Taking a deep breath, Willa forced her composure back into place before flagging down a cab to the villa. By the time she arrived, Bryan had already been home, immersed in work inside the study.

When she pushed the door open, his icy gaze lifted, and a deep frown etched across his brow.

"Seriously? You can't even knock before storming in?" His voice carried a cold edge of irritation.

Bitterness welled up inside her, but she kept her expression composed. With a sharp motion, she swung the door shut so hard it rattled on its hinges.

A moment later, her knuckles pounded against the wood again—each strike louder, angrier, as though she might tear the entire door down.

Five long minutes crawled by before his voice came, clipped and low. "Come in."

Her breathing steadied as she stepped inside, holding out a few freshly printed photos of Bryan and Caylee from the hospital. "Is this you?"

Bryan barely spared them a glance. "If your eyes still work," he said flatly, "then you already know the answer."

Grinding her teeth, Willa demanded sharply, "Do you seriously have nothing to say for yourself?"

He finally looked up, his expression carved from ice. "Why should I explain myself? Our marriage was founded on coercion, not love—a fact you are well aware of."

Her gaze dropped to the faint red marks peeking out from his collar—obvious traces of another woman.

The sight froze her in place. After several trembling seconds, she managed a rasped whisper. "Bryan…"

He ignored the tremor in her voice, turned another page, and said flatly, "If you've got nothing better to do, go iron the clothes I left in the bedroom."

A sneer escaped her.

"Let's get a divorce," she hissed. "Since you hate me, we should end this."

The corners of Bryan's eyes tightened, a trace of mockery in his gaze as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "What did you just say?"

Her voice trembled at first, but steadied as she went on, "I said I want a divorce. First the fireworks display in the news, and now taking her to her prenatal checkup? I've had enough."

Every week, she'd accompanied him back to Scott Mansion, smiling on cue for Cody's sake, maintaining the illusion of a harmonious marriage. The charade had long worn her down.

Their union had started as a repayment of an old debt between their grandfathers. Yet after four years of her earnest effort, she had hoped that even his frostbitten heart might thaw a little.

Instead, he'd remained unchanged—and now another woman carried his child.

She couldn't keep up the pretense anymore.

Bryan leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Why are you throwing a tantrum? Caylee needed a checkup, and I took her out to see some fireworks afterward. What? You have an issue with that?"

His tone stayed cold and detached, like always—devoid of even a flicker of warmth.

Willa met his gaze head-on. "Do you have any idea where I almost ended up that night after leaving the Scott Mansion? Do you even realize that if it hadn't been for that car crash, I'd have been sexually assaulted by another man and kicked out of the Scott family?"

Bryan's eyes flicked toward her, icy and unreadable, yet every word that followed cut deep. "Martin used that so-called favor to secure this marriage for you. If you were really involved in a scandal, even if my family drove you away, you'd have no right to complain."

He made no move to clarify what he and Caylee truly were. To him, it wasn't worth the effort.

Her lashes trembled as old memories surged—how she'd first seen him at a university lecture, standing before a crowd in a dark, fitted suit, his voice smooth, his presence magnetic. He'd seemed untouchable then, brilliant and composed, the kind of man who drew every eye without trying.

From the moment she fell for him at first sight until now, seven years had passed. Yet, it seemed her love had always been hers alone.

After her grandfather passed and her grandmother fell gravely ill, tragedy struck again—her mother died unexpectedly. Soon after, her father remarried and started a new family, welcoming a son with his second wife.

Left to shoulder everything alone, Willa devoted herself to caring for her ailing grandmother. It was during that difficult time she met Bryan and fell hopelessly in love.

"Caylee is carrying your child," Willa remarked, a strained smile curling her lips. "No wonder you couldn't care less whenever Cody urged you to have a child with me. I was such a fool. I actually thought you couldn't perform in the bedroom. Guess I was worrying for nothing."

Bryan's brow furrowed. "Funny," he murmured. "I remember having you shaking under me. How could you suspect that I struggle in the bedroom?"

Her breath caught. The memory hit like a wave—his touch, his heat, the helpless tremor in her limbs. Even recalling it made her skin prickle with unwanted sensation.

