Brayden made his way into the main conference room at TrueLight Group's headquarters, having just come in from outside for the meeting.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a subtle unease settled over him.

Around the table, his executives wore strained, unnatural expressions, their gazes flickering away the instant they met his. Though each of them tried to compose themselves, the tension lingered—thinly veiled curiosity mixed with something that looked disturbingly like pity.

A shadow crept across Brayden's face. Ignoring the odd atmosphere, he pulled out his chair, his movements deliberate as he prepared to begin.

Before he could speak, however, the door burst open. One of his assistants, Nate Bailey, hurried in, breath uneven. "Mr. Hughes."

With his phone squeezed in his hand, Nate stood there, drenched in sweat.

A faint crease touched Brayden's brow as his dark, steady gaze settled on Nate.

With one long finger, he gave the table a light tap and asked in a calm, authoritative voice, "What is it?"

Nate gulped, brushed the cold sweat from his forehead, and quickly held out the phone.

Taking it without a word, Brayden lowered his eyes to the screen.

Bit by bit, the look in his eyes turned colder.

For a long moment, he said nothing at all.

Time itself seemed to grind to a halt.

Across the glaring screen, a cascade of trending topics stabbed into his vision—"Low Sperm Count," "Brayden Hughes Impotent," and "Brayden Hughes Tricked"—each one more vicious than the last.

Looming beneath them, a grotesque headline flashed. "Can Someone with Low Sperm Count Get a Woman Pregnant?"

One after another, the words sank in. With every headline he read, Brayden's expression hardened, shadows gathering across his face until it turned cold and ominous.

His jaw locked so hard that the muscles in his face gave a faint, angry twitch, and a chilling, oppressive force seemed to pour off him.

Under his breath, he cursed, wondering if Verena had completely lost her mind.

Then he opened the interview video, and as Verena's words played through the speaker, the hand gripping the phone tightened until his knuckles blanched with fury.

Without a word, he shoved back his chair and strode out of the conference room. The stunned executives could only trade baffled looks, none of them certain whether the meeting had just been dismissed.

Everyone assumed Brayden had lost his composure because he was genuinely impotent.

Brayden didn't know what his subordinates were whispering behind his back. All he could think about was punishing Verena.

He drove home at a reckless speed, fury riding with him the entire way. The second he stepped through the front door, the housekeeper, Jayde Foster, hurried over with a practiced smile. "Mr. Hughes."

"Where's Verena?" The question came out flat and icy.

Startled by the look in his eyes, Jayde faltered and answered in a shaky voice, "She's... she's upstairs."

Without another word, Brayden stormed up to the second floor. By the time he shoved open the bedroom door, Verena had just come out of the bathroom, fresh from her shower.

Not a flicker of surprise crossed her face when Brayden's temper finally snapped.

Casually lifting a towel, she began drying her damp hair, deliberately ignoring him as she brushed past his rigid frame.

Just as she moved by, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. In the next instant, he yanked her back and pressed her hard against the wall. Without uttering a word at first, he leaned in, his lowered gaze icy and intense as it locked onto her face. "How could you stand in front of reporters and spin that kind of lie? You know better than anyone whether I'm potent, don't you?"

While the words left his lips, a dangerous heat flickered behind his dark eyes.

Trapped beneath that piercing stare, Verena couldn't shake the uneasy feeling rising in her chest.

Of course, she knew perfectly well that Brayden was anything but impotent. Love had never been part of the equation, yet in a twisted, inexplicable way, he had always been intensely fixated on her body.

Ever since their marriage, whenever desire struck him, he would drag her into it without restraint, never satisfied until he had taken what he wanted again and again. Only when her voice broke into helpless sobs, pleading for him to stop, would he finally relent.

Control had always been his nature—unyielding, forceful, leaving no room for anyone else's will.

Whether it was in bed, at work, when he ordered her to take birth control, or when he forced her to confront his mistresses, her feelings had never once mattered to him.

Over the past three years, she realized, he had grown accustomed to her silence, her obedience, her quiet acceptance of everything he imposed. That was why her sudden defiance now ignited such fury in him.

After all, a man so consumed by pride would never tolerate being challenged.

At the thought of this, a sharp sense of self-pity washed over Verena.

