Hotel Room…

The door to the ward had barely closed when my phone buzzed. A message from Christopher.

I hesitated before opening it.

A video.

The screen lit up with the sight of him—naked, tangled with another woman whose face was blurred, their bodies entwined in an obscene display.

Disgusting, wet sounds filled the silence of my hospital room.

My hands trembled. My stomach churned. I fumbled to turn off the phone, but before I could, it rang.

Christopher.

His voice on the other end was laced with mockery, slow and lazy, filled with disdain.

“Did you watch it?” He chuckled. “If you don’t send me the hotel room number before 8 o’clock, I’ll make sure countless more videos like this flood your phone. Consider it a lesson—watch and learn how real women serve their men.”

A deep, suffocating ache spread through my chest. My fingers clenched around the phone.

“…I’ll go,” I whispered.

Christopher sighed in satisfaction.

“Ariana, remember this—you chose this life.” His voice was cold, cutting. “Eight years ago, you took advantage of my family’s bankruptcy and forced me and Liz apart. The day you dragged me back to your home, you should have known—you’d never get even a sliver of my love.”

And then, he hung up.

Tears burned down my cheeks.

He was right.

Eight years ago, I foolishly believed that if I just had enough time, I could warm Christopher’s heart.

But today, I understood how naïve I had been.

For eight years, he had taken countless women to bed.

And now, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.

I knew what would happen if I didn’t go. The video wouldn’t just stay on my phone. By tomorrow morning, every major media outlet in Boston would have it.

The Anderson Family had been a pillar of this city for over a century.

I couldn’t drag my father through another scandal—couldn’t let my mistakes taint his legacy.

Christopher had spent years making sure my life was miserable, doing everything in his power to break me.

I didn’t know when his love had twisted into such cruel, unforgiving hatred.

How had we ended up here?

A sharp pain suddenly tore through my lower abdomen.

I gasped, pressing my hand against the wall as a fresh wave of blood gushed from my body.

I had no time to deal with it.

Biting down on the pain, I forced myself to stand, grabbed my things and walked out of the ward.

Ten minutes later, I sent Christopher the hotel room number.

As I waited for his reply, my fingers idly scrolled through our past messages.

Thousands of texts sent from me.

Barely a handful of replies from him—each one short, indifferent, dismissive.

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror—a hollow smile on my lips, eyes dull with exhaustion.

With a bitter chuckle, I tossed my phone onto the seat.

Half an hour later, I arrived at his hotel room. In my hands was the lace lingerie he had purchased.

The first time he bought me something like this, I had been nervous, shy—but I hadn’t refused.

That night, I gave him everything.

And yet, as he moved above me, lost in pleasure, he moaned only one name.

Lisa.

I had lain awake beside him till dawn, silently crying as he slept.

From that night on, I never wore lingerie like this again.

But Christopher always had his ways.

If I refused, he’d simply make another woman wear it—then send me the pictures as casually as if he were saying good morning and good night.

A cruel game. One he played well.

The door swung open.

Christopher stood there in a loose bathrobe, smirking down at me. His eyes glinted with amusement.

“Hmm… You’re one minute late,” he drawled. “I’ll forgive you this time. But don’t be late again.”

Before I could respond, another figure stepped into view.

Lisa.

She wrapped her arms around Christopher’s waist, pressing herself against him as she leaned toward me with a sweet, innocent smile.

“How thoughtful of you,” she cooed, tilting her head. “You brought it here yourself?”

The door swung open wider than necessary, exposing me to the harsh hotel lighting.

Christopher frowned, his gaze darkening as he took in my appearance. Without warning, he yanked open my coat, revealing the hospital gown underneath. His voice dripped with disdain.

“You’re still wearing this pathetic thing after falling down earlier?” He scoffed. “Ariana Anderson, do you ever stop putting on a show?”

His sharp gaze raked over me, cutting through what little dignity I had left. I swallowed the pain, knowing nothing I said would change his mind.

I bent down, hurriedly grabbing my coat from the floor and wrapping it tightly around myself. All I wanted was to leave. But before I could turn away, a pair of strong hands seized me from behind.

Christopher stepped closer, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Since you’re here, you might as well stay,” he mused. “How thoughtful of you. Serve me well tonight. Liz and I will sleep in the bedroom—” he paused, eyes glinting with amusement, saying, “and you can sleep on the sofa.”

A sickening wave of nausea rolled through me.

I struggled, trying to wrench myself free, but every movement sent sharp, stabbing pain through my abdomen.

Christopher didn’t care. He dragged me into the room with force, slamming the door shut behind us.

That night, just as I expected, the bedroom walls echoed with the sounds of pleasure.

I curled into the corner of the sofa, pressing my hands over my ears, trying to drown it out.

But fate seemed to enjoy tormenting me.

The TV flickered on, displaying today’s headlines—clips of Christopher and Lisa, smiling, laughing, their fingers intertwined like lovers in a fairytale.

The contrast was unbearable.

I reached for the remote, wanting to turn it off, but my hands trembled so violently I couldn’t even grip it.

The moans from the bedroom intertwined with the syrupy sweetness on the screen, twisting into a grotesque lullaby.

I clenched my nails into my palms, digging deep, trying to anchor myself against the suffocating pain. But even that no longer hurt.

By the time the bedroom door finally creaked open, dawn had begun to break.

Christopher emerged first, Lisa trailing behind, draped lazily in his arms.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his expression tender—so different from the way he looked at me.

Then, his gaze shifted, locking onto me. His voice remained as indifferent as ever.

