Adrian’s gaze slid to Layla.

“Go back first,” he told her coolly. “I’ll look for you later.”

Layla lowered her head with a shy smile, her cheeks faintly pink.

“Okay. I prepared a gift for you,” she said softly. “You have to come, alright?”

With that, she left the private room.

I slipped back into the hallway fast and pressed myself into the shadows. Only after Layla was gone did I edge up to the doorway again.

From inside, Adrian’s voice drifted out, cold and flat. “I’m still young. I don’t want kids. If there’s a kid, wouldn’t it be inconvenient to come out and have fun?”

His friend’s expression turned knowing, as everything had just clicked.

“So that’s your new favorite?" he teased. “She’s got a good body, Adrian. Looks like a good time. Bet she’s fun in bed, huh? No wonder you don’t feel like looking at Brooke anymore.”

“People are like that,” another guy laughed. “Once you’re used to steak and lobster, you can’t go back to plain home cooking. You just can’t adjust.”

Adrian lifted a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “You should’ve said that earlier.”

His friend snorted. “Earlier? And what would that change?”

Adrian took a sip of his drink. “If you’d said it earlier…”

His friend burst out laughing, slapping the table. “Then you’d have played to your heart’s content before getting married, of course!”

“Drink, drink!” someone shouted. “Enough of this depressing stuff.”

...

I don’t even know how I left.

By the time my mind caught up, I was already standing at a street corner, soaked through to the bone.

Tiny snowflakes mixed with rain, drifting down cold and quiet, snuffing out the last bit of warmth still lingering in my chest.

In that daze, I almost saw it. A twenty-year-old Adrian is standing in front of me again, smiling the way he used to.

“Brooke, why aren’t you home again?” he asked gently. “I’ll worry.”

“Don’t be afraid. From now on, I’m your family. Between us, there are no secrets.”

Without thinking, I reached out, wanting to fall into his arms and spill everything.

My body lunged forward.

And my hands closed on nothing but air.

The figure dissolved.

A horn blared. A driver rolled down the window and cursed at me.

“Are you trying to die? Watch where you’re going! Damn it, what a nightmare!”

...

By the time I stumbled home in a trance, it was already one in the morning.

That unfamiliar number sent another message.

This time, it was a video.

The background was a hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window. Two figures were tangled together, bodies pressed tight.

In the recording, Layla’s breath came in broken gasps as she asked, her voice sticky and coaxing, “Adrian… who do you love? Look at me.”

“It’s you,” the man answered hoarsely.

“No,” she pouted. “I want to hear you say my name.”

“Layla… I love you…” Adrian growled haughtily.

“You little vixen,” he then murmured. “How do you come up with so many ways to torture me?”

Then she whispered, almost coyly, “Adrian… should I give you a baby?”

His breathing grew heavier.

“Okay,” he said. “Whatever you want. Anything.”

The video cut off abruptly.

Right after that, a single line of text popped up beneath it:

[Do you know why you only got pregnant once in five years? Because the pills Adrian gave you were birth control. I bought them myself. He wouldn’t let you get pregnant, but he’ll allow me to carry his child. You lost, Brooke.]

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, bone-deep and stabbing cold.

...

Slowly, I pushed myself up and walked into the study, one step at a time.

I took down a glass bottle from the bookshelf.

Inside were a thousand little paper stars, each one folded by his hands.

Adrian gave me that gift on our first wedding anniversary. He said I didn’t need expensive luxury goods to avoid spending money; he would only give me his sincerity.

On every star, he’d written a sentence.

He told me, “Each day we’re together, I’ll drop one star inside. When we’re old, we’ll sit in rocking chairs, open them, and relive our youth.”

I don’t know when it started, but the number of stars stopped changing.

I picked up a few at random and unfolded them.

With those words, it felt like he loved me all over again, if only for a brief moment.

[Bought Princess Brooke a necklace today. A master of national treasure-level handcrafted it, but I told her it only cost $1 million. Decades from now, when she reads this note, she’s not allowed to be mad at me.]

[Brooke said I look good in casual clothes. I’ve decided I’m wearing casual clothes to work from now on, and no employee is allowed to wear a suit.]

[My birthday came. Brooke dressed herself up as a gift and gave herself to me. I’m so happy. This is the happiest day of my life.]

Tears blurred my vision.

I scrubbed at my face hard, wiped them away, and tossed the paper stars back into the bottle.

Then, I twisted some tissue into a wick, lit it, and fed the flame into the mouth of the bottle.

I watched as the stars gently curled and darkened, turning to ash gradually. In that moment, it felt as if five years of love had finally come to an end.

I threw the bottle into the trash.

And after that, I couldn’t hold on anymore.

I collapsed, sick and weak, burning up with fever.

In the haze of half-consciousness, I felt someone’s hand touch my forehead.

When I opened my eyes, I met a man’s gaze, worried, guilty, and familiar.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Adrian asked, his voice rough.

As he spoke, he placed a towel soaked in ice water gently onto my forehead.

I stared at him, numb. “Do you even care?”

His smile stiffened.

“Still not over it?” he asked.

Then, as if changing the subject could erase everything, he added, “I brought you a gift from this trip.”

