Victor's gaze snapped back to her. His brows drew together ever so slightly,

but his face remained a cold mask. “What did you say?”

Genevieve lifted the papers in her hand and held them out to him. “This is a copy of the divorce agreement. I’ve already submitted the papers to court for annulment. Since you and I never had the relationship of husband and wife,

the marriage can be annulled. As long as you don’t go to the courthouse to object, it should be done within a week.”

His lips curled, though not in a smile. Displeasure and disbelief flickered across his features as his jaw tightened. With a swift movement, he snatched the papers out of her hand, his eyes locked on hers with a hard, unblinking stare.

“You’re done pretending to be good and obedient?” he bit out. “Now you show your evil colors? Threatening me with divorce? Have you completely lost your mind?”

But Genevieve didn’t flinch. She stared at him with the same calm steadiness, her eyes clear, her tone level.

“I am not evil. I am not trying to trouble you. And I’m not showing a temper.” Her words were soft, yet unshaken. “I’ve already signed the papers. You can open them and see for yourself.”

His eyes flicked down to the documents, scanning each page. His expression shifted from disbelief to a sharp, cold challenge as he finally spotted her signature, dated that very day.

While he flipped through the pages, Genevieve quietly slid her wedding ring off her finger and placed it on the side table near the couch. “This is the ring you gave me on our wedding day,” she said softly, straightening her shoulders. “I’m leaving now. Take care of yourself, Victor”

Victor's jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as his eyes flickered with suppressed fury. But she didn’t wait for his reaction. She picked up her

suitcase and walked past him, her calm composure contrasting with the storm brewing in his eyes.

He didn’t turn to look at her. He stood rooted to the spot, his fist clenching tight around the divorce papers until they crumpled in his grip. Behind him, the heavy door opened, then shut with a loud thud that echoed through the

mansion. The wheels of her suitcase scraping against the pavement outside seemed to reverberate in the silence she left behind.

Mrs. Maisel rushed forward, panic flooding her features. Her eyes darted between the door and Victor . “Mr. Hales! Why don’t you go after

Madam? Ask her to stay!”

But victor's expression had already hardened into cold indifference. His voice was low, clipped, and filled with steel.

“No need.” His lips curved into a cruel, confident line. “She’ll come back

on her own before she even steps outside these gates.”

Mrs. Maisel froze, her heart sinking. She glanced at him in disbelief, her anxiety growing, but his piercing gaze silenced her protests. She glanced at the door, then out the window, while victor stood tall, silent, his jaw rigid.

Other maids appeared from the kitchen, murmuring among themselves as They gathered near the window. They watched Genevieve dragging her suitcase down the driveway.

“Madam doesn’t even raise her voice…” one murmured, wide-eyed. “How could she suddenly ask for a divorce like that?”

“I don’t know,” another whispered back, glancing nervously at Victor

“She’s always been so sweet… so calm. What happened today?”

“She’s lived with Mr. Hale for five years,” the third said softly, shaking her head. “What could have changed?”

The women exchanged worried glances, all of them still peeking out at the driveway, waiting half-expecting Victor's words to prove true.James’s lips curled into a smirk as he waited, breath steady, confidence etched into every line of his face.

The household stood still, eyes fixed on the entrance. But the silence stretched on.

Mrs. Maisel gripped her hands together, her worry mounting with every passing second. Her panic grew as Genevive disappeared through the large gates without looking back.

Her chest tightened as she finally turned to him. “Mr. Hale… Madam didn’t come back,” she said, her voice edged with panic. Her hands twisted together as her fear spilled into her words. “Did she really leave you?”

Victor's calm exterior cracked. Fury twisted his face. With a sharp growl, he hurled the divorce papers to the floor.

“Let her leave if she wants!” he roared. “Where can she possibly go? For years, she has lived here under my roof, enjoying the title of Mrs Hale Do you really think she can throw it all away so easily?!”

Mrs. Maisel flinched at his outburst, her gaze darting back to the window.

Her heart sank as she saw Genevieve disappearing through the mansion’s grand

gates, her suitcase trailing behind her.

Without a single backward glance, Genevieve vanished into the snowy night.

The sun rose cold and pale over the Hale's mansion. The silence inside was louder than usual. At the long dining table, the maids arranged breakfast in an almost ritualistic manner, but there was an unease in their

movements.

Victor finally descended from his study, shoulders squared, his tall figure

dressed immaculately in a fresh suit. His expression was once again composed, but his eyes revealed the strain of a night spent working. He sat in the head chair with unhurried grace, as though nothing was amiss.