Still, she straightened her back, refusing to let him see her falter. "A single night of intimacy doesn't prove anything."

Bryan tossed his pen onto the desk and rose to his feet. Crossing the space between them, he looked down at her with cool indifference. "Seven times in one night and you begged for water twice before dawn—doesn't that prove anything to you?"

Willa's face drained of color. She'd heard that tone too many times—mocking, sharp enough to slice through what little pride she had left.

Taking a small step back, she dropped her gaze and muttered, "Let's stop this, Bryan. Once the divorce is done, you can have children with anyone you want."

Bryan moved closer, the scent of his cologne filling the space between them as he pressed her back against the door.

"You worked so hard to claw your way into the Scott family—now you're walking out just like that?" he queried, his voice low and taunting.

Willa's chest rose and fell with suppressed fury, yet she curved her lips into a brittle smile. "You think you're some big deal? The second someone else lays a damn hand on what's mine, it's garbage to me."

Spinning on her heel, she strode out—only to whirl back, still burning with resentment. Her hand shot out, grabbing the small cactus from his desk.

She'd once picked it out herself, hoping it would shield him from computer radiation and ease his strained eyes.

Now, she intended to dump it in the trash where it belonged.

Bryan's brows knitted, a shadow passing over his face as he watched her storm off.

Willa retreated to her bedroom and fished out her phone to call a lawyer for the divorce papers. As she did, something fluttered from her bag onto the floor.

She bent down and picked it up: a men's health clinic flyer. The memory of a woman pressing it into her hand at the hospital gate flashed vividly through her mind.

Tightening her grip on the phone, she swiped to unlock the screen.

Willa had slipped away, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.

For an entire day, her phone stayed off, her messages unread, as though she'd dropped off the face of the earth.

Bryan was wrapping up work at the office when his phone buzzed with a call from Cody.

"Why can't I reach Willa? Her phone's off, and you can't get through either? What the hell is going on with you two?" Cody's irritated voice barked through the line.

Bryan held the phone away from his ear, his patience thinning. "How would I know?" he snapped, voice clipped and tense.

"She's your wife. If you don't know where she is, who should I ask then? Listen—if you don't bring her with you when you visit me this weekend, don't even think about showing up."

The call ended with a sharp click.

Bryan's brows drew together, his face clouding as he slammed the phone onto his desk.

His assistant, Jarrod Powell, stepped in and laid a freshly printed contract in front of him.

Catching the way Bryan kneaded his temples, dark circles under his eyes, Jarrod ventured, "Mr. Scott, did you clear up that headline with Mrs. Scott?"

Bryan immediately shot back, "Why should I have to explain anything to her?"

A baffled sound slipped out of Jarrod. "You two are legally married. You owe each other at least some loyalty. If gossip is swirling around you, your wife is bound to overthink it. You shouldn't make her cry."

With a nervous little laugh, he tacked on. "Well, except maybe in bed."

That earned him an icy stare as Bryan sneered, "You sound very experienced in relationships."

Bryan then thumbed through his contacts for Willa's number and hit dial, only to be met with silence.

Jarrod's face flushed scarlet. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "There's another matter… Did you tell Mrs. Scott that the rear-end accident last month wasn't an accident at all—that you planned it?"

Bryan's expression darkened, a sharp frown creasing his brow. "You're overstepping your bounds, Jarrod. Mind your own business."

Bryan couldn't quite explain it, but as long as he and Willa kept a respectful distance, life ran smoothly. She handled the housework with quiet efficiency, preparing his meals, doing the laundry, and every weekend she'd head to Scott Mansion to chat with Cody and help out with family matters. Everything stayed neat and orderly.

After they had shared a passionate night, something shifted.

That night, she'd wound her legs around his waist, her palms framing his face with a tender urgency as she surrendered completely to the moment.

All the restraint he'd kept buried for years erupted in a rush of heat he couldn't contain.

Somehow, he'd been devoured by desire far more easily than he ever thought possible.

On his way out, Jarrod casually set down a tube of allergy relief ointment. "This worked last time you had that peach reaction. With those marks on your neck, anyone would think a woman left them there."

