At that time, Adrian’s father had wanted Clara to marry Jonathan. But when Adrian heard the news, he stood in the storming rain, refusing to move until he was granted a chance. From her window, Clara had seen his trembling body—stubborn, upright, unyielding. Her heart had ached beyond measure.

In the end, her father relented, and they began their journey from nothing.

When the company’s capital chain collapsed and salaries went unpaid, Adrian secretly humbled himself before an old rival, drinking until his stomach bled to secure money for her. In the hospital, pale and weak, he still wiped away her tears and whispered, “Clara, don’t cry. For you, this is all worth it. I, Adrian, will never let you down in this life.”

In their cramped rental, they shared one bowl of instant noodles, and he always dropped the ham and egg into her side of the bowl. In winter, he warmed her feet with his body heat; in summer, he fanned her to sleep, sweat soaking his shirt.

He had once signed a contract declaring he’d walk away with nothing if he betrayed her. Holding her hand, he’d said with absolute certainty, “Sign this, and you’ll be mine forever. Everything I am—Adrian—is yours.”

Those memories had been real, burning, unforgettable.

Could they really be erased by Vanessa’s sudden appearance? Had all the tenderness she once received been nothing but lies?

Her heart quaked with pain and disbelief, hatred colliding with a love carved deep into her very bones.

Lawyer Bennett, watching her silence, spoke gently: “Ms. Clara, both parties may have signed, but legally you have a seven-day cooling-off period. During this time, the agreement is not yet in effect. I advise you—reconsider. Not for him, but for yourself. To ensure you’ll never regret it.”

She shut her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks, chilled instantly by the night wind. Regret? She was already suffocating on it. But Lawyer Bennett was right—decisions made in despair were rarely steady.

Breathing shakily, she murmured, “Okay. Follow the rules. Wait seven days.”

When she hung up, she stood alone in the rush of the city, surrounded by countless people, and yet she felt colder, lonelier, than ever before.

By the time she trudged home that evening, the sky was black. Exhaustion weighed down every step.

She pressed her fingerprint to the lock—and froze. Strangers’ high heels littered the entryway. Adrian’s leather shoes were tossed aside carelessly.

Her chest tightened with dread.

Rushing into the living room, she was struck by a jarring scene. Deafening electronic music pounded through the space—so different from the quiet classical she loved.

On the sofa, Adrian reclined casually. Vanessa sprawled in his arms, pink hair flashing beneath the lights, a wine glass swinging from her hand. She laughed loudly, her body pressed against him.

And there—on the spiral staircase—Snowball, Clara’s beloved ragdoll cat, dangled in terror, its neck bound with a rope.

Her blood turned to ice.

The rope was carelessly knotted to the railing, Snowball’s small body dangling, twisting helplessly in the air with each desperate cry. Every sway threatened a deadly plunge.

“Snowball!”

Clara’s voice tore through the music as she bolted forward.

“Oh my! The mistress is back?”

Vanessa’s saccharine voice laced with ridicule cut the air. Instead of stopping, she whipped out her phone, angling the camera gleefully. “Adrian, look at it! Isn’t it hilarious? Swinging like a little toy! Hahaha!”

Adrian actually chuckled, his arm tightening around her waist. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze drifted over the terrified cat before resting on Clara. There was no guilt in his eyes—only indulgence, as if Vanessa’s cruelty entertained him.

A memory pierced through Clara’s chest. Three years ago, Snowball was just a kitten. Adrian had placed it gently in her arms and said, “Clara, when I travel, it’ll stay with you. Look at its eyes, blue like yours—pure, dependent.” He had fed it, cleaned after it, even teased that he’d raise the cat just because she loved it.

Now that tenderness mocked her, a blade driven into her heart.

“Adrian, are you still human? Put Snowball down!”

Her voice trembled as she dashed for the stairs.

Vanessa’s smile snapped. She slammed her wine glass aside, seized a vase from the entrance, and hurled it. The porcelain burst at Clara’s feet, cold water and shards scattering across the floor.

“Why are you so fierce?” Vanessa shrieked, jabbing a finger at her nose. “Who let you barge in? You disgust me!”