Mrs. Maisel hurried forward, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of

him, followed by an omelette and a plate of fruits. The maids flitted about,adjusting the tablecloth, arranging cutlery, and stepping back once everything was in place.

Victor lifted the coffee cup with practiced calmness, but his eyes were cold, sharp as ice. His voice, though soft, carried a weight that made the servants stiffen. She hasn’t returned yet?”

Mrs. Maisel folded her hands together, bowing her head. Her voice was low and uneasy. “No, Mr. Hale.”

His lips curled into a thin, disdainful line, a bitter shadow flickering in his gaze. “Who taught her how to have a temper?”

Mrs. Maisel hesitated, then carefully suggested, “Mr. Hale… perhaps you should call her? Ask about her whereabouts?”

Victor's eyes flicked from the cup to her face, his expression unreadable.

“She has grown far too used to the comforts of this house. If she wants to suffer on her own, let her. Let her freeze in the streets if she wishes. When she realizes her mistake, she will crawl back here to apologize.”

He stabbed his fork into the omelet and took a bite, chewing slowly. A flash of irritation crossed his face as he set the fork down with a sharp clatter.

“Why wasn’t my phone charged last night? And who laid out my clothes this morning? Mrs. Maisel, it wasn’t you. Go and change this ridiculous outfit. Usually, you do your job well. What happened to you today?”

Mrs. Maisel hesitated, watching him chew on the omelet.

His expression shifted again, displeasure darkening his face. “Even this omelette is disgusting. What’s happening to all of you tonight?” He looked up sharply, his features twisting with thunderous anger as he snapped,

“Have you all forgotten how to do your goddamn jobs in just one night?”

Mrs. Maisel’s eyes darted to the other maids before she swallowed nervously. Her voice was hesitant, her tone almost pleading. “Mr. Hale… it wasn’t me. Usually… Mrs. wakes up early to prepare these things for you.”

Victor froze mid-bite, his fork hovering. His posture stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he turned his head slowly toward her. “What did you say?”

She lowered her head. “Since you married her, Madam has risen before dawn. She cooks your breakfast every morning with her own hands. She prepares your lunch and dinner, attaches your phone to the charger, and lays out your clothes for the day. None of us dared to enter your room. It was always Madam who did it herself.”

A stunned silence fell.

The words sank into victor like stones dropped into deep water. His face, usually unreadable, flickered with something raw—disbelief, confusion, and the faintest crack of something else beneath. His hand clenched around

the fork, the steel bending under the force.

“There are hundreds of servants in this house,” he snapped finally. “Why would she do all of this herself? What are all of you here for?”

Mrs. Maisel answered at once. “Mr. Hale… have you forgotten? When you first married her, Madam didn’t know a thing about household chores.

Her parents never let her lift a finger—she grew up sheltered. But after your marriage, during the very first week, one of the servants misplaced your files. You shouted at the servant… and then at Madam too.”

Victor's troubled face flickered, recognition dawning.

‘What’s the use of marrying a woman who doesn’t even know where to put a file? What’s the use of marrying you if you can’t even lift a finger?!’

That night came rushing back into his mind—the sharpness of his anger, her stunned expression, her silence.

He had long forgotten it, but now the echo of his own words clawed at him.

Mrs. Maisel’s voice dropped. “Since that day, Madam began to do everything for you by herself. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch your things, not even moving a paper from one drawer to another. She wouldn’t allow any help.”

Victor's lips pressed together, his eyes shadowed. For a moment, his face

betrayed his thoughts—an unspoken unease, guilt pricking the armor of his pride. But then his fingers curled into fists, his jaw tightening. His eyes grew steely with stubbornness.“I know she did a lot,” he admitted stiffly, each word forced out. “But she was the one who decided to leave this house. If she wants to come back, she can come back on her own.”

At Luxe, blinding lights flashed across the bar and music pounded like a heartbeat gone mad. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and the sound of drunken laughter.

Victor sat in the corner on a leather couch, gripping a glass tightly. He drank

heavily, glass after glass, but the burning liquor couldn’t dull the storm inside him. His suit jacket lay abandoned, his tie loosened. His wedding ring glinted faintly under the neon lights as he twirled it on his finger, his

expression dark and sour.

Around him, two friends lingered, talking to girls while sipping drinks and flirting.

