Cold. So cold...

Rhys Howell. Rhys Howell, save me...

The crash of shattering glass, the screech of metal, the chaos of screams—it all slammed through Lorelai Howell’s mind. Then Rhys Howell’s face appeared, hard and urgent, as he reached for her and lifted her gently.

A voice cut through the fog.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? How are you feeling? If you can, tell us your name and a family contact number,” a nurse from the emergency team said.

Lorelai’s head was spinning, but she gave her husband Rhys Howell’s private number without thinking—she knew it by heart. Half-conscious, she was wheeled into the ER.

Through the blur, she caught pieces of the doctors’ conversation. Her injuries were bad. She needed a blood transfusion.

Blood transfusion?

Those two words were enough for Lorelai to grasp how serious this was. Sure enough, she heard a tense doctor say, “She’s got a rare blood type, and the blood bank doesn’t have any.”

“A rare blood type? That’s a huge problem. She’s already lost so much blood—she could go into shock any second!”

Another doctor cut in. “Wait—there’s a patient here with the same blood type, and their condition is stable. With consent, we could draw a small amount. Hurry! Someone needs to get permission.”

At that, Lorelai’s lips curved into a faint, almost invisible smile. She knew exactly who else in this hospital shared her blood type. That person was…

Soon, the nurse sent to ask about the donation came back, flustered.

“Doctor, the patient says she doesn’t feel well enough to donate. She said she needs her fiancé’s approval.”

Fiancé?

The word stabbed straight through Lorelai’s heart.

Her fiancé…

No. It couldn’t be him. It mustn’t be.

She had saved that person’s life, and that person had promised Lorelai she would never…

Seeing the nurse hesitate, the doctor ordered, “Why are you just standing there? Call her fiancé! This is an emergency. I remember this patient relied on regular donor help to stabilize. They won’t refuse now.”

The nurse shot Lorelai a sympathetic look as she dialed the number and put it on speaker. Strangely, it was the same number Lorelai had given.

Rhys Howell’s deep voice came through the phone.

“Who’s this?”

Lorelai’s fingers twitched hard.

She tried to open her eyes and speak, but she had no strength left. All she could do was listen.

The nurse explained quickly. “Is Ms. Lorelai Howell your relative?”

A short silence. Then, calmly: “Yes.”

“Sir, Ms. Howell was in a car accident…” The nurse summed up Lorelai’s condition, and a muffled sound came from the other end.

“Sir? Are you… are you okay?”

“I’m fine. How is she now?” Urgent footsteps echoed over the line.

But Lorelai didn’t catch those subtle sounds.

The nurse glanced at Lorelai’s closed eyes and went on. “She needs a blood transfusion from another patient, Maryam Dixon, who has a rare blood type. Ms. Dixon says she’s unfit to donate without your consent.”

The line went silent.

Not a sound. Not even a footstep.

In that moment, a sharp pain pierced Lorelai’s chest.

She couldn’t fathom what was keeping Rhys Howell from making a decision.

Seven years of unrequited love. Three years of marriage.

She knew Rhys had married her because of family pressure—same as when he’d ended things with Maryam Dixon.

But she didn’t feel guilty toward Maryam.

When Maryam and Rhys were together, Lorelai kept her distance. She never intruded on their time. Even at events she had to attend, she stayed as far away as possible.

Her unrequited love never bothered them.

Later, when the Howell family disapproved of Maryam and Rhys and forced them apart, Lorelai didn’t enter Rhys’s life until six months after. She married him under a family arrangement.

After marriage, she honored his parents and tended to his grandmother. She even prepared his meals every day with meticulous care.

She believed if she did everything right, she might eventually replace Maryam in his heart.

A year ago, when Maryam was diagnosed with a rare chronic condition and needed Rhys’s help, Lorelai volunteered to be a regular blood donor so Rhys wouldn’t have to worry about the blood supply.

She thought she’d done everything possible for Rhys Howell.

But what had it gotten her?

After a long silence, the man’s voice on the phone came out rough and strained.

“Maryam Dixon isn’t healthy enough to donate blood. Is there another option?” The doctors traded uneasy glances. The chief physician spelled it out. “A transfusion is still the safest bet. We could try conservative treatment—let her body heal on its own—but that comes with risks…”

“How bad are the risks?” The deep voice came through the phone again.

In the ER, the doctor paused, then answered with clinical precision. “There’s a ten percent chance of shock and a one to three percent risk of sudden death.”

“I remember this hospital brags about having the best doctors and emergency equipment in the country. I’m transferring a million dollars to her medical account now. Don’t cut corners. Make sure she survives!”

The message was unmistakable: Rhys Howell would not let the woman with the rare blood type donate to the injured woman.

The doctor, backed into a corner, agreed.

A single tear slipped down Lorelai Howell’s cheek. Her eyes refused to open.

Coldness wrapped around her, dragging her toward the abyss.

But she couldn’t let go.

