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.

The fact that Bryan hadn't had a child yet weighed heavily on Cody's mind.

Summoning the young couple into his study, he fixed them with a look of stern authority.

"Bryan, you and Willa have been married four years now," he said, voice carrying the weight of expectation. "Let's be frank—when are you two going to give me a great-grandchild?"

Willa's lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze flickered briefly to her own belly.

She didn't utter a word.

Bryan finally broke the silence. "Stuff like this doesn't happen overnight," he noted with a shrug.

"Utter nonsense!" Cody snapped, his cane thudding sharply against the floor. "You're just making excuses and brushing off what I've said."

A gentler look crossed his face as he shifted his gaze to Willa.

To him, she had always been the model granddaughter-in-law—gentle, patient, swallowing every grievance without complaint.

Without a hint of emotion, Bryan kept his face unreadable. "Grandpa, I'm just telling the truth. These things can't be rushed."

That only stoked Cody's irritation. He lifted the cane again and gave Bryan a firm tap on the shoulder.

"Enough out of you! Don't think I missed the news that made the rounds online last time..." He broke off mid-sentence, his tone flipping in an instant as he smiled kindly at Willa. "Ah, maybe my old eyes were fooling me. Willa, if this brat ever dares to mistreat you, you come straight to me."

Those words made Willa's chest tighten as she remembered the cold reception she had received from Bryan over the past four years. Her nose stung, and tears welled before she could stop them.

Standing close, Bryan wore a grim look, the crease between his brows growing sharper. "Seriously? You're crying over something this small?"

For a moment, Cody stiffened, convinced Bryan had actually done something unforgivable. "Apologize to Willa this instant," he commanded.

"Grandpa, I haven't wronged her. There's no reason I should be apologizing," Bryan countered, just as Cody's cane cracked against his knee.

A low grunt escaped him, his leg buckling from the blow.

Startled, Willa dabbed at her tears and quickly said, "No, really, it's nothing. A little bug flew into my eye, that's all."

Bryan shot her a frigid glance and muttered under his breath, "Willa, are you crying on purpose just so I'll get blamed?"

He dismissed her tears as another bout of needless dramatics.

"I'm sorry," Willa murmured, forcing a smile. "I didn't mean to—there really was a bug."

Cody drew in a slow breath and handed her a packet of tissues, his tone softening. "I'll give you two a little more time," he said meaningfully. "But don't forget—I'm still waiting for a great-grandchild."

Once they stepped out of the study, Willa slipped back into the guest room.

She opened her laptop, her fingers trembling as she typed—medical abortion risks during early pregnancy. Line after line filled the screen, each more terrifying than the last.

She was so absorbed that the faint sound of the door opening slipped right past her.

A tall shadow crossed the light behind her, the air shifting as someone came close enough for her to feel it—warm breath brushing the back of her neck, sending a chill through her spine.

Jolted by surprise, Willa slammed her laptop shut, pulse hammering in her ears.

"What are you looking at?" Bryan drawled, his tone sharp with suspicion. "You look like you've been caught red-handed. What's on there—something indecent?"

He leaned closer until his broad chest brushed against her narrow shoulders, the faint scent of cologne and heat closing in. His brows drew together as he realized how much weight she'd lost since the last time he'd held her.

Forcing calm, Willa slid the laptop to the side. She said coolly, "Just porn."

Bryan's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Porn, huh? Tell me, are you that desperate for intimacy? Or is it that I fail to satisfy you in bed, and now you've started watching garbage to make up for it?"

The dam of her restraint finally cracked. Four years' worth of frustration burned through her voice. "I used to think you were good-looking enough to make up for your flaws," she sneered. "Even if you didn't last long, I could live with it. But it turns out, you're terrible at it too. Guess I have to look elsewhere for satisfaction."

That fierce defiance had always been part of her. If not for being blinded by love back then, she would never have entangled herself with Bryan, no matter how rich he was.

Bryan's lip curled into a cruel sneer. "I'm not taking that."

Their closeness was suffocating. He could feel the soft press of her chest against him—unexpectedly full for her slight figure.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You like crying in front of Grandpa so much? I can make you cry for real, and in a thousand different ways. Want me to prove it?"

Though he felt a physical pull toward her, he wrote it off as mere desire.

Despite herself, Willa's cheeks flushed, betraying both disbelief and the faint stir of heat his brazen words provoked.