On Valentine's Day, I marched into the police station to report my husband, Cason West.

"I'm here to file a complaint—marital coercion."

The officer behind the desk, a woman with a tired, over-it expression, gave me a quick look before her gaze shifted to Cason, lounging across from me.

By now, everyone at the station knew the routine. It wasn't my first time dragging him here.

Predictably, Cason set his coffee cup down, flashing that annoyingly charming smile of his.

"Rosalina, did I actually hurt you last night, or are we just trying out a new game?"

I ignored him, slamming the hospital report onto the table. "This time, I've got solid proof."

He snatched it up and scanned it fast. Then, completely unfazed, he started unbuttoning his shirt right in front of everyone. His neck, his collarbone, his chest—they were all littered with marks from the night before. The deepest scratch still had a fresh scab.

He slid the report back to me. "Officer, if this was really coercion, how do you explain these love bites? They sure don't look like someone was forced, do they?"

Fury boiled inside me. Yeah, those injuries were my doing. The night before, I'd smashed an ashtray into him, slashed at him with a fruit knife, and sunk my teeth into his neck so hard I left an imprint. Yet, even that wasn't enough to break free.

The officer handed my documents back. "Marital issues are best handled at home."

Another dead end.

Three years of marriage, and this was my hundredth attempt at getting a divorce.

The first time, I packed my bags and tried to walk out. Cason had an entire shopping street flooded with flowers, diamonds, and designer bags to block my path. Then he dropped to one knee. "Mrs. West, have you cooled off yet?" I hurled the divorce papers at him. He didn't even glance at them—just tore them to shreds and pressed the house keys back into my palm. "Rosalina, without me, you wouldn't make it three months." I was so pissed I threw my heels at him. He caught them mid-air, and, with sickening tenderness, slipped them back on my feet.

The twenty-seventh time, I booked a flight overseas. Just as the plane was about to take off, the entire departure was delayed. Ten minutes later, Cason showed up at the aircraft door. "My wife has a mental condition. It's not safe for her to travel alone. Sorry for the trouble." That same night, I smashed his prized antique vase. So he froze all my bank accounts and hid my passport.

The fifty-third time, I tried climbing over the estate wall. I fell and broke my leg. Cason rushed me to the hospital and stayed by my side for three days, looking like absolute hell. When I woke up, I grabbed the IV needle and stabbed it into his arm. He flinched but held my hand tight. "Rosalina, do you really want to leave me this badly?" I looked him dead in the eyes. "Yes. I wish you were dead." All he did was bow his head, kiss the back of my hand, and say, "Funny enough, I feel the same. If you ever left, I'd lose my damn mind."

Later, I reported him for unlawful detention. When the police showed up at our door, he just pointed to the delicate chain around my ankle. "Just an intimate accessory between spouses. Bit of a misunderstanding." That night, desperate, I hacked at the shackle with a knife. Blood was everywhere, and I nearly severed a tendon. Cason stayed with me at the hospital, sleepless and doting. But all I wanted, staring at that loving mask, was for him to vanish.

In one moment of pure desperation, I drove the sharpest knife I could find straight into his chest. Blood soaked his shirt. Yet Cason only squeezed my hand harder, forcing a smile. "It's okay. Doesn't even hurt."

None of it worked. Nothing could beat Cason West, the ace lawyer.

The policewoman walked me out, still offering her clueless comfort. "Mr. West really does care about you, Miss Reed. You should treasure what you have and try to work things out."

I laughed, tears streaming down my face. Since the day he sent my brother to prison, whatever twisted affection had existed between us was gone.

Back then, his so-called muse, Jessie Rose, came back hoping to rekindle their old flame. Cason flat-out rejected her, insisting I was the one he loved. That night, Jessie left in tears. By morning, she was at the police station, disheveled, accusing my brother, Charles, of assaulting her—with evidence to back it up. The police opened a case immediately. My brother was taken away, and my father, unable to handle the shock, had a heart attack and died that same day.

I went on my knees and begged Cason to defend my brother in court. He agreed. But on the day of the trial, he stood firmly on the other side—as Jessie's lawyer! In front of everyone, every word he spoke was calculated and ruthless. He made damn sure my brother got a six-year sentence.