Gabriel Kennedy spotted him first. Tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled brown hair and warm hazel eyes that always seemed to be laughing, he pushed through the crowd, slightly tipsy, and dropped onto the bench beside

Victor. “What’s gotten into you?” He draped an arm casually over his shoulder. “On weekdays, you never step foot in a bar.”

Victor didn’t respond. He only lifted his glass again, draining it with tense, uneven movements.

Across from him, Neil young lounged lazily on the couch, a woman draped over his arm. Lean and sharp-featured, with dark hair slicked back

and a sly, calculating smile, he exuded a natural charm that drew attention effortlessly. His smirk widened.

“Well, this is a surprise. Mr. Hale , leaving his precious wife behind just to drink with us?” He chuckled, swirling his drink. “You, of all people,

abandoning her at home for a night out? It doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Victor's fingers tightened around the rim of his glass, the faint clink betraying his restraint. He said nothing, just swallowed hard and poured

himself another.Gabriel leaned forward, grinning. “Precious? More like stupid. I’ll never

forget that office party. Remember, Hale? She never drinks, but since you don’t touch alcohol on weekdays, she drank in your place all night.”

Gabriel’s laugh rang out loud. “She looked like she was going to collapse.

Must have been the first time she ever touched alcohol. I thought she might actually die right there!” He shook his head, chuckling. “What kind of a woman does that? Isn’t she just plain stupid?”

The two of them burst out laughing, their voices rising above the music.

Victor's eyes darkened. His knuckles went white as he grabbed another drink, downing it in one gulp. The bitterness in his throat was nothing compared to the fire twisting inside his chest.

Neil’s laughter faded as he frowned, studying his friend. His voice dropped, more serious. “Why are you drinking like this? What’s going on?”

His voice came low, almost casual, though his eyes betrayed a tension.

“Nothing happened. It’s not serious. Genevieve just lost her temper. She got angry over something and went back to her parents’ house.”

The words froze Neil mid-laugh. His brows drew together, confusion clouding his face. “Nonsense. What are you talking about?”

Victor turned sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Are you deaf?”

Neil’s amusement vanished. He straightened in his seat, his voice turning grim. “vic my man, her parents died last week in a car accident.” He paused, searching victor's face. “And what house are you talking about? She doesn’t have one to return to. The bank seized it months ago to cover her family’s debts.”

Victor's hand slipped from his glass. His head jerked up, shock flashing across his face. “What?”

Neil stared at him in disbelief. “How could you be her husband and not know this?”

For the first time, victor couldn’t speak. His face paled, his lips pressed tight, as though the ground beneath him had shifted.

Gabriel snickered, his voice low and mocking, cutting through the music- drenched haze of the bar. “That woman no wonder everyone at our parties calls her a married widow. Married to a name, not a man.”

Victor's eyes snapped to Gabriel, the shock in them deepening to something

darker.

Gabriel leaned closer, the smirk never leaving his face. “Even though her husband is alive, there’s no one to care for her. A dead marriage… a widow married to a ghost of a husband.”

Victor's hand trembled as he set down his glass on the table. His fingers moved almost instinctively to the wedding ring on his finger, tracing its cold metal as his body stiffened, his face frozen in a rare, transparent expression of shock and disbelief. The laughter and chatter of the bar blurred around him.

Neil finally broke the tension, throwing an arm over victor's shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to jolt him back. “All right, enough of this bullshit about his life. We’re here to drink, not wallow. After all these years, you decided to come out on a weekday! Put your personal life aside, at least for a night.”

Victor mechanically lifted his glass, joined by Neil and the others, but his face remained pale, frozen in shock at the words he’d just heard.

Hours later, outside the club, the snowfall was relentless, blanketing the streets in thick, wet layers. The world around victor felt muted, the city’s noise swallowed by winter’s hush.

He moved in silence toward his car, the leather of his coat stiff with cold.

William, his secretary, stood waiting with an umbrella raised, watching quietly. Mid-thirties, tall and lean, with neatly combed dark hair and sharp features that reflected his careful, meticulous nature, he exuded a quiet

authority that matched Victor's own.

Snow crunched beneath victor's shoes as he reached the vehicle. He finally turned his gaze toward William, his voice low, clipped, and dangerous.

“Did you know about Genevieve's house? Her parents’ death?”

William blinked in surprise at the question, then answered. “Yes, Mr Hale . Mrs. Hales parents died in a car accident last week. They were

already drowning in business debt, so there was no inheritance left behind.

