That gentle gaze, I once believed it, was mine alone.

The live stream had run for nearly five hours before the comments began to flood in.

[So jealous of this girl! Living in a postpartum center that costs 500,000 a month, with a rich, handsome husband!]

[She’s living the dream.]

[Pick me! I want a husband like that, too!]

Before she inherited the Silva Corporation, Dione had been a special forces agent, sharp, disciplined, and private.

She despised cameras.

Even when I asked for a simple photo together, she would turn away with a cold refusal.

But now, for Rupert, she made an exception, broadcasting herself live before a nationwide audience.

Rupert turned to the camera with a radiant smile.

"My wife is amazing. So thoughtful."

Thoughtful?

A dull ache twisted through my chest as I let out a hollow laugh.

Dione had never shown me that kind of softness. Not once.

I remember once asking her to go-kart racing with me.

I had to coax and beg for what felt like forever before she finally gave in.

But after barely twenty minutes on the track, she shut down completely, cold, distant, for the rest of the day.

I showered her with gifts, hoping to soften her mood. But all she said, with visible irritation, was, "Spending time with you is just a waste of my time."

She could be thoughtful. She could spend an entire day with someone for Rupert. But never for me.

Dione must’ve recognized my Instagram handle. She called.

"I’m giving you half an hour. Come pick up your dad’s things from the postpartum center."

By the time I got there, the livestream had already ended.

Rupert greeted me with an overly bright smile. "Brother Atticus, you came to see Dione!"

I walked past him without a word, stepped up to Dione, and held out my hand. "Give it to me," I said flatly.

The curve on her lips vanished, her expression turning cold. "Rupert spoke to you. Are you mute?"

I forced a smile and looked straight at Rupert.

"Congratulations, Secretary Rupert. You seduced my wife and got her to carry your child. What’s next? Marrying into the family through the baby?"

Dione hurled the coffee cup in her hand to the floor.

"If you can’t speak like a human, then shut up!"

Rupert, who had been calmly slicing an apple, slipped. The blade nicked his finger.

Dione’s expression changed in an instant.

"Rupert, be careful! Does it hurt?"

His eyes reddened as he looked at me, voice low and cautious.

"Brother Atticus, I never meant to ruin things between you and Dione. I just really wanted to keep this child. Once her postpartum recovery is done, I’ll leave. I won’t bother her again."

Then he turned his gaze to the cradle, voice trembling.

"Daddy’s sorry for making you lose your mother the moment you were born. But I didn’t mean to. I hope you’ll forgive me."

He looked sorrowful as if drowning in the depths of anguish and grief.

Dione stared at me with eyes sharp as venom, her entire presence turning fierce and terrifying.

“Are you happy now, making him so sad?”

I let out a cold, bitter laugh.

“That pitiful performance? You’re the only one enjoying it.”

My words sparked a fire in Dione.

She yanked the pocket watch my mother had left, raising it high, ready to smash it into pieces.

My pupils tightened as I shouted urgently, “Stop! Don’t!”

But she didn’t hesitate. The watch flew from her hand, crashing to the floor and shattering into a million shards.

I stumbled backward, tripping on the sharp edge of the table.

Pain flared through my knee, and the old injury from saving Dione flared up again.

I cried out sharply.

Dione sneered, her voice icy cold, “That’s what you get for running your mouth.”

“Now get lost. Stop pretending you’re hurt.”

Rupert glanced at me with fake concern, his eyes cold beneath the mask.

“Brother Atticus, get up fast. Mr. Hollis might catch you pretending to have fallen…”

I gritted my teeth and shot him a cold glare.

When Rupert saw I still dared to glare, Dione snapped at the bodyguards, ordering them to haul me to my feet.

“My breasts are engorged, and I’ve changed out of so many dirty clothes. Go wash them clean before you leave. And remember hand wash only.”

I shoved her away. “Why should I?”

“Because you just bullied Rupert!” Dione’s eyes darkened to a terrifying shade.

“You owe him an apology.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the burning pain in my foot, my voice cold.

“In your dreams.”

Her gaze turned as cold as ice, and she barked at the bodyguards to drag me into the bathroom.

The door slammed shut and locked from the outside.

Dione’s arrogant voice floated through the door. “If you don’t wash those clothes clean, don’t even think about coming out!”

“Dione, this is illegal imprisonment!” I slammed the door hard and shouted, “Open this door!”

The pounding echoed fiercely against the door, but outside, silence reigned like a grave.

My hand burned fiercely, and the wound on my foot began bleeding again.

The room stank sharply of sour milk and vomit.

I gasped, collapsing slowly to my knees.

Through the door, Rupert’s false concern cut through the quiet.

“Dione, if you treat Brother Atticus like this, won’t he be furious when he gets out?”

Dione scoffed lightly. “So what if he’s angry? I’ll just soothe him.”

“Besides, this is all his fault. If he doesn’t tame that spoiled young master temper of his, won’t I suffer marrying into the Hollis family?”

“The Silva family’s been military for generations. If Silva Corporation had an heir, my mother would never have let me marry into some moneyed family. All he knows is counting cash; he doesn’t know how to enjoy life.”