“The medicine from before wasn’t good enough,” he continued smoothly. “So I bought you some new ones. As long as you take them on time, we’ll definitely have a baby soon…”

I pressed my hand down over the hand he’d reached out to grab the medicine, then slowly forced myself upright.

Without a word, I opened the video Layla had sent me and held it up.

“So this is your ‘business trip’?” I asked quietly.

“Adrian,” I added, my voice edged with irony, “you’ve really worked hard.”

Before I could even mention the miscarriage, Adrian’s face had already gone icy.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped. “You followed me?”

“Follow you?” I laughed without humor. “Do I even need to?”

“This is what you called ‘completely clean.’”

I stared straight at him, every syllable heavy. “Adrian, don’t you feel disgusted with yourself?”

He exploded instantly, rage surging like a fire he couldn’t contain.

“Yes,” he shouted, “I slept with Layla. So what? And then? What are you trying to say?”

“We only slept together a few times!” he insisted, his voice climbing. “Besides, they were accidents! Did I tell you I wanted a divorce? Did I tell you to get out of the house? No, right?”

“I’m a man, too. I have desires!” he roared. “Every day I come home, and all I see is your dead face. Who do you think I’m supposed to complain to about my grievances?”

“What man doesn’t find someone outside?” he went on, wild-eyed. “I didn’t even make Layla’s identity public. I’ve already done more than enough!”

I stared at him in shock, like I didn’t even recognize the person in front of me.

Adrian clutched his head and paced back and forth across the room. He lit cigarette after cigarette, smoke thickening in the air. Only after a long while did he seem to calm down. As if nothing had happened, he came over and wrapped his arms around me tightly.

“Brooke,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft, “I was wrong before. I promise you, I’ll cut things off with Layla completely. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?”

“It’s almost your birthday,” he then coaxed. “I prepared a surprise for you. Let’s not fight, don’t make a scene anymore. Can we?”

Like he was handing me something priceless, he pressed that box of medicine into my hands.

“I asked about this medicine,” he said earnestly. “If you keep taking it, you’ll get pregnant soon. I promise you. I’ll be a good father. I’ll give you a complete family. Let what happened before stay in the past.”

I lowered my head. My gaze landed on those all-too-familiar pills.

The smile that tugged at my lips looked worse than crying.

I wanted to say the word divorce.

But Adrian’s phone suddenly rang.

He picked it up. After a brief call, he said the company had something urgent and left the house.

...

Once my fever went down, I took a cab to a law firm and collected a divorce agreement.

When I brought the papers to the company to find him, I was met with nothing but side-eyes from the employees.

“So that’s Mr. Fitzwilliam’s wife?” someone whispered. “She’s so sloppy. Her face is yellow like jaundice. Does she have an illness?”

“And she still had the nerve to cause a scene in the hospital with Miss Ward,” another sneered. “If you’re that useless, even if Mr. Fitzwilliam kept a dog by his side, you’d still have to worry the dog might steal a man’s heart!”

“Miss Ward is young and pretty. If I were Mr. Fitzwilliam, I’d choose Miss Ward, too. Who wants to look at some worn-out housewife?”

I couldn’t listen anymore.

I turned to leave, but Layla suddenly appeared, blocking my path.

“Brooke?” she said with a bright, polite smile. “You’re here? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam has an appointment today,” she added smoothly. “He probably doesn’t have time to see you.”

“Do you want me to pass a message along?” Layla asked, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp. “Your messages… Mr. Fitzwilliam might not see them in time.”

The provocation in her eyes was unmistakable.

My nails dug hard into my palm, and I refused to back down.

“How I contact my husband,” I said coldly, “isn’t something an outsider gets to lecture me about.”

With that, I turned and strode out of the company.

Outside, the night sky was pitch-black. The cold air hit my face, and all at once, I regretted it.

If we couldn’t end things with dignity, then we’d end them in mutual ruin.

If it were going to be ugly, then it would remain ugly until the very end.

...

For the sake of his own reputation, Adrian threw my birthday banquet with grand fanfare. It was held at the city's most luxurious hotel, and the guest list was filled with notable figures from the business sector.

Over a hundred media outlets and reporters arrived promptly.

On stage, Adrian put an arm around my waist and graciously accepted everyone’s congratulations, his perfect smile radiating the joy of a devoted husband. After the long opening remarks, partners and collaborators began sending invitations one after another.

The “devoted husband” image never failed in the corporate world.

Everyone assumed that if Adrian doted on his wife so much, then surely he’d also be more trustworthy in deals.

What a pity.

Tonight was destined to disappoint them all.

When they saw that Adrian’s gift to me was worth tens of millions, a reporter asked with a grin, “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, may I ask if you prepared a return gift for Mr. Fitzwilliam as well? Would we have the honor of seeing it?”

I lowered my gaze and smiled, then clapped my hands lightly.

“Of course,” I said.

“Giving a lover to one’s own husband is probably unheard of from ancient times to now,” I added sweetly. “This gift… my dear husband is sure to like.”

The very next second, the giant screen behind me dropped down, and every last person in the room widened their eyes.