Andrea was the very model of a Capital City heiress—disciplined, proper, flawless.

But in this moment, she was lost in her husband’s relentless rhythm.

Under the warm canopy of their curtained bed, Andrea’s eyes, hazy with pleasure, gazed up adoringly at William as he moved above her with a low groan. In the final instant, he raised his hands and covered her eyes.

His whisper brushed her ear. “Be good. Give it to me.”

Blushing, Andrea arched her back higher, offering herself to him completely.

The next moment, a dagger plunged straight into her chest.

William’s murmur turned vicious. “Be good! This time, give me your heart!”

It was the eighth wound he had inflicted for Sandra’s sake.

“Andrea, this is what you owe her. You have to bear it.”

The haze in Andrea’s eyes vanished. She turned her face away, listening numbly to the flurry of movement in the room, her lowered gaze hollow with despair.

Her voice came out flat. “Is that so? Then my debt is paid.”

Whether it was the life he saved ten years ago, or the tangled disgrace from three.

A decade past, during a city festival, William had rescued Andrea from a kidnapper’s grasp. Still a youth then, he’d been impatient with the little girl’s tears, yet he held her close, his voice gruff but steady. From that day, William was etched into Andrea’s heart. She watched him from afar at banquets, never daring to speak—because Sandra was always at his side.

She saw him pick flowers for Sandra, tuck them into her hair. She saw him keep vigil all night in the Sanctum, praying for her protection. She saw him fly into a rage for Sandra’s sake, offend Prince Logan, and suffer injuries that kept him abed for half a year.

Then, three years ago, a drugged William pulled a passing Andrea into a room.

The girl’s secret longing was laid bare before the world.

Everyone said the young miss of Andrea’s Family Estate was lovesick and desperate, that she’d used a vile trick to climb into the bed of the newly-engaged young marquis—forcing him to break his childhood promise and marry her instead.

Even William believed it. He despised her utterly.

So when Sandra collapsed, vomiting blood, during their betrothal ceremony, William drove a sword into Andrea’s chest without hesitation. A revered Sanctum seer had declared it her punishment for stealing another’s destined match; only a medicine from her heart’s blood could break the curse.

And Andrea accepted it. Though none of it was her doing, the secret joy in her heart filled her with guilt.

She thought one sword thrust had settled the debt. She never imagined it was only the beginning.

Then came the second, on their wedding night. The third, at the Mid-Autumn banquet… up to this, the eighth.

“Young Miss…”

Her maid Layla’s voice, choked with tears, sounded in Andrea’s ear.

Andrea turned her head, offering a smile uglier than any sob. “Tomorrow at the palace, I will ask Aunt Victoria to help me get a divorce!”

From the day she met William until now—eight years. Three years, eight wounds. If one stab counted for each year, it was enough. Enough to cancel the past.

***

The next morning, Andrea woke to find William sitting beside the bed, watching her with a complicated expression.

“Sandra is well now. She…”

Andrea hadn’t expected the first word from her husband to be that name. Three years of endurance shattered in an instant.

“Sandra! Sandra! If your heart holds only Sandra, why did you marry me?” Her voice broke. “We are husband and wife! I… I’m in pain, too!”

She tore the bandage from her chest, revealing the terrible lattice of scars beneath.

William’s breath caught. He looked away, as if he couldn’t bear the sight, and carefully rewrapped the wound. “It won’t hurt anymore. Never again.”

“Court Physician Patrick perfected an ointment. Next time, you won’t feel a thing.”

Andrea’s voice died in her throat. She pushed William away and stared at him, perfectly still.

Meeting her calm gaze, William felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of panic.

“Get some rest.” He dropped the words and left.

Andrea began to laugh—a raw, wrenching sound that twisted into tears.

Why had she been foolish enough to believe William could ever ache for her?

Even after three years of giving him everything he asked, managing his estate, enduring every slight—none of it equaled a single, careless glance from Sandra.

Like last year’s harvest festival, when William gave her a bracelet. Sandra had merely glanced at it, and he’d immediately taken it from Andrea’s wrist—the very wrist he had placed it on.

Andrea wiped her tears dry and called out sharply.

“Layla, help me dress. We are going to the palace.”

Victoria's Palace.

Victoria, Andrea's aunt, gazed at her with an ache of pure tenderness. "Oh, my poor child. What have they done to you?"

