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.

Clara bent down, reaching for the white dress crumpled on the floor.

“Don’t touch it!”

Vanessa’s shriek cracked the air. “It’s mine now!”

Clara’s hand froze in mid-air.

She tilted her head upward. Snowball’s weak cry had already faded; the little creature hung high above, helpless. A sharp ache twisted her chest.

She straightened her back, trembling under the weight of it all. Without glancing at the embracing couple, she stepped barefoot over the cold tiles and shattered porcelain, moving toward the open door one small step at a time.

Behind her rang Vanessa’s triumphant laughter, and Adrian’s low, cajoling voice.

Whatever fantasy of love she had left disintegrated into ash.

She was stripped of everything. Fine. Then there would be nothing left to lose. Six more days.

–––

The early autumn streets were icy beneath her bare feet. Dressed only in her underwear, Clara walked like a ghost. Streetlights stretched her shadow long, and every passing car painted her pale face and exposed skin in brief flashes of white. A few whistles and curious eyes followed her, but she was numb; she just wanted to get away.

At last she saw a small, dimly lit hotel and stumbled toward it like someone reaching for a lifeline.

The front desk clerk, a middle-aged woman, had been dozing. She startled awake and immediately narrowed her eyes at the sight of Clara’s disheveled figure.

“Room,” Clara rasped, her voice cracked and dry.

The woman curled her lips. “ID card. Five hundred deposit.”

Clara’s hands moved automatically toward her bag—and found nothing. Her bag, phone, everything had been confiscated at the villa.

All she had left was the shame clinging to her skin.

Color drained from her face. “I… I don’t have cash or a phone. Can I—”

The woman’s expression flipped to open contempt. “No money? No ID? Then what are you doing here? This isn’t a shelter. Get out.”

Her eyes raked over Clara like she was filth.

Humiliation scorched Clara’s chest. She straightened, summoning what little dignity she had left. “I… I have a card. I can pay with it.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached into a hidden seam of her underwear, pulling out a thin bank card—her savings, her dowry, kept separate from Adrian’s assets.

The woman eyed her skeptically but pushed the POS machine over.

Transaction failed.

She tried again.

Transaction failed.

“What’s going on? Out of funds? Don’t waste my time,” the woman snapped.

“Impossible… there’s money…” Clara’s voice faltered. She could barely stand.

“Can I use your phone? I’ll call the bank.”

The woman shoved the handset toward her.

Clara dialed from memory. A polite, distant customer-service voice answered:

“Hello, Ms. Winter. We’ve checked—your card was temporarily frozen this afternoon. The reason: property preservation requested by your spouse.”

Spouse. Adrian.

Clara’s ears rang. He had kicked her out, taken her cat, humiliated her. Now he was seizing even the little she had left.

Driving her into the dirt.

She snatched the phone and dialed Adrian’s number. It rang and rang. When it finally connected, it wasn’t his voice that answered.

It was Vanessa’s. Sharp, smug, poisonous.

“Hello? Who’s this? Looking for Adrian? He’s in the shower. Doesn’t have time to take your call.”

Clara’s teeth ground together. “Vanessa. Put Adrian on. What right does he have to freeze my card? That’s my money.”

“Oh~” Vanessa’s tone stretched, syrupy with mockery. “Thought it was someone else. The former Mrs. Cole?”

She laughed softly, venom in every syllable. “Your money? Don’t make me laugh. You married into the Cole family, lived off the Cole family. What right do you have to say ‘my money’? Adrian gave you face already. You were kicked out, yet still dream of being a rich lady?”

She didn’t wait for Clara’s reply. Her words machine-gunned out, sharp and rising.

“Listen, Clara, don’t be so shameless! I’ve been working since I was sixteen—waiting tables, handing out flyers, hostessing bars. I survived. But you? Without Adrian, you’re nothing. What else can you do?”

Her voice turned sly. “Tsk, but… you’ve got a good face, good body. Since we ‘know’ each other, how about I get you a job? There are nightclubs in the south—cater to wealthy bosses. They like classy-looking women. The pay’s good. Better than starving, right? Hahaha!”

Clara’s nails dug into her palms, shaking with fury.

Vanessa pressed on, drunk on her own superiority.

“Why do you think Adrian liked you? He’s just inexperienced. You’re boring. You don’t understand him. All you do is control him and forbid him. He must’ve been suffocating.”

“But I’m different.” Her voice warmed with pride. “I’m his confidant. I showed him racing, bungee jumping, the casinos of Monte Carlo. I’m his salvation, the only sunshine in his life. You? You’re just a dreary housekeeper. He’s been sick of you for a long time!”

The words stabbed like poisoned needles.

Clara’s mind flashed to Adrian’s ulcer from years of social drinking, the doctor’s warnings after the car crash, the strict prohibition on extreme activities. Her “rules” had been born of worry and love.

But to please this so-called confidant, he’d cast his health—and her—aside. And then turned her care into evidence of her “boring nature.”

He was gambling with his life.

Her heart ached so sharply she couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth—but before she could speak, Adrian’s voice drifted through the line, water running in the background.

“Vanessa, who are you talking to?”

“Who else? Your haunting ex-wife. She’s asking about her frozen card.”

Clara heard his impatient reply clearly: “Ignore her, Vanessa. You’re right. Only you understand me. The thirty years before I met you were wasted. You’re the only light in my life.”

The last flicker of hope died in Clara’s chest.