While she could endure the petty provocations from other women, Mila was different—Mila was the one Brayden held closest to his heart, and that made her impossible to ignore. What stung far more, however, was the way he had schemed behind her back, manipulating everything just to push her into a divorce for Mila's sake.

Mila had long since become an unbearable thorn lodged deep beneath her skin.

Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides before slowly loosening again. A sudden weakness washed over Verena, leaving her drained. She couldn't even tell what she had truly gained from clinging to this marriage all this time.

Drawing in a slow, steady breath, she lifted her gaze and met Brayden's eyes, her expression cool but edged with quiet defiance. "I wouldn't call it spreading lies, would you? As far as I can tell, your performance isn't exactly impressive. Your technique lacks finesse, your stamina leaves much to be desired, and you don't even bother trying anything different. Honestly, I've never once enjoyed it. Didn't the other women ever mention that? Or were they simply too afraid to tell you the truth?"

Each cutting word Verena threw landed squarely on Brayden's pride, striking deeper than he expected. A dangerous darkness pooled in his eyes as his jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. A faint, mocking laugh slipped from his lips. "Looks like you've grown quite fearless, Verena, haven't you?"

Without warning, his fingers clamped around her chin, firm and unyielding, forcing her face upward until her gaze locked with his.

Disgust flickered through her chest.

"Let go of me," she snapped, twisting sharply in his grip.

His hold didn't loosen in the slightest. As she struggled, the towel barely clinging to her damp body slipped free and dropped silently to the floor.

Shock froze her in place.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming across her skin in an instant.

Before she could react—before she could even bend to retrieve it—Brayden closed the distance and crushed his lips against hers. The kiss deepened with growing intensity as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed tight, and he only released her when her breath turned unsteady.

Air tore from Verena's lungs as she struggled to pull back, yet Brayden's grip locked her in place. Something feral burned in his eyes, a dark hunger that made her feel as though he might swallow her whole.

"Let go of me!" Fear laced her voice; after three years beside him, she understood that look far too well.

Ignoring her protest completely, Brayden seized both her wrists in one hand and forced them above her head, pinning her with effortless strength. His other hand slid behind her head, fingers threading deep into her damp hair, anchoring her where she stood.

He kissed her with wild urgency, his movements intense and almost out of control.

All the strength drained from her body in an instant, her knees weakening beneath her.

"Brayden… wait… mm…" Her protests broke apart into soft, helpless fragments, each word swallowed before it could fully form. Desperation made her twist and struggle, trying to put distance between them, yet Brayden paid no attention at all, as if her resistance meant nothing.

With a swift, forceful motion, he lifted her off her feet and tossed her onto the bed.

"Brayden, stop—I don't want this…" Verena blurted out, panic tightening her voice.

Before she could even push herself up, his body pressed down over hers, trapping her in place. His hands roamed without restraint, coaxing and igniting sensations she couldn't suppress. The moment spiraled forward with reckless inevitability, and in the end, he took what he wanted from her.

Something in him seemed provoked by Verena's earlier words, driving him to be far rougher than before, relentless in a way that left her overwhelmed and struggling to endure. By the time he finally pulled away, satisfied, every ounce of strength had drained from her. Limply, she remained sprawled across the rumpled sheets, her body heavy and unresponsive.

Without a glance back, Brayden headed into the bathroom. Still lying there, Verena stared blankly at the soft, amber glow of the ceiling light, her thoughts drifting unwillingly into the past.

Three years earlier, Mila had gone overseas to continue her studies, and in her absence, the Jones and Hughes families had arranged their marriage. From the very beginning, Brayden had believed it was Verena who had forced Mila to leave. That conviction had never wavered. For three long years, he had treated her with nothing but cold indifference.

More than once, he had made it painfully clear—if she hadn't been the Jones family's daughter, the woman he would have married without hesitation… was Mila.

Determined to push her away, he had gone out of his way to act like a reckless playboy, using every trick he knew to drive her toward divorce.

For years, whispers about Brayden's affairs had never truly faded, and fresh rumors of a new woman at his side seemed to surface every few weeks.

Time and again, her brother had urged her to walk away from the marriage, yet she had always chosen to endure, clinging stubbornly to the feelings she had carried for Brayden since she was younger.

Now that Mila had returned to the country, it was obvious he would stop at nothing to force a divorce so he could openly be with Mila.

Rather than continue living under his cold disdain, Verena decided she might as well make the first move herself.

