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.

Christopher’s voice was filled with cold, biting certainty.

“Your birthday is in seven days! I know! That’s why I’m proposing to Liz that day! I love her! I’m not pretending! I want her to be my wife—the only wife in my heart, even if it isn’t legally recognized!”

His words hit me like a slap, but he wasn’t finished.

“You’ll just have to spend your next life as Mrs. Adam,” he sneered.

Then his voice dropped, filled with cruel amusement.

“Oh, and I saw Liz stepping on your stomach that day. I let her do it. I indulged her. Even if the child inside you is born, I won’t give him a single ounce of fatherly love.”

He scoffed. “Ariana, this is exactly what you and your daughter deserve.”

With that, he shoved me aside, started the car and drove away without a second glance.

I barely had time to steady myself before my phone rang again. It was Christopher.

His tone had changed—colder, more playful.

“Ariana, you’ll personally handle my proposal ceremony in seven days.”

His voice dripped with mockery.

“Aren’t you virtuous? Aren’t you always so composed? Then go ahead and do it.”

He chuckled. “You’d better put in some effort. If Liz isn’t satisfied, I have plenty of ways to keep your father on the trending searches every single day.”

Before I could respond, he hung up—humming a little tune as if he hadn’t just shattered my world.

I knew Christopher would follow through on his threats.

With trembling hands, I pushed open the door and walked into the living room.

The first thing I saw was the enormous wedding photo of Christopher and me hanging on the wall.

A bitter smile curled my lips.

There was no trace of a smile on Christopher’s face in the photo.

He had stood stiffly, maintaining his distance.

I had worked so hard just to rest my head on his shoulder, just to close that small space between us.

Eight years had passed.

That distance never disappeared.

I could only imagine how happy he must be while taking wedding photos with Lisa.

Forcing myself to move, I reached for the frames, one by one and took them down.

Then, with a steady hand, I tore them into pieces.

Every single memory.

I burned them in the yard, watching as they turned to ash.

Then I packed up his clothes and had them sent back to his family home.

I asked the family lawyer to draft a divorce agreement and placed it in Christopher’s study.

And finally, I threw myself into planning his proposal ceremony.

For an entire week, Christopher never came home.

The hotel was booked. The dress was chosen. The event was arranged down to the last detail.

Every day, I sent updates to Christopher, like an obedient employee reporting to her boss.

He never replied.

But there were no angry phone calls, no complaints.

That meant one thing—he was satisfied.

Or rather, Lisa was satisfied.

That was fine.

At this point, I just wanted to leave quietly.

Seven days later, Christopher knelt on one knee, holding out a ring to Lisa.

Just as he was about to slip it onto her finger, the doors of the banquet hall burst open.

An elderly woman, her hair streaked with gray, stormed inside.

It was Christopher’s mother.

Her trembling finger pointed at Lisa, her voice echoing through the hall.

“I will not allow her to marry into the Adam Family! The only daughter-in-law of this family is Ariana!”

Christopher’s face darkened.

Gripping Lisa’s hand tightly, he turned to his mother and demanded, “Why?! Even if I die today, I will marry Liz!”

His mother clutched her chest, her entire body trembling.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her son—the same son who now glared at her in defiance.

“Son…” Her voice broke. “You ask me why? Because she—because her father—is responsible for your father’s death! Because I was the one who begged Ariana to marry you! Son, please—wake up!”