Afterward, I confronted him. "Cason West! That's my brother! Do you have any idea what you've done?!" He looked at me with that cold, detached professional mask. "Rosalina, I'm a lawyer first, your husband second. If your brother did something wrong, he deserves to pay. I'm just upholding justice." He didn't see a single thing wrong with his actions. He even had the nerve to add, "Besides, Jessie got tangled up in this because of me. I had to handle her case." I nearly collapsed from crying. "And what about me? Don't I matter?!" He sighed, wrapping his arms around me with that fake tenderness. "Rosalina, one thing at a time. Your brother is paying for his mistakes, but I'll be here to get you through this."

Finally, I made the choice I could never undo. I terminated the pregnancy Cason had wanted so badly. I put the tiny, undeveloped embryo in a box and delivered it to him myself. For a split second, I saw pure rage flash in his eyes. But he pulled himself back and patted my head. "It's okay. We're young. There'll be other kids." As he said that, he turned around and texted his associates. Together, they crushed Reed Corporation, throwing my mother into a debt crisis she couldn't escape. Harassed and surrounded by creditors, she couldn't take it anymore and ended her life by jumping from a building.

And just like that, the fate of the Reed family was rewritten entirely.

If everything else he’d done could somehow be explained away, Cason West bringing Jessie Rose to trash my mother’s funeral was the final straw.

I stood there sobbing, screaming at Jessie to get out. But Cason just scowled and scolded me for being unreasonable. He claimed that Jessie, as a "victim," was gracious enough to come pay her respects despite everything. So why was I being so damn dramatic? The guests all turned on me, painting my mother—and the whole Reed family—as villains. Even my mother’s gravesite wasn’t spared. Vandals spray-painted graffiti all over it. I had no choice but to move my mother’s remains to some far-off, secluded hometown for burial.

After that, Jessie claimed she’d developed depression and latched onto Cason like a lifeline, practically glued to his side 24/7. And Cason, barely even annoyed, told me, "Rosalina, because of your brother, she’s struggling. I have to take responsibility for her." With that one word—"responsibility"—he handed Jessie a job at his company as his personal assistant, no hesitation. To keep me under his thumb, he held my brother’s situation over my head, threatening me with it every single day. "Rosalina Reed, if you dare run again, your brother will pay the price."

Driven to despair and feeling completely hopeless, I’d sit by the window every day, numb, counting down the days until Cason finally got tired of me and let me go. But Jessie never missed a single chance to provoke me, barging into our home over and over. As the days dragged on, I found myself hiding in some empty room, numbing the pain with way too many antipsychotic pills.

On the drive back, the cold wind seeped through the cracks in the car window, sending chills down my neck. Exhausted, I turned my head to the man concentrating on the road and said quietly, "Cason, I’m done. Let’s get a divorce."

The car screeched to a sudden halt. A wave of nausea hit me, and I nearly threw up. This year alone, I’d brought up divorce too many times to count. And each time, he just brushed it off or fed me some line to calm me down. But this time, his expression hardened—he actually looked serious. "Are you serious?" "I’m serious." Cason let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Fine. I’ll play along." Half an hour later, he actually drove me to the courthouse. We skipped mediation and went straight to signing the papers. The staff member soberly reminded us, "There’s a thirty-day cooling-off period for divorce." Before we got back in the car, he tossed out a cold warning: "Rosalina, I’ll be waiting for you to crawl back. Don’t come crying to me when you want me to return."

I didn’t even get a chance to respond before his phone rang. From his tone, I knew right away—it was Jessie. After he hung up, he casually told me, "Something urgent came up at the office. You’ll have to take a cab home. Oh, and don’t forget—Mr. King’s fiftieth birthday is tomorrow. Get a gift ready, and make sure it’s not black." And just like that, he drove away.

Cason always believed this marriage was my trap—something I could never truly leave. But what he didn’t know was that this time, I was dead set on leaving. I didn’t go back to that place. Instead, I booked a hotel room and bought a plane ticket for a flight out of the country in thirty days.