Just then, Brayden shoved the bathroom door open and strode out, steam clinging faintly to his skin. Crossing to the bed, he stared down at Verena with frigid contempt. As he rubbed his damp hair with a towel, a harsh, mocking smile tugged at his mouth. "You're not that impressive either. All you know how to do is throw a tantrum for attention."

Even after everything that had happened, he still believed today had been nothing more than another one of her petty schemes.

When Verena said nothing, Brayden turned away and began dressing at an unhurried pace. In a flat, indifferent voice, he said, "About Stella today…"

Before he could finish, Verena drew in a long, weary breath and finally said the words she had never once found the courage to speak. "Brayden, let's get a divorce."

After saying the word "divorce" out loud, Verena expected the weight of it to tear at her, yet nothing like that came. Instead, a strange calm settled over her, leaving her unaffected.

To her, this marriage, built on nothing but family interests, should have ended long ago.

Even if it wasn't what she wanted, she knew it was time to let go.

For a brief moment, Brayden's expression stiffened.

That reaction disappeared just as quickly, returning to his usual indifference.

"So this is your latest move?" he asked, taking his time as he continued getting dressed.

He didn't take her words seriously and had no intention of believing she would actually go through with a divorce.

Since the day they married, the Hughes and Jones families had grown more intertwined, and their relationship had long stopped being about just the two of them.

On top of that, everyone in Trauhsa knew how deeply she cared for him.

In his mind, it was Verena who had pushed Mila out of the country just to secure her place as his wife.

That thought erased the trace of warmth left from their earlier closeness.

There was no way he would allow anyone to harm Mila.

To him, Verena's greatest fault was targeting Mila.

Because of that, he had spent the past three years keeping Verena at a distance, making it clear that even as his wife, she meant nothing to him.

With these thoughts in mind, Brayden was certain Verena would never actually leave him.

In his eyes, her words were nothing more than a moment of anger spilling out.

"Verena, I'm running out of patience," he said, his voice turning colder. "I won't keep putting up with this kind of behavior. What happened with Stella affected the company, and I take responsibility for that. But it's already been dealt with. She won't—"

"Mila is back, right?" Verena cut in before he could finish as she pushed herself up on the bed.

Her gaze rested on him, steady and composed. Though her face had gone pale, the anger in her eyes was impossible to miss.

"You brought Mila back, had Stella show up at the company to make things difficult for me, and even pushed me toward divorce just so I'd step aside and make room for Mila, didn't you?" she said, a trace of mockery flickering in her eyes. "Stop pretending, Brayden."

For so long, she had fooled herself into believing that if she treated him well, he might one day respond.

To match his preferences, she changed the way she dressed. Knowing his stomach wasn't strong, she even learned to cook, preparing meals that were light and nourishing for him every single day.

Meanwhile, he spent his nights out with different women, and even stayed entangled with the woman he cherished the most. His other women even dared to come straight to her, some of them using pregnancy reports as leverage to push her out.

She had reached her limit.

There was no reason to keep lying to herself anymore.

Deep down, she finally accepted the truth. Brayden had never loved her, and he never would.

All at once, the feelings she had kept buried for years broke free, and her eyes turned red.

Everything she had endured, every bit of pain and frustration, came rushing over her.

"Brayden, let's end this. Let's get a divorce. After that, we won't owe each other anything," Verena said, forcing herself to stay composed as she lifted her head and repeated it.

The feelings she once had, the admiration from when she was younger, and every effort she made during these three years—she let all of it go in that moment.

For a brief second, the air felt heavy and hard to breathe.

A dark look settled over Brayden's face as he stared at her.

"So all of this is because of Mila?" he asked.

Hearing him say Mila's name so gently made something twist inside her, but the anger outweighed everything else.

"Brayden, why don't we just speak plainly?" she said, her voice rising. "Haven't you always wanted to be with Mila? You even went against your grandfather for her, and all this time, you've treated me like I don't exist. Now I'm asking for a divorce, and isn't that exactly what you've wanted?"

After shouting, she kept her eyes locked on him, refusing to back down.

For a moment, Brayden didn't respond. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he turned away without hesitation and picked up the call. "Hey, Mila."

Moving toward the door, Brayden left as his voice gradually faded out of the room.

A bitter smile appeared on Verena's lips as she picked up her phone and dialed Jon Barnes, the Jones family's chief lawyer. "Jon, it's me. I need you to prepare a divorce agreement."