Bryan's gaze lingered on the ointment, and a memory surfaced—an employee had given him some peaches. Just brushing against them had made his skin crawl with unbearable itch.

He opened the lid, and a sharp medicinal scent hit him, stirring a dull ache behind his temples.

His mind drifted to Willa. She'd been skilled at crafting scented candles and always tucked a few into his luggage before business trips. Whenever he lit one in a hotel room, the mellow fragrance would linger for days.

At home, her touch remained in the air too—a soft sweetness of citrus, threaded with faint floral notes that never quite faded.

Bryan pressed his lips into a thin line and tossed the box back across the desk.

His gaze lifted to Jarrod as he instructed, "I asked you to find that driver. It's been a month and you still have nothing."

Jarrod froze, caught off guard. A month ago, when Willa had been drugged, Bryan had received her panicked text. He'd been tied up in an urgent international conference, and their marriage was already on thin ice back then—so he'd sent Jarrod to handle it.

Tracking her phone's signal, Jarrod had rammed straight into the suspect's car. But before he could react, the suspect darted into the shadows and vanished like a ghost.

Snapping back to the present, Jarrod quickly straightened. "We've got a lead. He finally showed himself after a month in hiding. His card was used at a bar. I've already dispatched a team—shouldn't be long before we have him."

Bryan gave a curt nod. Another meeting was about to start, so he didn't linger. But midway through the discussion, his phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

Jarrod meant to decline the call for Bryan but accidentally hit the speakerphone instead.

"Hello, is this Mr. Bryan Scott? You submitted an inquiry about premature ejaculation yesterday. When would you like to come in? Our specialists can provide a free physical examination."

A thick silence dropped over the conference room, suffocating and tense.

Every shareholder stared, stunned. Bryan, still so young, was already having trouble in bed?

Jarrod nearly fumbled the phone in his panic, rushing to end the call. His face went pale as he stammered, "Um, it is a mix-up. The caller must've dialed the wrong number. Just a coincidence with the name."

Bryan's eyes turned glacial as he leveled a look at Jarrod.

That number was private. No one could have leaked it besides that infuriating woman, Willa.

After vanishing for thirty-six hours, Willa finally returned to Serenity Villa—drawn back by Bryan's relentless threats.

Her complexion was ghostly pale, lips drained of color. Alyssa hurried to place a steaming bowl of soup in front of her.

"Mrs. Scott, Mr. Scott said he'll be home tonight," Alyssa murmured gently. "I've got a delicious soup simmering on the stove. When evening comes, you can share it with him."

What Alyssa didn't mention was that she'd secretly stirred an aphrodisiac into the broth.

Having served the Scott family for more than ten years, she'd seen the couple drift further apart and quietly wished Willa would conceive soon—it might keep her place in the household secure.

But Willa barely seemed to hear Alyssa. Her gaze was unfocused, thoughts miles away.

When Bryan returned that night, the first thing he saw was Willa slumped over the table, her face nearly touching the soup.

"Feeling guilty and hiding from me now?" he demanded icily as he stalked forward, his palm slamming down on the table with a sharp crack that rang out across the silence.

Willa didn't flinch. "If anyone should have a guilty conscience, it's you. If you can show your face without shame, why shouldn't I?"

His eyes narrowed to slits, contempt curling his lips. "Don't do anything like this just to get my attention again. That night was a mistake. Stop entertaining delusions and start acting like the wife you're supposed to be."

She had always known he was cold by nature, but hearing him dismiss her years of devotion so easily made something knot painfully in her chest. The humiliation burned, yet she swallowed it down.

Without a word, she slipped the coat from his shoulders, folded it neatly over the chair, and retreated to the kitchen. Soon, the faint aroma of butter and garlic filled the air as she plated a simple serving of spaghetti and set it on the dining table.

"Eat while it's still warm," she said quietly. "I'm heading to bed. We'll visit Cody later this week, and I'll go along with your plans."

She didn't wait for his answer—just turned and disappeared down the hall, her footsteps fading into silence.

