When I returned to my room, my phone lit up with a screenshot of a wire transfer from my mother-in-law, Evelyn Sinclair.

It was a cool 100 million dollars.

Right after, she sent another text message.

"Does my foolish daughter still think she's being considerate? And that she's the ultimate catch for a wife?"

I calmly replied, "Pretty much."

That evening, I started packing my suitcase.

The money Evelyn had lost to me through our wagers had been trickling steadily into my account.

Seven lovers meant seven massive payouts, plus the extra compensation package for the mansion at Crestwood Park.

The balance in my bank account was more than enough for me to start an entirely new life in a place where Vanessa didn't exist.

I folded a few everyday clothes and packed them neatly into the suitcase.

Not a single item she had bought me made it in there.

Just then, the bedroom door was pushed open.

Vanessa walked into the room, her eyes falling on the open suitcase on the floor.

"Look at you, all packed up and ready to go. And here I thought I was going to surprise you. Don't pack too much. It gets cold over in Iridia. I'll take you shopping for new clothes once we land."

She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and rested her chin on my shoulder. She even reached for a sweater nearby and tossed it into my suitcase for me.

"Oh, by the way, Dylan mentioned he really wants to see the Northern Lights. I figured we'd let him tag along on this trip."

Her voice deepened.

"There's plenty of room in my private jet. He won't be in your way at all. Don't be petty about this. It'll just make things awkward for everyone."

My hands paused over the clothes I was folding.

It was our third wedding anniversary, and Vanessa was planning to take another man with us to watch the Northern Lights in Iridia.

That was the same attitude she had when she first brought someone home, and it had happened right here in this very room.

Back then, Vanessa had come home reeking of perfume.

With bloodshot eyes, I hurled her clothes onto the floor and demanded that she explain herself at the top of my lungs.

However, she had simply tugged at her collar in frustration.

"It's just harmless fun. What's the big deal if I mess around a little? I'm still standing right here with you, aren't I? No one else is ever going to take your place as my husband. Can you stop throwing a tantrum and ruining things for everybody?"

That night, I cried all night long and shredded every single photo we had taken together at Crestwood Park.

After that, there was a second incident, then a third.

Until six months ago, when Evelyn approached me.

For the sake of those growing payouts, I forced myself to keep playing the role of her emotionless, forgiving husband.

But now, she wanted to take this absurd farce tens of thousands of feet into the air.

Vanessa's arms tightened slightly around me.

"How long are you going to keep sulking? I've already pushed back two major meetings just to take you to Iridia for our anniversary. I'm giving you plenty of respect here. If you keep being so petty, you're just being ungrateful."

When I spoke, there wasn't a hint of resentment in my voice.

"I never said I wouldn't go. I was just thinking about how cold it gets over there."

Vanessa loosened her arms slightly. She walked around to face me and frowned as she studied my face.

"Still throwing a fit, are we?"

Just then, Dylan's voice drifted in from the hallway, calling Vanessa's name in a sweet, cloying tone.

She straightened her clothes and prepared to check on him.

As she reached the doorway, she turned back around, strode over to me, and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Be good. Get your passport and documents ready. Dylan and I are staying at a hotel tonight. The flight is scheduled for 3:00 pm tomorrow. I'll meet you at the airport. Don't be late."

Her tone softened just a fraction as her fingers slid through my hair.

With that, she turned on her heel and headed toward the room next door.

I quietly watched her disappear through the doorway.

"I hope the two of you have a wonderful time," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Then, I pulled out my phone and sent Evelyn one final message.

"Mom, this is the last time. Our bet ends here. I've received all the money, so thank you. I'm leaving tomorrow."

My phone buzzed twice in response.

"Alright. I've got a private jet all set up for you. You can board immediately. Mason, take good care of yourself from now on."

I set the phone down and stared out the window at the darkening sky.

At 3:00 pm the next day, Vanessa would be waiting for me on the tarmac.

But I would make sure that long before that, I would vanish from this house entirely.

"Goodbye forever."