After going over the details with him, she ended the call.

She had expected this step to feel heavy. Instead, a faint sense of ease settled in.

She had planned to talk everything through with Brayden once he returned.

Yet as the minutes passed, he never came back.

It didn't take much for her to figure out why. She slipped on a coat, stepped out of the room, and looked downstairs from the corridor.

Just as she thought, the living room was silent.

He was already gone.

She didn't need to guess where he went.

There was only one place he would go.

Right then, Verena felt like a fool. She had actually believed they could sit down and talk about the divorce calmly. To him, she had never mattered.

Taking a slow breath, Verena tried to steady herself, yet the ache in her chest wouldn't fade.

Even though she was used to being ignored by him, it still hurt.

Since he had made his stance clear, she no longer had any reason to consider him.

Turning back, Verena returned to the room.

Within half an hour, she gathered the few belongings that truly belonged to her.

Not a single piece from the wardrobe went with her. Truthfully, she had never liked those clothes. She had only bought them to suit Brayden's preferences.

Now that the divorce was happening, there was no reason to keep pleasing him or anyone else.

From this moment on, she would stay true to who she really was.

Pausing at the bedroom doorway, she looked over the now-empty space and felt an unexpected sense of relief before turning away.

"Mrs. Hughes, what should I prepare for dinner tonight? And where are you heading?" Jayde asked.

After seeing Brayden rush out earlier, Jayde couldn't help but feel uneasy when Verena also started to leave.

Even though Jayde worked for Brayden, Verena realized the housekeeper had spent more time by her side than Brayden did throughout their marriage.

Because of that, Verena couldn't treat her with cold indifference.

"Jayde, don't cook for me tonight. And from now on, you won't need to prepare anything for me again," Verena said.

She didn't stay any longer after that and simply got into the car before driving off.

As the car sped away, Jayde stood there, a look of realization settling in, mixed with quiet shock and resignation.

Verena headed back to the Jones family estate.

She had thought her parents and her brother would be home, yet when she stepped inside, only her brother, Vince Jones, remained.

Looking around, she frowned and called out, "Vince, why are you the only one here?"

The moment he heard her voice, Vince went still. Once he recognized it, he hurried over to her. "Rena, you're back? Why didn't you tell me ahead of time? I would've gone to pick you up," he said.

Even though she had tried to keep herself composed on the way here, the redness in her eyes gave her away.

As he recalled what he had learned earlier that day, a trace of sympathy crossed his gaze. Without saying much, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. "Rena, what happened? Just tell me. I'll take care of it."

Those words hit Verena harder than she expected, and the calm she had been forcing slipped away in an instant.

Her body gave in as she leaned into Vince, and tears kept streaming down without pause.

"Vince..."

The sound of her voice tightened something in him, and a shadow settled over his eyes.

All these years, he had known exactly what she had gone through.

Guilt sat heavy on Vince, and it only grew stronger when he thought about how the Jones family had needed that marriage with the Hughes family to get through their crisis.

"I've already made up my mind. I'm filing for divorce from Brayden."

For a brief moment, Vince just stood there. Then something bright flickered in his eyes, and he leaned forward slightly. "You're serious about this? You're really going through with it?"

Verena gave a firm nod in response.

A smile broke across his face before he could stop it. Lifting his hand, he wiped away the tears on her cheeks, and his voice carried a quiet sense of relief. "No matter what you choose, I'm on your side."

The tension that had been weighing on Verena finally eased. Her shoulders relaxed, and a small smile followed.

Right when she started to speak again, the sharp sound of Vince's phone cut in.

After a few words from the other end, his expression shifted, and the lightness on his face disappeared.

She caught the change at once. Before he could say anything, she spoke first. "If something came up, then go take care of it. I just need some time to rest."

Once he left, the silence in the house felt unbearable to her.

Instead of staying, she walked over to her closet and pulled out a fitted mini dress. After putting it on, she finished with bold makeup, and then headed straight out into the night, leaving the Jones family estate behind.

About thirty minutes later, Verena arrived at a club for drinks.

During all those years of marriage, she had never stepped into a place like this because of Brayden.

Now, she figured it was time to let everything out.

With a slight curl of her lips, she walked inside without hesitation.

Inside the club, lights flashed while people danced wildly to the music.