For years, she’d lived for him. Now she regretted it. Just once, she wished she could live for herself…

In that instant, a fierce will to live surged up from somewhere deep inside Lorelai.

The monitors that had been screaming alarms began to steady.

The chief physician wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled hard. They had come terrifyingly close to seeing that three percent risk become reality…

Meanwhile, in the hospital corridor, the man on the phone looked grim, tension practically dripping off him.

During his call with the doctor, a text from Maryam Dixon had come through.

[“Rhys, Lorelai is hurt and needs my blood. But the doctors say the risks are high—possibly fatal. Rhys, if you promise to marry me, I’ll do whatever you ask. I’d even give my life willingly.”]

*

Pain. Excruciating pain.

But Lorelai stayed silent.

Because she knew pain meant she was still alive, that she had narrowly escaped death’s grip.

Straining to open her eyes, Lorelai’s blurry vision landed on a familiar face.

Cold. Distant. Commanding.

Yet that perfect, handsome face carried a hint of exhaustion, and shadows lingered behind those sharp eyes.

It was Rhys Howell.

In Lorelai’s eyes, he was everything. Emotions she couldn’t contain rose inside her.

Then the sharp sound of a wheelchair skidding across the floor cut through the air.

Suddenly, a delicate female face appeared beside Rhys Howell.

Lorelai’s heart lurched violently, her scattered thoughts snapping into focus.

Her chest contracted with pain.

At that moment, Maryam Dixon, seated in the wheelchair, kept up her fragile act.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to donate blood to you yesterday. Rhys wouldn’t allow it. He was worried about my health, so please don’t blame him.”

As she spoke, Maryam turned her gaze toward Rhys, her eyes dripping with syrupy affection.

Watching the scene, Lorelai felt as if an icy hand had closed around her heart.

Who would ever guess that the woman lying in the hospital bed was actually this man’s legal wife?

Swallowing down the pain and nausea, Lorelai forced a cold smile.

“Yeah. Rhys worries about his sister’s health but couldn’t care less whether his wife lives or dies. What a stand-up guy.”

Her words were laced with thorns.

After yesterday’s brush with death, she understood one thing perfectly: no matter how much she gave, she would never win this man’s heart.

Seeing Lorelai’s face—no longer gentle—Rhys Howell felt a surge of inexplicable irritation.

“Lorelai, Maryam’s condition made her unfit to donate blood to you. You’re strong, and this hospital has top-tier equipment. A tiny risk of sudden death shouldn’t have been a concern.”

Listening to Rhys’s explanation, Lorelai suddenly burst out laughing.

She laughed so hard she doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re right, Rhys Howell. Since I’m so strong, I don’t need a blood transfusion even when I’m on the brink of death. Maybe I don’t need a husband either.”

At that, Rhys Howell’s eyes narrowed, his voice stern. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lorelai lifted her chin slightly and enunciated every word. “I mean, I want a divorce, Mr. Howell.”

Suddenly, Rhys Howell’s expression turned chillingly cold.

Their marriage had been arranged by his family three years ago—a fact he deeply resented. Still, Lorelai had been the perfect Mrs. Howell. She’d even handled countless family matters he had come to rely on.

He had never considered divorcing Lorelai.

And he sure as hell had never believed she would want to divorce him.

But playing hard to get? She’d tried that little trick before.

Swallowing hard, Rhys Howell responded gravely. “Stop this nonsense. Use these days in the hospital to recover. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll have it brought to you.”

Seeing Rhys Howell brush off her talk of divorce, Lorelai couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

“I’ll draft the divorce papers and send them your way. Don’t worry—it won’t take long.”

With that, Lorelai cast a cold glance at Maryam, who was clinging to Rhys.

Maryam’s joyful facade froze into terror, her body shivering with cold.

The old Lorelai would have been kind to Maryam just to avoid upsetting Rhys Howell.

It had given Maryam the false impression that Lorelai was a weak pushover.

But now she knew better.

Seeing the pallor spreading across Maryam’s face, Lorelai turned her gaze away.

“If you have any stipulations for the divorce agreement, feel free to mention them. I’ll take them under advisement. Otherwise, you can leave.”

In the face of Lorelai’s indifferent tone, Rhys stood, his expression a block of ice.

His dark suit framed his tall, lean figure, cold as a frozen statue.

“Lorelai, considering your injuries, I’ll overlook this irrational behavior. But know this: I detest these trivial games.”

With those words, Rhys Howell, suppressing his anger, departed the hospital room with decisive strides, the door slamming behind him.

Perhaps in his fury, he left behind the woman he claimed to cherish.

Maryam looked at Lorelai’s icy gaze, nearly bursting into tears from fright.

“Rhys, Rhys, wait for me!”

At that moment, Maryam no longer cared to feign frailty in her wheelchair. She scrambled out as quickly as she could.

Hearing the door close, Lorelai, who had been sitting upright, suddenly relaxed.

She slumped against the headboard, her gaze drifting to the window.

For three years, as Mrs. Howell, her life had revolved entirely around Rhys Howell.