“Go home.” His words were a dismissal, a cruel mockery. “Didn’t you love being Mrs. Adam? Hope you enjoyed it enough tonight.”

With that, he stroked Lisa’s cheek a few times, whispering something that made her giggle, before grabbing my wrist and yanking me toward the door.

I knew Christopher wouldn’t let me leave so easily.

And sure enough, the moment we stepped outside the hotel, I was ambushed.

A sea of reporters swarmed toward me like ravenous wolves, cameras flashing like gunfire.

I wasn’t at yesterday’s press conference, so they must have been holding back their questions, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

And Christopher had delivered me straight to them—offering me up like prey.

The moment they spotted me, they pounced.

Microphones shoved toward my face.

Blinding lights flashing relentlessly.

“Mrs. Adam, have you seen the footage of Mr. Adam and Miss Goodrem at yesterday’s press conference? What are your thoughts?”

“Mrs. Adam, is it true your marriage is on the rocks?”

“Mrs. Adam, Miss Goodrem claims she and Mr. Adam are just like siblings—do you believe her?”

“Mrs. Adam, we have photos of Miss Goodrem staying in this hotel last night. It appears she and Mr. Adam entered a room together. Yet, this morning, you and Mr. Adam are leaving together. Can you explain why?”

Mr. Adam. Mr. Adam. Mr. Adam.

They wielded the title like a dagger, slicing into me with every question.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Christopher watching me.

His expression was unreadable, but the sheer depth of hatred in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

What kind of resentment made a man drag himself through the mud just to see someone else drown?

I hadn’t slept all night. My head throbbed with an unbearable ache.

Summoning the last of my strength, I shoved past the reporters, stumbling forward.

I had to get away.

But as I reached the first intersection outside the hotel…

The world around me spun and darkness swallowed me whole.

Christopher pulled up beside me, rolling down the window.

“I don’t want reporters following me,” he said flatly. “Get in.”

I hesitated, glancing at the flashing lights behind me. The hungry swarm of journalists was still lingering, their cameras ready to capture any sign of weakness.

With no other choice, I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

Only then did I realize—there was already a pool of blood between my legs.

Panic surged through me as I tried to cover the stain with my coat, but Christopher noticed immediately.

His brows furrowed and he glanced at me sideways. “Is the child okay?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could speak, his phone rang.

Lisa’s voice, soft and tinged with tears, filled the car.

“Christopher, my family is pressuring me to get married again… What should I do? Dad gave me a week to decide. You have to come up with a solution.”

There’s nothing more heartbreaking than a young woman’s sorrow—at least, that’s what Christopher seemed to believe.

He pulled the car over and sat in silence for a long moment before replying.

“One week is enough. Wait for me to propose to you.”

A few more murmured words of comfort and then he hung up.

The air between us turned suffocatingly silent.

Christopher finally turned to look at me. There was something in his eyes—an emotion I couldn’t decipher.

“It’s just an act for the child,” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. “Don’t take it to heart.”

I didn’t respond.

He restarted the car, his voice turning softer. “Where were we before?”

I stared blankly at the streets rushing past, my mind completely numb.

“We weren’t talking about anything,” I murmured. “I forgot.”

Christopher gave a slight nod, saying nothing more.

That was when the reality hit me.

My husband was going to propose to another woman.

And it just so happened to be on the day I left the Adam family.

How ridiculous.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the Anderson estate.

I stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of Christopher’s gaze lingering on my seat—no doubt staring at the bloodstain.

As if remembering the conversation we never finished, he suddenly strode forward and grabbed my wrist.

“Ariana, you don’t look well,” he said, his voice laced with something almost like concern. “Yesterday, at the venue… Are you okay?”

I pulled my coat tighter around me and turned away.

“I’m fine.”

I tried to shake off his grip, desperate to escape into the house, but before I could take another step—

Christopher suddenly exploded.

“Ariana Anderson! Do you know how infuriating you are?!”

His roar sent a shockwave through the cold night air.

“I’m your husband, yet you always treat me with this goddamn indifference! If you have a problem, say it! If you’re not satisfied, speak up! But this—this empty, emotionless act of yours—it drives me insane! Don’t you feel anything at all?!”

I froze.

For a moment, I simply stared at him, taken aback by the sheer intensity of his rage.

I had no idea where this outburst was coming from—why he even cared.

But I knew that if I didn’t respond, he wouldn’t let me go so easily tonight.

So I exhaled softly and said, “Christopher, you can do anything to me. But you shouldn’t drag the Anderson Family into this.”

His expression darkened instantly.

“Today, you threw me to the reporters,” I continued, my voice calm despite the turmoil inside me. “Tomorrow, my father’s name will be splashed across every headline. You and I both grew up in this world—we know exactly what that means. He helped you in every way he could. At the very least, he never turned his back on you.”

I thought I had chosen the safest, least personal topic to address his anger.

But Christopher’s face twisted into something raw and furious.

He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice shaking with rage.

“Ariana Anderson… You call that helping?” His laughter was bitter, almost unhinged. “That was taking advantage of someone’s misery! That was ruining not just my life—but Liz’s! Your father destroyed us and you… you had the audacity to stand by and watch!”

His voice rose, filled with years of suppressed hatred.

“For eight years—eight fucking years—do you know how Liz has suffered?! We loved each other. We belonged together! But you and your despicable father tore us apart!”

His voice cracked with venom.

“So I will make sure you suffer.”

His final words were a promise, laced with a deep, soul-crushing hatred.

And as I stood there, gripping my coat tightly around me, I realized something terrifying.

There was no longer any love between us.

Only a war that would never end.