A few days passed without a word from Ryan, not a single message. But the day before my scheduled medical check-up, he finally called.

"Haven't you had enough of this? Isn't it time to come back home? Come on, Julia." His tone was cold and sharp.

Hearing his words, I felt my brow crease slightly. "You think I'm throwing a tantrum? Fine, let's make it official. I want a divorce, Ryan. Arrange it as soon as possible," I said, keeping my voice steady. "And make sure the assets are divided clearly."

After saying that, I could practically hear him assume my reason for divorce was money. I caught that edge of disdain in his voice as he replied, "Have I ever left you short on cash? Going as far as asking for a divorce just to get a piece of my fortune, how low, Julia."

I didn't bother explaining my reasons for wanting a divorce. I was just done with this life. I was done being his wife. All I wanted was to leave him.

When I asked him when he'd be available to handle the divorce paperwork, he would always snap and hang up the phone on me. I figured that would be the end of it.

But just half an hour later, there he was, showing up at the door of my studio.

The first thing out of his mouth was an accusation. "Do you have someone else?"

Seeing him twist things around to blame me made my blood boil instantly. I pointed at the door and said, "If you're just going to berate one, then get out."

He seemed to let out a quick sigh of relief, but it didn't last. His arrogance snapped right back. "Since there's no one else, then come back and be my wife like you're supposed to. Stop making trouble over nothing."

Listening to him, I couldn't help but laugh bitterly.

"I may not have anyone else, but you sure do," I said. "You love her so much, you're willing to let me take the fall for her. Are you seriously okay with making her your mistress?"

After I said that, he went quiet for a moment, just staring at me, and then he finally spoke.

"I'll take care of her in her last days," he said, his voice flat. "Don't overthink it. Once I'm done being there for her, I'll come back to you."

The audacity—it was unbelievable.

I laughed again, shaking my head. "You really think I'd still want you after you've spent all that time with Kate?"

He frowned, clearly annoyed by my words, and grabbed my hand. "Whether you want to or not, you're coming home today."

I struggled hard, trying to break free from his grip. I didn't expect him to use so much force, practically dragging me out and into his car.

Once he'd strapped me into the passenger seat, I yelled at him, "Are you out of your mind?"

Seeing me bound there, he looked at me coldly and said, "Yes, I'm out of my mind. Because if you leave, who's going to fulfill Kate's wish? Her last wish is to win gold at the Pottery Excellence Awards this year, but she can't handle the intense work anymore. Only you can help her, Julie."

When he finally revealed this, I didn't even feel sad.

I just looked at him, my voice steady. "Why are you pushing her dream onto me? Your choice to do anything for her is your business. I owe you nothing, and I owe her even less."

After I finished speaking, I saw his brows furrow again but deeper. "Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" he asked, looking desperate. "Now, just think of it as me begging you. Please, will you?"

For the first time, I saw him actually lowering himself to beg.

But I still responded coldly, "No."

My refusal only angered him more. After all, he was a man who was used to getting everything his way.

He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Why? Why are you treating me like this? It's just a small favor. Don't you have any sympathy?"

I shoved his hands off me and climbed out of the car.

Before I walked away, I looked him in the eye and said, "If you have any respect left for me at all, you'll arrange our divorce soon."

Several weeks ago, during my annual health check-up, the doctor detected a risk of breast cancer. Although it hadn't been confirmed, he called multiple times, urging me to come for further tests.

However, to participate in the pottery competition, I begged the doctor to let me postpone the admission, afraid of missing the event. Little did I know that Ryan would betray me by stealing my work and teaming up with Kate to twist everything.

Thinking of this, I clenched the medical report in my hand.

Right then, the results came back quickly. Thankfully, it hadn't progressed to cancer. However, the doctor said I'd need a minimally invasive procedure to remove the affected area.

On the day of the surgery, headlines were flooded with news about Kate, praising her as a major contemporary pottery artist.

I looked at the articles and laughed bitterly.

How ironic.

Here I was, lying in a hospital bed while Kate stood on the highest stage, all because of my work.

Before long, Ryan called, sounding a bit rattled. "Why didn't you tell me you were in the hospital? If Yvette hadn't told me, I'd have never known."

I replied calmly, "We're getting divorced, Ryan. Why would I need to tell you? Besides, it's just a minor procedure."

Hearing this, his breathing slowed, and his tone became unreadable. "Fine, but take it easy during the surgery. I'll come see you right after the awards ceremony."

I didn't respond. I just hung up the phone.

By the time he arrived, my surgery was over, and I'd woken up from anesthesia. He propped me up in bed and handed me a glass of water.

"Here, drink some. Your lips are chapped," he said gently, then added, "Why did you suddenly get sick?"

The hint of doubt in his voice made it clear he thought I might be faking this illness for sympathy.

I pointed toward the door. "If you think I'm lying, feel free to leave. I'll be fine without you."

He hesitated for a second but eventually sat back down, speaking in a lower voice. "That's not what I meant."

I rolled my eyes, too exhausted to argue. Fresh out of anesthesia, my head was spinning, and the pain in my body reminded me that my health was all that mattered now.

Over the next few days, he stayed by my bedside, taking care of me without a break, playing the role of a devoted husband. To anyone watching, it would seem like he was deeply in love.

But on the day I was discharged, his real intentions came out.

As he sat peeling an apple with a fruit knife, he asked, almost casually, "Have you thought it over?"

I looked at him, caught off guard, but before I could even ask what he meant, he clarified, and his words made my chest tighten.

"I mean, for the competition. Could you possibly help Kate—"

The second he said "Kate," I cut him off. "You know, if you're so eager to help her, find someone else. I'm sure there are plenty of pottery artists willing."

He frowned, clearly troubled. "No, Kate said your style is the only one close enough to hers," he insisted. "Plus, your work won't raise any suspicions with the experts."

I stared at him, feeling utterly drained.

Seeing my silence, Ryan only dug in further. "I told you, you're the only one who could help her. It has to be you. Nobody can know she's using a ghost artist."

I let him finish without interrupting, but my silence didn't mean I was on board with his plan.

In all of this, he hadn't once considered how I felt. Before, maybe I'd have agreed to help just to keep him happy.

But, at that moment, I had only one response.

A firm, unshakable no.

I gathered my things, preparing for discharge. When he saw me standing up, he panicked and reached out to grab my hand.

In the struggle, I never expected to get cut by the knife he was holding.

Blood trickled down my hand, dripping onto the floor. Only then did Ryan drop the knife and rush over to check my injury.

The anger I felt made me numb to the pain of the wound.

When I yanked my hand back, the sudden motion tugged at my surgical incision, making me wince as I collapsed back onto the floor.

Right then, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and I saw his face change. Without a word, he bolted from the room, disappearing from my sight and leaving me alone.

It wasn't until a nurse making her rounds found me that someone finally dressed my wound.