The bank seized their house, and even the company her family owned everything was taken to recover the debt.”

Victor's face darkened, trouble etching deep into every line. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?!”

“…Mr. Hale ,” William replied, his voice low and hesitant. “Madam did call you last week. But at the time, you were in London, handling the

Shinova company’s merger. It was a crucial meeting. You answered briefly, but…”

Victor's mind flickered back to the call. He had been in the conference room then, papers scattered across the table, his eyes fixed on the

presentation.

The phone had rung again and again until he finally picked up, irritation on his face.genevive voice had come through the line soft, trembling. “victor … my parents—”

He had cut her off sharply. “I’m busy. Don’t bother me with your personal matters. How many times do I have to tell you? Solve it yourself!”

Then, without a second thought, he hung up.

Now, standing in the snow, color drained from his face.

Victor's chest tightened with a sudden, icy realization. ‘Should I have been more patient? Is this why she’s asking for a divorce?’

At that moment, victor's phone rang. It was in William’s hands, who handled his calls and messages. He glanced at the screen before quickly handing it over. “Mr. Hale… Madam is calling.”

Victor took the phone, straightening himself with a slow, controlled breath.

He swiped the screen to accept the call, lifting it to his ear. His voice dropped low, sharp and cold.

“Finally calling me? Now you understand the consequences of running away from my house?”

On the other end, a woman’s uncertain voice came through. “Hello… um, are you her husband? I—I was wondering if you could maybe send some money? She’s hurt, and I think I need to take her to the emergency room.”

Victor's eyes flashed with uncontrollable fury. His jaw clenched, veins standing out at his temple as he barked, “When did she become so greedy for money? First she runs away from my house, and now she makes excuses just to ask for money?”

The woman stammered, trying to explain. “She’s your wife, isn’t she? She

only needs—”

Victor cut her off, his voice a harsh whip. “If she wants money, she can come to me herself and beg for it!”

He flung the phone to the ground with brutal force. The device shattered, the screen cracking, pieces scattering across the wet, snow-covered pavement.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the street in icy white. Victor's furious eyes turned to William.

“I can’t believe I felt indebted to her. She is going to such lengths to extract money from me?!”

Meanwhile, the woman now disconnected and powerless stared at the broken phone in her hand. She tried to redial, but the screen flickered before going completely black. The battery had died.

Her gaze lifted… and froze.

Genevieve lay on the ground, blood streaking her forehead, her body slumped and

trembling. Her head spun, vision blurring, the frantic words of the woman beside her barely breaking through the haze.

The woman looked around for help, but the dark street was deserted, no soul in sight. Her breath misted in the cold air as her gaze dropped to Genevieve, lying on the ground with blood running from her forehead. Pity softened her eyes.

“This is your husband?” she asked, her voice rough with disbelief. “He hung up the instant I asked him to send some money so I could call an ambulance for you. I’m sorry… I don’t have a single dollar to help.”

The woman’s own clothes were tattered, barely enough to cover herself.

Her thin hands trembled as she glanced around nervously. “Those thieves… they’re not here anymore. But what if they come back?” she whispered under her breath. “Thank God I came on time. I wonder what they would’ve done to you if I hadn’t heard your voice and rushed over.”

On the ground, Genevieve stirred faintly. Her lashes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. She forced her eyes open, her vision swimming, her temples throbbing with every faint beat of her heart.

With trembling arms, she pushed herself up, her breath shallow and uneven.

Her gaze fell on the shattered phone lying in the woman’s hand. Reaching out, her fingers shook as she took it back, her voice emerging weak and broken, barely more than a whisper.

“It’s all right. Thank you… I’ll be fine.”

The beggar woman stared in shock. “Fine? Look at you!”But Genevieve had already struggled to her feet. Her hair hung loose around her pale face, streaked with blood at the temple. One sandal had been lost while

fleeing; the other she now slipped off and tossed aside. She stood barefoot on the icy ground, snow clinging to her toes.

“How many years have you been married to this man?” the woman asked, curiosity laced with shock as she rose to her feet.

“Five years,” she answered softly. “We’re divorced now.”

The woman gasped. “Five years of marriage, and he wouldn’t spare even a few dollars to save your life?” Her gaze swept over Mia’s coat and pale face. “From your clothes, you don’t look poor like me. Your husband must

be rich. Still, he refused?”

Genevieve gave her a small, weary smile. “We’re divorced,” she repeated, as if the

word was enough explanation.

