This year, all the major companies in Seattle were hosting Thanksgiving gala dinners, and as the husband of a prominent socialite, Kylan was expected to bring a woman home. Countless young women and models surrounded him, each doing their utmost to become tonight's chosen one.

But Kylan's gaze fell on me, his smile teasing. "Of course, my charming companion should be chosen personally by my wife," he said. I smiled back and pointed to a woman who looked most like Eleanor.

He complimented my choice, then, egged on by the crowd, jokingly suggested that he and the girl should have a child for me to raise. Before I could respond, he shook his head with a smirk. "I might not care about a child she has on her own, but I certainly wouldn't want my well-bred child to be brought up to be as dull as she is."

I felt like an animal in a cage, watched by judgmental eyes amid the laughter. I knew this charade should have ended long ago.

As Kylan finished speaking, I felt the eyes on me from all directions. Mockery and scorn, like watching a performance. They wouldn't respect me just because I was Kylan's wife. After all, Kylan's disdain for me was an open secret. I was merely the partner from a failed alliance when Kylan lost both his parents and his family faced bankruptcy.

In the past, I was indifferent to Eleanor’s ruin, his true love. Over the years, I lost count of how many humiliations I've endured, but this time, I wouldn't let it slide. Suddenly, the towering champagne tower was toppled. The vibrant red wine spilled across the floor.

The lights reflected off the spilled wine and glasses, and before anyone could react, I spun around and slapped Kylan hard across the face. The sharp sound silenced the party. In the stunned silence, I massaged my stinging hand and smiled, pulling the tablecloth to overturn the entire table.

Rich sauces and the sounds of breaking glass cascaded together. The young model beside Kylan shrieked as hot soup splattered her. Kylan, who had been watching me with a cold expression, finally spoke.

"Margaret, what kind of madness is this?" he demanded.

I ignored him. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a waiter holding a spiced honey cake. The smile on my lips grew. Perfect.

I stepped forward, took the spiced honey cake from the waiter's hand, and returned to stand in front of Kylan. "Happy Thanksgiving," I said with a smile, pressing the entire cake into his face. The sweet cream slid down from Kylan’s chin, staining his expensive suit.

The noise stopped abruptly. Everyone watched Kylan, eager to see how he would handle his unruly partner in this farcical marriage. But Kylan merely wiped his face with a hand. The smattering of cream only accentuated his attractiveness, lending him an air of aloofness.

He looked up at me, his lips curving slightly. "Are you done?"

Kylan's voice was calm, as if what I had done was utterly mundane. He was always like this, no matter how emotional I became, he remained composed, almost indifferent. He lorded over me, driving me to madness.

"If you're pregnant, try not to act up," he said with a smile, his gaze dropping to my abdomen. "Don't worry, the Riley heir will come from you. As for the others, they're just outside distractions."

The girl beside Kylan placed a hand on his shoulder, chiming in, "That's right, dear. I'm just happy to stay by Mr. Riley's side and won't ask for anything more. Such a good cake shouldn't be wasted."

Her voice was soft and sweet. Kylan took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "You're always the sweetest," he said, his smile charming and entirely different from the stern expression he reserved for me.

I suddenly found it all laughable and absurd. The perseverance of the past crumbled into shards, buried in the wreckage of this chaotic party. "Kylan, my biggest regret is carrying your child. I'm not keeping it, and I’ve never cared about the Riley inheritance."

This sordid, filthy place—I didn't want to stay a second longer. Turning away, Kylan’s indifferent threat followed me. "Margaret, if you walk out that door today, don't come back."

I paused, turned around. Kylan had just begun to smirk when I yanked the ring off my finger and hurled it at his face. "Keep it."

The early autumn night was chillier than expected. Despite the cold that seemed to seep into my bones, I felt as if I had been given a fresh start.

Honestly, I’d wanted to make a change for a long time, ever since Kylan Riley started his relentless attempts to humiliate me. But the tangled web of our past connections had bound me like a marionette, leaving me without a way to resist.

The city buzzed around me, neon signs flickering overhead. I turned my head slightly, my thoughts drifting far away. Kylan had been my first crush during my naive teenage years. Now that things had completely fallen apart, I expected heartbreak. Instead, I felt nothing but numbness and relief.

I exhaled deeply as cars sped by, suddenly realizing that in this bustling city, I had nowhere to go. So I hailed a cab back to Kylan's mansion.

As expected, Kylan wasn't home. I packed a few of my clothes, leaving behind the expensive jewelry and Victorian dresses. They belonged to Mrs. Riley, not to me.

My eyes landed on the table where the fertility treatment report was lying. Gently placing a hand on my stomach, I whispered an apology and immediately scheduled an appointment to terminate the pregnancy.

Throughout our years of marriage, Kylan had never so much as touched me. His family was eager for grandchildren, but Kylan was indifferent, leaving all the pressure on me. After countless pleas, Kylan finally agreed to try fertility treatment with me. How ironic that he, the unwilling party, left me to bear the brunt of it.

Thankfully, I could finally let it go. I ripped the test report into pieces. As the white fragments fluttered through the air, I saw my youth, once trapped by Kylan, being set free.

Before leaving the room, I noticed the photo on the bedside table. The girl in the photo had her hair in a ponytail, wore a white shirt and jeans, and was smiling brightly at the camera.

She was Kylan's muse, the one he couldn’t forget all these years. But she was also my muse, my older sister.

I reached out, gently tracing my sister’s face in the photo. “Sister, we’re going home.”

This photo was the last thing I took from Kylan’s house.

After some deliberation, I boarded the train back to my hometown. It had been ages since I last returned, and the old family home, neglected for years, looked thoroughly rundown. It needed major renovations to be livable again.

“This house is too old. Even after renovations, it won’t be fit to live in. Might as well sell it and buy a new one,” said a voice from behind me. Startled, I took a few quick steps forward and turned around.

A scholarly-looking man with glasses and a backpack stood there with a friendly smile. I was sure I hadn’t seen him before. Skeptical yet cautious, I didn’t respond to his comment.

He didn’t seem to expect a response, instead humming a tune as he entered the house next door. So, he was a neighbor. I breathed a sigh of relief, my guard somewhat lowered.

But on the first day of renovation, the side room collapsed, inconveniently landing on the neighbor’s roof. I rushed out to apologize, only to find the man from before standing outside recording the scene on his phone.

His expression was calm, even relaxed, as if it wasn’t his roof that had been damaged. Quite an unusual person indeed...