Bryan's eyes followed her retreating figure, his brow creasing. Even now, she endured everything in silence—never arguing, never fighting back, no matter how harshly she was treated.

The spaghetti had been handmade by her. Yet the moment he tasted it, he spat it out in disgust.

His expression darkened—of all things, she had added cilantro, the one flavor he loathed most.

By the time Jarrod's call came through, the bitterness still lingered on his tongue.

"Speak!" Bryan snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

For a split second, Jarrod stiffened, caught off guard. "Mr. Scott, we've caught the driver."

Bryan gave a low grunt of acknowledgment.

Drawing a steadying breath, Jarrod rushed on. "He was half-starved and spilled everything. It was… it was your mother, Mrs. Caitlin Scott, who had ordered him to take your wife to a hotel and arranged for someone to rape her to smear her name for good."

Inwardly, he couldn't make sense of it. Caitlin had never shown Willa much kindness, but this level of cruelty was beyond reason. It was downright vicious!

Bryan's lips curved into a cold sneer.

By Saturday evening at eight, he brought Willa back to Scott Mansion.

The moment they stepped inside, she slipped seamlessly into her dutiful act. She knelt beside Cody and massaged his legs, chatting with him in a practiced sweetness that made the old man laugh from ear to ear.

Caitlin kept her temper in check under Cody's watchful eyes. Ever since the driver's escape, unease had made her tread carefully around Bryan.

"I'll see if the kitchen needs a hand. Bryan, you and Willa haven't stayed the night here in ages—keep your grandpa company," she said, already edging toward the door.

Bryan's lips curved into a sharp smirk. "With so many household staff here, I don't see why you have to offer a hand. It seems like you're trying to avoid me."

The mask Caitlin wore slipped, her expression hardening in a blink. "Oh, dear, do you really have to sound so furious?"

Were it not for Cody's frail health, Bryan would've made her pay dearly. Still, he intended to remind her where her place was.

Not long after, Caitlin's phone rang—her father, Steven Lloyd, on the line. His voice trembled with anxiety. The Scott family had abruptly pulled hundreds of millions in investment, and he demanded to know what was going on.

Her stomach sank. She knew exactly why. Rage flickered in her eyes, but she bit her tongue, forcing the frustration down.

That evening, she skipped dinner, pressing a hand to her chest and claiming discomfort before retreating to her room.

Saul Scott, Bryan's father, questioned Bryan after dinner, his voice tight with restrained irritation. "What did you do to upset your mother?"

Bryan leaned back, unbothered. "Maybe she's guilty of something and can't bear to face anyone, so she's hiding behind an excuse."

Across the room, servants bustled about clearing dishes while Willa sat quietly in the living room, carefully peeling an orange for Cody. Saul's eyes flicked toward the scene before returning to Bryan, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure.

"What exactly are you implying?" he demanded in a measured tone.

Bryan's lips curved faintly. "Nothing serious. Just suggesting you keep your partner in check before she crosses the line. I've been under pressure lately. My coping mechanism is to lash out at people."

Saul's heart gave a sharp jolt. Bryan showed none of a son's respect toward Caitlin. Was it because he knew she wasn't his biological mother? Back then, circumstances forced him to part ways with Bryan's mother and wed Caitlin instead.

For more than twenty years, he kept that truth buried. Yet lately, he'd noticed the frost in Bryan's tone whenever Caitlin's name came up.

A plate of neatly peeled oranges appeared before Bryan.

He was fastidious—if the tiniest trace of that stringy white layer stuck to the fruit, he refused to eat it.

But Willa had peeled them with care, her soft smile bright under the warm light.

As she leaned closer, a faint, clean fragrance drifted between them.

Bryan's expression didn't shift as he picked up a slice and bit down, the citrus tang lingering on his tongue.

After a pause, he passed her the plumpest piece. "It's sweet," he said evenly. "Try it."

"I don't..." Before Willa could finish, he slipped the slice past her lips.

The sharp sourness exploded on her tongue, making her scalp prickle. She bit back a gasp, silently fuming. Of all people, Bryan had to be the most vindictive man she'd ever met.