“Maybe… maybe if I had explained properly how badly you were injured, he would have listened,” the woman muttered, guilt shadowing her eyes.

“But he hung up before I could get the words out.”

“There’s no use telling him,” Genevieve said softly. Her tone was flat, her eyes hollow. “He’ll only tell me to take care of it myself.”

The woman’s chest tightened. She looked at Mia’s bloodied forehead with pity. “But what about your injury? You need to go to the hospital right now.

It looks bad.”

Genevieve's hand tightened around her phone until her knuckles turned white.

“I’ll manage,” she murmured. Then she turned and began walking down the snow-covered street, her bare feet stinging against the icy ground.

The woman’s eyes softened with helpless pity. At last, she sighed, turned, and shuffled back toward her hut on the corner of the street, her shadow disappearing into the night.

Genevieve walked forward alone. The snow crunched under her bare feet, cold slicing through her skin until they burned numb. She hugged her coat tighter against her shivering frame. Each step sent a wave of pain through

her body. Her head throbbed, her vision dimmed, but she forced herself onward.After leaving Victor's house last night, she had wandered without direction.

No relatives. No home. Nowhere to go. She had spent hours sitting on a hard bench at the train station, her suitcase at her side, staring blankly at the announcement board as trains came and went. Time itself had seemed to halt; the world moved forward, but she remained frozen.

In the morning, she gathered her courage and went to a cemetery. With the last of her money, she bought flowers, offerings, and a small resting place for her parents’ ashes.

She had sat before their graves until the snow began to cover her shoulders.

Not a single tear fell. Her heart had gone silent numb beyond grief. Only when the caretaker had gently urged her to leave did she rise, carrying her suitcase once again into the unknown.

Dragging her suitcase, she walked out into the streets again.

She hadn’t noticed the two men following her. It was only when they cornered her in a deserted street that she realized their intent. They struck

her, snatched her belongings, and took the suitcase from her hands. Her forehead was split in the struggle, her body weakened but before the.thieves could finish, the sound of approaching footsteps spooked them, and they ran off into the night. That’s when the beggar woman found her.

Now, Genevieve stumbled forward, blood dripping, clutching her broken phone

like her last lifeline. Her head pounded. Each breath scraped her lungs. She staggered forward, snow blurring beneath her vision. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her body swayed.

Then came the sound again—footsteps. Heavy. Urgent. Closing in fast.

Genevieve heart lurched. ‘They’ve come back… the thieves have come back.’

But her body gave out, her strength vanished.

Her legs gave way, her arms too weak to lift. The street spun. The world.collapsed into a dizzy haze.

And before she could think, scream, or run, darkness swallowed her whole.

Victor stormed inside his mansion, his steps heavy and sharp against the marble floor, the cold air of the grand hallway filled with his simmering anger. William followed closely behind, trying to match his pace. The sound

of the door slamming echoed through the silent hall. Both men walked toward the grand staircase, their breath visible in the faint chill of the winter air still clinging to their coats.

“Mr. Hale,” William said urgently, his tone edged with concern. “Are you really not going to send Madam the money? What if she truly needs it?

What if it’s something serious?”

Victor halted mid-step. He turned to face William. His expression was cold,

the fury in his eyes glinting beneath the soft light of the chandelier above.

“How much more money does that woman want from me?” he snapped.

“For five years, her parents drained me dry by marrying their daughter off to me. The moment they saw my company in the news, they came running with a marriage proposal!”

His tone turned bitter, filled with restrained rage.

“How much money have I given her all these years? Bags. Jewelry. Clothes.

Every single thing is worth hundreds of thousands. Why doesn’t she sell one if she’s that desperate for money? With everything I gave her, she could live comfortably for decades!”

He scoffed, stepping closer to William. “That woman is insatiable!” he hissed. “No matter how much I give, she wants more. Always more.

Everything I gave was never enough. Even now, after walking out of my house and declaring a fucking divorce, she still wants more. When the hell is she going to be satisfied?!”

Victor turned to leave, his steps heavy with frustration.

“Mr. Hale wait! All those gifts, the jewelry, the bank card you gave her… Madam didn’t take a single thing when she left,” William called out.

Victor froze, his body stiffening. “What?” His head snapped back, brows drawn tight in disbelief.

William continued, carefully choosing his words. “Madam only took one suitcase the clothes she brought from her home when she got married. She didn't even take the clothes you bought her after marriage. She left

everything else behind.”

Victor's eyes narrowed, confusion mixing with disbelief.