She flounced back to Adrian, clutching his arm like a spoiled child. “Adrian, why did you let her return? Didn’t you say this would be our home? I hate her. I don’t want to live under the same roof with her.”

Her tone shifted into self-righteous indignation. “I’m with you because I like you. I don’t care if you’re married, but I won’t be hidden. I want all of you. What’s the point of her existing? If people find out, won’t they just call me your mistress? I’m not anyone’s shadow—I’m independent!”

The audacity of her words, twisting her intrusion into a declaration of victimhood, seemed to intoxicate Adrian. His eyes shone with admiration, as if her arrogance were strength, her selfishness courage.

He nodded eagerly, coaxing, “Okay, okay, Vanessa is right. I was wrong. I shouldn’t let her get in your way.”

Without sparing Clara a glance, he lifted his phone. “Security, come and escort Miss Winter out.”

Clara froze, staring at him as though seeing him for the first time. For this woman, he was not only condoning cruelty to the pet she cherished like family, but also discarding his own wife like trash.

Two uniformed guards strode in, faces blank, moving toward her.

“Wait!” she cried, fighting their grip, her gaze locked on Snowball, still trembling on the staircase. “My cat—give Snowball back to me!”

“Cat?” one of the guards repeated flatly, as though it were nothing more than an object.

Vanessa’s eyes gleamed with malice as she tilted her chin, her voice dripping with cruelty. “Adrian bought this cat. Everything it eats, everything it uses—his money. Naturally, it belongs to him. Why should I hand it over to you?”

Her gaze slid up and down Clara’s figure, landing on her dress and bag. A mocking smile curled her lips. “Oh, and that dress—Chanel, this season’s release, isn’t it? Also Adrian’s money. That Hermès bag in your hand? His money, too. Take them off! You’re leaving, don’t you understand? None of this belongs to you.”

Clara’s body went rigid with cold. Her eyes, trembling with a faint plea, turned to Adrian. Even if only a fragment of his past affection remained, surely—surely—he would not allow this humiliation.

For a moment, his brow creased. He glanced at her, then said softly to Vanessa, “Vanessa, forget the clothes…”

It was only fabric, after all. He wasn’t that cruel.

But that tiny sliver of defense struck Vanessa like a blade.

“Forget it? Why forget it?” Her voice broke into a shrill scream. She shoved him, her face twisted with fury. “Adrian, you’re still protecting her! You lied to me! You said you only loved me, but it was all lies!”

Her fists pounded against his chest as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “I followed you in secret, without a name, without status. I never complained! Now I just want you to take back what’s yours, and you still won’t do it? Fine! Then I’ll leave. I quit!”

She spun on her heel to storm out.

Panic seized Adrian. He yanked her back into his arms, his voice urgent, trembling with desperation. “My dear, don’t be angry. Don’t cry. Why would I protect her? I only want you. You’re right—whatever you say, I’ll listen. Just don’t leave me, okay?”

He clung to her as though she were air itself, fawning, groveling, losing all trace of dignity. Then he turned back, eyes sharp as knives, cold as stone.

“Clara, didn’t you hear me? Take off your clothes and get out.”

His tone carried the finality of a verdict. “Don’t get in Vanessa’s way again.”

Something inside Clara cracked. The man who once swore she was his world, who shielded her through storms, who once cupped her face and promised forever—now debased himself like a dog, clinging to another woman, even at the cost of destroying her.

And above, Snowball’s faint, pitiful cries still echoed from the railing.

Her rage rose like fire—but Snowball’s fragile body, trembling on the rope, chained her fury. One wrong move, and she might lose him forever.

So she swallowed her defiance. Tears threatened to spill, but she forced them back, her nails digging into her palms.

Under Adrian’s icy command, beneath Vanessa’s triumphant smirk, Clara’s fingers shook as she reached for the zipper. Slowly, painfully, she slid it down.

The white dress Adrian had once chosen for her—his lips at her ear, whispering, “Clara, you’re most beautiful in white, like my bride.”—slipped to the floor.

Standing in nothing but her underwear, her body trembled under the cruel draft. But the cold in the room was nothing compared to the frost consuming her heart.

Once cherished like a bride, she was now stripped bare and cast out like a prostitute.