At that, Andrea finally shattered. A sob tore from her throat. "Auntie... I want a divorce."

The wave of emotion was overwhelming. Her vision swam, then darkened completely as she collapsed.

She came to with Victoria looking down, a complex sorrow shadowing her eyes. "Andrea... you were pregnant."

Andrea went utterly still. Her hand drifted slowly to her abdomen.

Victoria drew a steadying breath, her voice soft with regret. "But the baby... didn't survive. I'm so sorry."

A shudder ran through Andrea. A profound emptiness hollowed her out, followed by a hot, silent flood of tears she could not stem.

"Maybe... maybe it's for the best," she whispered, her voice scraped raw. "I came here to ask for a divorce anyway."

Victoria watched her, deep concern etched on her face.

"Don't worry, Auntie. I'm... I'm alright. After all..." Her voice faded, memories of two years ago rushing in.

The Mid-Autumn Banquet, two years past.

One moment, William had been smiling softly, placing choice morsels in her bowl. The next, his sword was pointed at *her*—all because Sandra had coughed up blood.

She remembered stumbling back, shaking her head in frantic denial.

She had felt the cold kiss of his blade at her heart twice before. The terror of it was bone-deep. She had fallen to her knees, begging, but he only advanced, his sword unwavering.

When the steel pierced her for the third time, something else happened.

This time, the blood was not just from her chest.

While everyone crowded around Sandra, the life within her had silently seeped away, lost in that spreading crimson stain.

Perhaps the seed of disillusionment was planted then. Or perhaps it was on her wedding night, when he had thrust a sword into her before even lifting her veil.

Now, after being discarded for Sandra time and again, that seed had finally taken root and hardened into a single, unshakable resolve.

"Auntie," Andrea said, her voice eerily calm. "I *will* have my divorce."

Victoria studied her placid face, then reached out to stroke her hair with aching fondness. "Andrea, the Emperor is away for the monthly rites. Wait until he returns to the palace. I will secure the decree for you then."

"Use this month to regain your strength. And take stock of your dowry. Everything that is yours."

Looking at her aunt's caring expression—a look she had only ever seen William give Sandra—fresh tears welled in Andrea's eyes. She wept for the three wasted years of her life.

After a few days of rest in the palace and finalizing plans with Victoria, Andrea left for William's Family Estate with Layla. She was exhausted, body and soul, and desperately needed peace.

But the moment she stepped through the estate gates, a sharp voice sliced across the courtyard.

"Halt! Have you no manners? Do you not see your elders? Was all that etiquette training for nothing?"

It was Ariana, William's mother, glaring at her with open displeasure.

Andrea thought of the single month left. *Best not to stir trouble.* Summoning the last of her energy, she forced herself into a curtsy. "Mother. Aunt Dorothy."

The motion made her head spin. The world tilted; she swayed, stumbling sideways.

Layla moved swiftly, catching her before she fell.

Ariana slammed a hand on the table. "Andrea! What is this pathetic act? Has this house ever mistreated you?"

Dorothy, standing beside her, sniffed with derision. "Sister-in-law, it seems you didn't marry a daughter-in-law, but welcomed a fragile princess. A simple curtsy, and she faints from the strain."

Seeing Andrea's deathly pallor, Layla burst into tears. "Madam, my lady, she's not—"

Before she could finish, Ariana shot a look at a matron behind her. The woman stepped forward and struck Layla hard across the face.

"Insolence! Who gave you, a servant, leave to speak? Hold your tongue!"

Layla was immediately dragged aside. Andrea, now unsupported, barely managed to steady herself. The sickening sound of blows and Layla's muffled cries filled the air.

"Layla!"

Panicked, Andrea rushed forward, shoving the matron away and pulling Layla to her feet. "Mother, Layla is under my care. If she has erred, I will discipline her myself in my own quarters."

This defiance sent Ariana into a rage. Her finger trembled as she pointed at Andrea. "How dare you! Am I, the mistress of this house, not permitted to discipline a mere maid? Guards!"

At her command, maids and matrons swarmed forward, seizing Andrea and Layla.

"Take the young mistress to the ancestral hall! No food is to be sent. Let her reflect on her behavior!"

"As for that little maid, thirty lashes! Then sell her off!"

On Ariana's unspoken order, the women pinched and twisted the flesh of their captives. Sharp pain made Andrea and Layla struggle violently.

The scene descended into chaos.

"What is the meaning of this?"