“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Hale,” William stood firm, though his voice softened. “Everything you ever bought for her, it’s all still here. You can check her room yourself.”

For a brief second, Victor didn’t move. Then, his jaw tightened.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the silent house, each step thundering louder than the last as he made a beeline for her bedroom.

He pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside, striding straight toward the walk-in closet. His hand gripped the handle, and with a forceful pull, he threw the door open.

The sight before him stopped him cold.

Inside, the room was lined with neatly stacked boxes—designer bags,

shoes, jewelry, perfumes, all perfectly arranged. The faint scent of unopened leather and luxury filled the air. Tags still hung from untouched

clothes. The shelves gleamed under the soft light, as if everything inside was brand new, preserved like a museum display.victor walked in slowly, his gaze darting from one shelf to another, his expression shifting from anger to surprise. He picked up a perfume bottle,

its seal unbroken. The liquid inside shimmered, full to the brim. Not a single drop was missing. He stared at it, his reflection caught in the clear

glass.

“Why didn’t she use any of this?” he muttered under his breath.

Behind him, William stood silently, observing his boss struggle to process the shocking sight. The normally inviting scent of luxury now felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Victor's fingers tightened around the perfume bottle, knuckles whitening.

“Doesn’t she love money more than anything?” he spat, voice sharp with bitterness. “Her parents married her off to me just for my wealth. And yet…” He gestured toward the untouched luxury items. “Why didn’t she

use any of it all these years? Didn’t take a single thing when she left?”

His eyes snapped toward William, desperate for an answer that made sense.

“Why didn’t she take any of it?” he demanded again.

William hesitated, then spoke softly. “Mr. Hale, Madam never asked you to give her anything. All of this…” He gestured toward the luxury items.

“…I purchased and placed in her closet every time a new collection came out, following your orders, so she could wear them to business events with you. She never once asked to buy anything herself. So how could she…”

He stopped, swallowing the unspoken words ‘have married you for your wealth?’

Instead, he looked at victor and continued. “She never once threatened to divorce you before. In all these years, she never mentioned leaving. But this time…” He paused, then added quietly. “This time, she left without a word

and divorced you. I think… she really means it.”

Victor went still. His body stiffened; his breath caught in his throat.

The bottle in his hand trembled, the tension in his fingers so tight it might shatter. The coat hanging from his arm suddenly felt like a dead weight dragging him down.

He swallowed hard, his head lowering as a flood of memories from the last five years rushed through his mind. The cold silences, the unanswered calls, the countless times he had dismissed her presence.

Then, abruptly, he lifted his head, his eyes wild with denial. “No,” he muttered. “That’s not possible.”

He waved the perfume bottle toward the closet, filled with untouched luxury. “Look at this. What woman would leave all this behind? What woman would walk away from this? From all of this?!”

He let out a harsh laugh, bitter and hollow. “Does she think I’m a fool who won’t see through her act of pretending to be some… selfless saint?”

The next moment, he hurled the perfume bottle at the ground.It shattered with a violent crash. The scent of expensive perfume flooded

the room, sharp and overpowering. The liquid spread across the hardwood floor, glistening under the dim light, while shards of glass scattered everywhere.

Victor stood still, his chest rising and falling with quiet fury. Then he turned and walked out, the sound of glass crunching under his shoes echoing behind him.

It wasn’t long before night fell quietly over the city. Inside the mansion, Victor sat slouched in his study, his head resting against the back of the chair. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the desk lamp, the papers scattered before him long forgotten. He had worked until exhaustion took over, his body finally giving in as sleep crept up on him.

But it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breath uneven and restless. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed, his face tense.

It was the kind of sleep that trapped him in an anxious trance, one that made his body twitch and his mind spiral deeper into unease.

Behind those closed lids, a haunting vision replayed itself.

Snow fell thick and heavy in a dark, endless street. Through the blur of white, a figure appeared.

She was lying on the ground, her body still, her dress soaked in blood. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed, her lips faintly parted. The blood spread beneath her, staining the snow crimson.

Victor's body jerked violently. His hands twitched, and within seconds, he shot upright in the chair. His breathing was rough, his chest heaving as a wave of fear and confusion struck through him.

His voice came out low, shaken, and raw as he whispered into the darkness,“genevive…” The name left his lips before he could think.

For a second, his mind was blank. It took him a moment to realize he had only been dreaming.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Why the hell would I dream about that woman?” The irritation in his voice couldn’t mask the anxiety in his chest.