From preparing his breakfast in the morning and organizing his daily necessities to accompanying him to events as his partner.

Everything she did was as his accessory.

In the end, everyone praised Rhys Howell’s youth and capability, but no one acknowledged the person standing silently behind him.

She, Lorelai Howell, the second daughter of the Olson family, an Ivy League graduate—had she really fallen so low that even her life was at the mercy of others?

Retracting her distant gaze, Lorelai picked up her phone and dialed a number.

The voice on the other end was mocking.

“Hello, my dear sister. Finished serving your husband?”

Lorelai paused at the voice, then chuckled despite herself.

What he said was accurate—though it was all in the past now.

“Mathias, I’m getting a divorce.”

The simple statement left the voice on the other end stunned.

Finally, the mocking voice sputtered in disbelief. “What did you just say? Repeat that!”

Lorelai’s lips curved upward, and she raised her voice. “I said, I’m getting a divorce!”

“Wait for me! I’m coming over to beat Rhys Howell up!”

"Rhys, hold up!" Maryam Dixon grabbed the sleeve of Rhys Howell's coat, her voice edged with desperation.

"I wanted so badly to save her last night," she whispered, barely audible over the endless hum of the hospital corridor. "But... I was scared. Scared I'd end up where I pulled you from. Rhys, I really care about you. I was hoping for something between us."

Her voice was fragile, yearning—it pulled at the heartstrings. But the man ahead didn't so much as turn around.

Tears spilled down Maryam's cheeks as she watched his tall, steady figure retreat.

"I know I don't measure up to her," she went on, "and in the state I'm in, I have nothing to offer. I should have died that day saving you. Just being alive feels like a miracle. I can't afford to dream anymore..."

Rhys's hand clenched at his side, knuckles going white. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady but rough.

"Everything I promised, I'll make good on. Don't overthink it. Let me take you home."

When he turned around, hope sparked in Maryam's tear-filled eyes.

"I knew it, Rhys. You're the best!"

The next day, in the hospital room, Mathias Olson sat beside Lorelai Howell, peeling a pear.

"Spit it out," Lorelai said, unable to take his hesitation anymore.

Mathias stopped, searching for the right words. "Sis, are you sure you're not just stirring things up to get that guy's attention again?"

Lorelai was notorious for pulling stunts like this.

"Mathias," she began.

"Yeah?" He glanced up.

"Do you think I've turned into a fool after getting involved with Rhys Howell?" Lorelai asked softly, her eyes fixed on the pear.

Mathias shot her a sharp look and flicked her forehead. "Don't be ridiculous."

Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, "You've always been a little silly."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Really? Who used to follow me around, whining about always being outshone? The family's golden child—"

Mathias cut her off quickly, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Amid their teasing, the years of distance that had grown between Lorelai and Mathias since her marriage seemed to melt away.

"Mathias, I'm going to divorce Rhys Howell. I won't regret this decision," Lorelai said, determination written on her face.

Mathias felt relieved at her resolve. Lorelai was no longer the Howell family's leading lady. She was Lorelai Olson—his sister, and the impressive woman she'd always been.

Meanwhile, at the Howell residence, Rhys sat at the dining table, frowning at the dishes in front of him.

The flavors were off.

When he called the chef in, the explanation was puzzling. "Sir, your meals have always been made by the mistress personally. Of course, we couldn't replicate her touch."

Rhys's brow furrowed deeper. "She did all of it?"

The chef nodded. "Yes, the mistress insisted on handling it herself."

Rhys closed his eyes briefly, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "All right. I understand."

Even as he picked up his fork again, he found his appetite gone.

A few bites later, Rhys rose to get ready for work but couldn't find his favorite tie. Lorelai had always known where it was.

He called a maid for help, but got no answers. "The mistress organized all your belongings, sir. We wouldn't know where she put them," the maid explained.

At Howell Enterprises' headquarters, a manager noticed Rhys's unusual tie. "Mr. Howell, that tie color is quite... bold today. Doesn't really match your suit," he commented, trying to sound casual.

Rhys's icy glare shut him up. "If you have time to comment on my tie, maybe you should spend it fixing that proposal riddled with errors!" The reprimand was cold and sharp.

The manager left the office quickly, and word spread through the company that Mr. Howell's mood was especially foul today—especially about comments on his tie.

Despite everyone's caution, the day brought an unprecedented number of reprimands. By quitting time, employees steered clear of Rhys's stormy presence.

Once in his car, Rhys sat in silence, irritation simmering under his skin. His unease came from how different everything felt lately, dissatisfaction trailing him at every turn.

He convinced himself it was just the small changes in his daily routine getting to him, pushing the annoyance aside as he started the car. The engine came alive, and he drove to his downtown apartment.

But after parking, Rhys didn't get out right away. Moments later, he reversed and sped toward City Hospital.

When Rhys entered the hospital room, Lorelai was surprised by the unexpected visitor.

"What brings you here?" she asked, eyebrows raised.