Rupert feigned worry. “Dione, if you talk about Brother Atticus like that, won’t he reject the marriage alliance?”

Silence settled heavily outside the door.

After a long pause, Dione’s cold voice slipped out with a hint of arrogance.

“He won’t.”

“He’s just a rich young master who only knows how to chase money. When he meets a woman like me, of course he has to cherish me.”

“Besides, he loves me to death. If I told him to die, he’d probably do it.”

I pressed hard against the bleeding gash on my leg, disbelief flooding me as I heard those words from Dione herself.

Our Hollis family had stood strong in business for generations, always a target for underworld threats.

Six years ago, while my father and I traveled abroad, he was taken hostage by ruthless gangsters.

One of them pressed a gun against his temple.

My eyes burned red; I thought I was about to lose him

Then, a sharp whistle sliced through the air.

The criminal dropped dead instantly.

Dione, dressed in full military gear and holding a gun, descended from above and rescued us with swift precision.

It was inside the off-road vehicle that I first saw her face, delicate features, and breathtaking beauty.

I fell for her at first sight.

For that, I had chased her relentlessly for a whole year before she finally agreed to date me.

We stayed together for five years, and I always listened to her every word.

And this was the reward for my sincerity, cold, heartless judgment.

What a cruel joke.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Dione saw me crouched on the floor, pale-faced, and impatiently pulled me to my feet.

“It’s just washing some clothes. Why are you acting so pitiful, who are you trying to fool?”

A bitter taste rose in my throat.

I swallowed it hard, fighting back the urge to vomit, and searched for the keepsake my mother had left me.

The pocket watch lay shattered beyond repair.

Broken into tiny fragments.

I bent down and picked up each piece one by one.

Dione’s voice came coldly from behind me.

“When my postpartum period ends, we’ll get married. After the wedding, Rupert will live with us.”

Rupert looked at me with genuine gratitude.

“Brother Atticus, thank you for accepting me and the child. I’ll always be grateful…”

I had no patience for his empty words and turned sharply to Dione.

“No need. We won’t live together. I’ve got the keepsake. Now give me the house code, I’ll hire movers to clear out my things.”

Dione rattled off a string of numbers, her eyes burning with scorn. “So much drama, but in the end, you’ll just crawl right back.”

Rupert tugged nervously at her sleeve. “Dione, the room…”

Her eyes flickered, and she dragged Rupert along to my car.

“I’m coming with you. Just to make sure you don’t take the wrong things.”

When we arrived home, everything clicked. Why had Dione insisted on tagging along?

The sofa was strewn with torn scraps of a male servant’s uniform.

The dining table was decorated with heart-shaped candles.

The bedroom was heavy with the seductive scent of vanilla, and the wardrobe was lined with rows of delicate lingerie.

These days, I have been caught up in my father’s funeral arrangements.

I rarely came home.

Meanwhile, Dione, heavy with child, and Rupert clearly indulged themselves without restraint.

I went down to the garage and noticed several luxury cars were missing.

A few designer watches had vanished from the walk-in closet shelves.

Rupert followed behind me, wearing a smug grin. “Brother Atticus, missing something?”

He was eager to see me lose my cool.

But I only gave a faint, cold smile.

“A freeloader will always be a freeloader, only good for petty theft.”

“You—!”

Rupert’s fury flashed in his eyes, sharp and vicious.

Then suddenly, he gasped, slapped himself hard across the face, and dropped to his knees.

“Brother Atticus, you can hit me all you want! Just don’t hurt Dione…”

Dione rushed in and helped him up.

Her anger blazed as she slapped me hard across the face.

“Atticus, you’ve been a rich young master for too long, you’re insufferable!”

She didn’t hold back at all. My cheek swelled instantly.

Pain throbbed in my temples, and fury bubbled close to the surface.

“Dione! Are you blind?”

She dragged me out of the closet and slammed her boot hard into my injured leg.

“Get out! Go back to your family! Come back only when you know you’re wrong!”

My anger slowly dissolved into bitter helplessness.

Burning with rage, I lifted my foot and struck Rupert across the face.

Dione’s eyes blazed as she raised her hand to strike me again.

I grit my teeth and catch her wrist firmly.

“That one was mine.”

I turned away, eyes stinging with fresh tears, retreating like a coward.

Outside, rain poured down in a relentless, drenching stream.

I curled up on the cold ground, feeling humiliated.

After what felt like an eternity, the rain finally stopped falling on me.

Turning my head, I saw Rhea had arrived some time ago, holding an umbrella, shielding me all along.

She reached out her hand, her voice trembling with undeniable heartache.

“Atticus, let me take you home.”

Back at the Langston residence, I stared at the familiar courtyard and the familiar butler, memories flooding my mind.

Rhea’s father and mine had once been fierce rivals in the business, and early on, they had arranged a childhood engagement for us.

But back then, I often clashed with my father, and by extension, I resented Uncle Alfonso and young Rhea.

After middle school, I left for the UK to study business management while Rhea was sent to Milan to pursue art.

More than ten years later, we crossed paths again at my father’s funeral.

As I sat there, lost in thought, Rhea’s mother approached, carrying a bowl of ginger soup.

She touched my forehead gently, her worry and tenderness unmistakable.