A cold, authoritative voice cut through the noise. William stood there, supporting a pale Sandra, his brow furrowed as he took in the commotion.

Everyone froze until Dorothy stepped forward, a placating smile on her lips.

“That insolent maid spoke out of turn to her mistress. A slap was all she deserved. But your wife”—she gestured toward Andrea—“has no sense of priority, defying her own mother-in-law over a mere servant.”

“Madam, please don’t blame them. It’s my fault.”

Sandra leaned weakly against William’s chest, dabbing the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.

“I fell ill yesterday—I had to let Andrea endure that cut. She must hold a grudge.”

Then she turned a reproachful gaze on Andrea. “But Andrea, I’d get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness if you asked. You shouldn’t take your anger out on Madam.”

Any trace of guilt William had felt toward Andrea evaporated.

“She should be the one kneeling! Begging for your forgiveness! This is what she owes you!”

Too distracted to stay angry, Ariana hurried forward and took Sandra’s hand, her eyes soft with pity.

“Your health comes first. Someone like her isn’t worth your concern.”

Her tone hardened as she glared at Andrea. “Taking her temper out on me is one thing. But if she ever dares direct it at you, I’ll have her locked in the chapel to transcribe scriptures—using her own blood for ink!”

“Exactly, Sandra! Your health is all that matters. Her only value in this house is her usefulness to you.”

Dorothy shot Andrea a sidelong glance.

Andrea let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. Three years of dutiful service, and this was her reward—venomous words.

Cold from her chest wound shot through her, a vise tightening around her heart.

“You’ve all misunderstood. I’m sure Andrea meant no harm.”

Offering a helpless smile, Sandra pulled away from William and walked toward Andrea.

William followed protectively behind, his eyes fixed on Sandra, blind to Andrea whose face had long since lost all color.

The sight stabbed at Andrea’s eyes. She clenched her teeth, biting hard into her lower lip.

“Andrea, it’s all my fault for being so frail. But it’s not something I can control. Ever since three years ago…”

Sandra’s voice hitched. Andrea didn’t miss how William’s hands clenched at that moment, nor the guilt and heartache in his eyes as he looked at Sandra. It made her own three years here feel like a cruel joke.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered. I resisted at first, but the pain was unbearable. And it just so happens… only your blood can ease it.”

Sandra stepped closer. Gently, she took Andrea’s hand, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“I was the one who drugged him three years ago. Everything was arranged perfectly, but you slipped through and took what was mine. You should have died.”

A pause, then softer, colder: “Oh, and the blood-letting cure? I invented it. I loved watching you tremble in fear.”

Andrea’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You—”

“Ah!”

Sandra let out a sharp cry and collapsed to the ground, looking up at Andrea with wounded eyes.

“Andrea, I know you resent me. It’s alright—I deserve it. I only wanted to thank you…”

William’s expression darkened instantly. He carefully helped Sandra up, handed her off to Ariana, then turned a glacial stare on Andrea.

“Andrea! Do you have a death wish?”

Still reeling, Andrea felt William’s hand close around her throat. The grip was so brutal her pale face flushed crimson in an instant.

“I… didn’t…”

“William! What are you doing? Let her go!”

Sandra beat at his arm, urgent tears welling.

“Sandra, you’re always too kind, always thinking of others. But she doesn’t just reject your kindness—she dares to hurt you!”

“Don’t worry. I’m only teaching her a lesson. I won’t injure her and delay the next treatment.”

William shoved Andrea away and pulled Sandra into his arms.

“Know your place. Don’t covet what was never meant to be yours.”

Andrea fell to the ground, coughing violently, her face paler than ever.

“What was never meant to be mine? You?”

She looked at them and laughed coldly.

“Then I don’t want it!”

William frowned deeply, staring at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“A divorce. To free you, and to free me.”

“Impossible! You’ll leave this family feet first, or not at all.”

Ariana was the first to react, trembling with rage.

“I will not let you disgrace this family. You’ll die under this roof if that’s what it takes! This is your own doing—you’re the one who shamelessly climbed into my son’s bed!”

Her hand waved sharply. “You will kneel here until you understand your place!”

The matrons behind her stepped forward and forced Andrea to her knees.

She couldn’t resist. They manhandled her, and fresh blood seeped through the bandages on her chest.

“Miss!”

Layla tried to rush forward, but other maids pinned her down.

William merely watched, his indifference cold and complete.