Chapter 1

Inside a bedroom in Evergreen Manor, which was a villa nestled among the mountains in Acreport, a man, swept up by passion, tenderly kissed the mole on a woman's chest. Once the storm of desire had passed, Howard Larson rolled to the side and sat up. "Let's get a divorce." He spoke with no emotion in his voice. Still a little breathless after their intimacy, Megan Stafford turned to him, her bewildered eyes lifting to meet the depths of his gaze. They'd been married for a year now. At the moment, she had no idea what he meant by that. "She has stomach cancer and only has half a year left." Howard lit a cigarette, the spiraling smoke blurring his face. "Her only dying wish is to be my wife." Megan didn't respond, her silence filling the vast room. The glow of the faint bedside lamp cast their shadows on the wall, making their proximity seem like a distant divide. As if displeased that she didn't immediately agree, he frowned. "It's just to comfort her. Half a year later, we'll remarry. Megan, she only has six months left." His voice was calm, as though he were merely informing her about it. Megan stared blankly at his profile. His requests felt less like suggestions and more like royal edicts, binding her to his will. Yes, the relationship they had was something she had begged for. It started from a crush in her youth, and she followed him faithfully into adulthood. Back then, in the torrential rain, he stood in front of her. Armed only with a rotting piece of wood, he put his life on the line and exclaimed to her stepfather, "If you dare hurt Megan again, you'll have me to answer to!" She was a hair's breadth from a fatal beating. Through the torrent of rain and the crimson haze of her own blood, she saw his knuckles turn white as he gripped the piece of wood, his eyes cold and full of resolve. He'd saved her life, and that was how she fell hopelessly in love with him. She would always do anything he asked, giving her all to be better than anyone else. And afterward, he would always stroke her head, praising, "Well done, Meg." Even though his words, kisses, and their relationship had always felt shallow, she merely thought that was just the way he was. So even when others called her pathetic for doing anything to please him, she was fine with it. It had been seven years. Her entire youth had been spent chasing after him. A year ago, Howard's grandfather, Ronald Larson, fell ill. In the hope that a marriage would bring good fortune and blessings to the family, the Larsons decided Howard should marry for his grandfather's sake. Howard came to her, and they got their marriage certificate. She had thought her years of devotion had finally paid off, but after they got married, he was cold and distant. She could even feel his impatience with her building over time. "Megan, are you even listening?" Noticing her drifting thoughts, Howard frowned at her. "Must we do this?" she asked. He didn't give her a straight answer, choosing instead to say, "Megan, she's really pitiful." "Then what about me?" she blurted out. He didn't give her an answer immediately. Impatience stirred in his eyes. Only after three seconds did he speak again. "She's dying, Megan. You might not know this, but she loves me. She and I never crossed the line because we are married, and she didn't want to hurt you. "Even when I wanted to give her something, she always turned me down. She's kind. Just let her have this. Don't make me think you're cruel, Megan." His tone was so calm it was almost icy, and it felt like her heart was being ripped in two. Apparently, being with a married man and offering a few empty words was considered kindness, while a wife who wouldn't give up her husband was called cruel. Megan stared at the face that was unchanged by time. His deep-set eyes, perfect nose, and well-defined lips remained exactly the same. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder when he had begun to change. It must have been the day "she" showed up. "Are you sure you want a divorce?" she asked one last time. He said nothing at first, pressing his lips into a hard line. In the end, he uttered, "Yes, you—" "Alright." She agreed to it before he could continue. He was a little taken aback; his eyes narrowed as he regarded her with scrutiny. "You're getting bold, Megan." His tone carried a rare trace of anger. He added, "You figured I'd need your consent, and now you're using this to pressure me?" Megan said nothing, simply watching their two silhouettes on the white wall. Howard stubbed out his cigarette. Saying nothing more, he got dressed with a hurried impatience and left. He acted as if her feelings and his cruel, humiliating demand were completely insignificant. But that was because he knew she'd never leave. After all those years, she never had. Slamming the door shut, Howard left, leaving Megan alone in the room. Megan sat for a long time on the bed, her gaze lingering on the closed door. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a notification—a message had just come in. She picked up her phone, only to see a message from someone she had saved as "Her Alternate Account" on the screen. "He came to see me again." Attached was a picture of Howard's profile, mirrored in the glass door. On his face was a gentle smile, and in his eyes a warmth she had never seen. Her fingers paused on the screen. She then scrolled upward. The previous messages were a series of taunts. "He told me I have a place in his heart." "Cold on this rainy night? Not me, because he's right next to me." "The unloved one is the real mistress, Megan. You are nothing more than the choice he settled for out of obligation. He appreciates my aesthetics and embraces my taste. I am the one he loves." The countless similar messages slowly became a mountain of proof of Howard's betrayal. She never would have guessed that Howard—after seven years of treating her with such coldness—could be so animated with another person. Without truly reading the messages, she scrolled up, her movements automatic, until she reached the very first one. "You should know who I am. Do you like the flowers in the living room today? I gave them to him. He said they were beautiful." Megan laughed bitterly. Of course she knew who she was. She was Alyssa Hardin, a floral designer with an online reputation for her elegant work in luxury homes and penthouses. Megan had once shown these messages to Howard, but he said she had no proof they were from Alyssa. He'd even accused her of making a fake WhatsApp account just to frame Alyssa. That was because most of the messages lacked pictures, and even when they did have pictures, they were the kind any stranger could snap from a distance—unlike that day's picture. Should she show him this one? Megan tossed the phone aside before opening the bottom drawer of the nightstand. She pulled out a document she'd received earlier that day. It was a pregnancy test report. She was carrying Howard's child at the worst possible time. Tears fell onto the document, blooming into a wide, blurry stain. His heart no longer belonged to her, so what difference would proof make? She wiped her tears away. Grabbing Howard's lighter that he had just used, she set the document aflame. Unbeknownst to him, this divorce would be the final request of his that she would ever grant. After giving him seven years of her youth and devotion, whatever debt she owed him was now repaid. She would love him no more.