The next morning, his call came in right on schedule. "Where are you? Get back home. Now." "Cason, we’re still in the cooling-off period. That house isn’t my home anymore. I know that as long as we’re under the same roof, you’ll find a way to cancel the divorce." He chuckled. "You’re sharper than I gave you credit for. Just behave yourself at Mr. King’s party tonight, and don’t make a scene." I was about to argue when a soft, feminine voice cut through the line. "Cason, I found the tie you were looking for. It’s on the bed." "I had a late event, so I let Jessie crash here. Don’t read into it."

Don’t read into it? Bringing your old flame into our home—our bedroom—and letting her find your tie in the morning? A year ago, I would’ve lost my mind and smashed everything in sight. But now, all I felt was this bone-deep exhaustion. "Cason, we’ve signed the papers. Stop calling me." I was about to hang up when his ice-cold voice stopped me cold. "Rosalina Reed, I heard you’ve been sniffing around for a lawyer to appeal your brother’s case. Let me tell you something—without my say-so, nobody in Charleston will dare touch it."

Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't make them stop. I bit down on my lip, desperate to hide the tremor in my voice from Cason West.

"Cason, are you trying to push me over the edge? My brother was your best friend."

He answered me, calm as ever. "I personally oversaw the first trial. You really think any law firm in London would dare touch this case?"

"If you come home and behave, I'll handle the second trial for you."

I let out a bitter laugh. Like hell I'd fall for the same trick twice.

He'd played me exactly like that before.

His voice dropped, turning threatening. "Keep trying if you want. Let's see if a single person in London has the guts to take Charles' case."

The line went dead.

I sank to the floor, my strength draining out of me.

He was dead set on stopping me.

The Reed family was already ruined, and he had the legal world in his pocket. What did I even have left to fight him with?

With trembling hands, I called him back, my voice thick with sobs. "Cason, aren't you afraid you'll push me to madness one day?"

He let out a light chuckle, brushing me off. "Rosalina, stop kidding around. Instead of begging some third-rate law firm, why not just come straight to me?"

To him, my desperation was laughable.

But I was out of options.

To save my brother, I was ready to swallow every last bit of my pride.

My eyes swollen from crying, I forced out each word, humble and defeated. "Fine. I'm begging you, Cason. Let my brother go."

I heard him irritably loosen his tie on the other end.

"Come home first. Accompany me to Mr. King's Thanksgiving dinner tonight, and I'll take care of your brother's case."

After I hung up, I went to the mirror and caked on concealer to hide my puffy, tear-streaked eyes.

Rosalina Reed, just trust him one last time. Just this one last time.

When night came, Cason didn't bother to pick me up himself. He sent a driver.

I didn't get why he couldn't spare a moment for me until I walked into the banquet hall.

There, in the center of all the attention, stood Cason next to Jessie Rose, who was dressed to the nines.

He mingled with the elite crowd, showering her with compliments and showing blatant favoritism at every turn.

"Jess isn't just beautiful, she's incredibly capable—my indispensable right hand."

"Truth is, I need Jess more than she needs me. She's been by my side for years, knows me inside and out."

Jessie lifted her chin a little, radiating the confidence of a high-society lady.

She blushed, her voice soft. "It's all thanks to Mr. West's guidance."

A wealthy young man nearby jumped in, "No need to be modest. We all know the stories about you and Cason from back in school."

Cason chuckled, swirling his wine, neither confirming nor denying, just letting the teasing hang in the air.

Jessie ducked her head shyly, her eyes dancing with flirtatious mischief.

The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, and not a single person noticed me standing alone at the entrance, completely out of place.

It was only when Cason's gaze accidentally met mine—full of contempt—that he paused for a second, then quickly walked over, his voice edged with reproach. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

I kept my face blank. "I saw you were busy. I didn't want to interrupt."

He reached for my arm, but I instinctively sidestepped him.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm, and lowered his voice in warning. "I don't want tomorrow's headlines to be about some marital spat. Rosalina, since you're here, I expected you to behave."

Behave?

Before I came, I'd planned to suffer through it, even if it meant swallowing a thousand dull needles, just to keep up the pretense of a happy marriage.

But the moment Jessie shot me a deliberately provocative look, all the anguish and madness I'd pushed down for a year came unraveled right then.