Curiosity pulled Verena's gaze from one corner to another. The bartender guided her to a quieter spot, and she settled into the seat without hesitation.

One drink turned into several before long. Glass after glass disappeared into her hand, and she kept going as if the alcohol could wash everything away.

Unseen by her, someone stood above on the second floor, watching every move she made.

That person was Brayden.

Shock flickered in his eyes as he stared down at her.

He knew it was his wife, yet the woman downstairs looked nothing like the calm and composed Verena he remembered.

His gaze stayed locked on her, and he did not look away even for a moment.

Only when he noticed how much she had already drunk did his expression tighten. Without another thought, he got to his feet and headed downstairs.

Back at her table, the weight on Verena's chest mixed with the alcohol, and it hit her fast. She had drunk too quickly, and now the dizziness was starting to take over.

In her hand, the glass tilted slightly as she gave it a slow shake.

Amber liquid rolled along the sides, and the ice knocked against the glass with a soft, crisp sound.

Each sip burned on the way down, yet all she could feel was sorrow. It reminded her of every time Brayden had walked away from her without looking back.

People nearby had already taken notice of her. Among them, one man stepped forward while the others kept their distance.

The seat beside her dipped as he sat down.

Confusion crossed her face, and Verena turned toward the man with unfocused eyes. A faint shine lingered on her lips, catching the shifting lights around them.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

Timothy Fuller did not look away. He kept his eyes on her, and then spoke after a short pause. "It's me, Verena."

Something about his voice and the shape of his face tugged at her memory.

Her head felt heavy, so Verena shook it slowly.

Her hand rose on its own, and her finger touched Timothy's cheek. She looked at him for a second, and then let out a quiet laugh. "You look pretty good. But why do you look like that idiot Timothy Fuller?"

Timothy had grown up in privilege, and his childhood had been tied closely with both her and Brayden.

Back then, the three of them had always been together. After she married Brayden, Timothy had vanished from her life, and she barely saw him again.

Because of that, his face had faded from her memory over time.

A quiet breath left Timothy as he looked at her in that state, yet he chose not to say anything.

Not far away, Brayden had just reached the lower floor when he caught sight of them.

A strange mix of emotions rose in him all at once, unfamiliar and hard to name.

He had no idea Timothy was back.

Seeing Timothy there stirred something in Brayden, and memories from their childhood came back to him.

For a brief moment, his face relaxed.

Right when Brayden started moving toward them, he stopped in his tracks. Verena had already wrapped her arms around Timothy.

Anyone could see how close they were, and it didn't look right at all. But she didn't seem to notice anything.

Her eyes looked unfocused, and she reached up again, tapping his cheek like she was testing if he was real.

"Come home with me. I... I can take care of you," Verena said, her words dragging.

That caught Timothy off guard. His eyes widened, and his face turned red right away.

He kept one arm around her to steady her so she wouldn't fall, and then lowered his voice. "Verena, you're drunk."

She didn't seem sure herself. Blinking a few times didn't help. Everything still looked unclear.

"I'm not drunk," she said, trying hard to sound serious.

Seeing her act like that made Timothy sigh quietly. "Alright, fine. You're not drunk. Just sit down first, okay?"

Timothy tried to ease her back into her seat, but before he could get her settled, Brayden had already walked over.

His expression didn't hide his annoyance at all, and his eyes locked onto Verena.

"What do you think you're doing, Verena?" he said.

Timothy didn't expect to run into him here.

He froze for a second, something complicated flashing in his eyes, and then finally spoke. "Didn't think I'd see you here, Brayden."

Brayden gave a small nod, but his gaze stayed on her the whole time.

When she heard her name, Verena slowly looked up.

The moment she saw Brayden, she pulled her eyes away like she didn't recognize him at all.

"Verena!" Brayden said, clearly caught off guard. His face turned cold right after. He reached out, grabbed her wrist, and forced her to face him.

"Brayden, take it easy. She's drunk," Timothy said as he stepped in when he saw her frown, his tone carrying a hint of irritation.

Brayden didn't care.

Standing closer now, he finally noticed what Verena was wearing.

The dress hugged her body closely.

His eyes moved lower for a second, and his expression darkened.

Without saying anything else, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her. "You're coming home with me."

A sudden lift caught Verena off guard, and she instinctively looped her arms around Brayden's neck.

Their eyes locked.