My billionaire husband suffered from chronic insomnia for years. Only the sleep balm I made could help him sleep.

On the night of our seventh wedding anniversary, his childhood sweetheart poured a basin of scalding water over the old camphor tree in our garden.

I wept and tried to save the tree as she apologized, “I didn’t know you used its leaves to make the sleep balm.”

My husband gently comforted her and ordered his men to tie me to the tree trunk instead.

“What a precious tree. You’ll spend the rest of your days with it!”

With my wrist fractured as a result, I filed for divorce immediately.

A month later, my husband was unable to sleep late one night. He stood in the garden and stared at the withered camphor tree.

Charles Lennon finally came home after we gave each other the silent treatment for seven days.

The dark circles under his eyes really stood out.

“Hasn’t it been a while since you made any sleep balm?”

Charles suffered from severe insomnia and had always relied on this balm to sleep through the night. I would make it from the leaves of an old camphor tree.

However, I kept scrolling through my phone and answered indifferently, “Well, I’ve been slacking off.”

It was true. The raw materials for the sleep balm came solely from the garden in my old house. I used to go back every week to gather the leaves from the tree. It would take me half a day each time, which was exhausting.

“Sharon didn’t mean any harm. You’re crossing the line if you keep stirring up trouble.”

He took some fruit wine out of the refrigerator and sipped it as he spoke.

While we were not on speaking terms, Sharon Simpson had come up with a new idea and brought him fruit wine to help him sleep.

He dropped ice cubes into his glass and glanced at me. “Sharon didn’t know how much that tree meant to you. To make up for it, she found an estate that produces spices.

“I’ve arranged for it to be purchased. I’ll put it under your name, so let’s put this matter behind us.”

I almost laughed. He used our assets to buy an estate so that his secretary could make it up to me.

‘What a wonderful husband,’ I thought to myself as I tried to stay polite. “Fine. Do thank ‘Mrs. Lennon’ on my behalf.”

For the first time since he came home, Charles made a face and looked at me with impatience. “Hazel, is there anything else you can do apart from being jealous?”

I met his gaze calmly. “I can get a divorce.

“If you have the time to buy estates with your little girlfriend, you have the time to sign the divorce papers. Hurry up already.

“You usually don’t take seven days to sign something, Charles.”

He stared at me for a few seconds before losing all interest in chatting further. Instead, he sat on the couch and started fiddling with his phone.

He would frown occasionally as if he were working.

If I had not seen his flirtatious banter with Sharon on social media, I would have believed his act.

[You look so beautiful today, missy. Did you dress up knowing that I’d be taking you out for dinner?]

[Don’t flatter yourself. I dressed up because I’m having dinner with your mother tonight.]

Affectionate messages streamed across the screen while the room remained silent.

They reminded me once again that divorce was the right choice.

I looked down and wiped my tears.

In the past, the only thing I would do was cry in front of him.

However, I finally saw no reason to keep humiliating myself for a dead marriage.

“Did you upset Mom again?” he asked when he eventually shifted his focus from Sharon’s “well-intentioned reminders” to me.

“Sharon’s traveling with Mom in a few days to cheer her up for you.

“You should learn to be more sensible like Sharon sometime.”

I chuckled softly.

“I’m already handing over the title of Mrs. Lennon to her. Isn’t that sensible enough?”

At my response, his gaze became visibly threatening.

“Hazel, is causing a fuss all you’re known for?”

I stood up and gave up on any final attempts to communicate with this man.

“Perhaps.

“By the way, I know you have no time to sign the divorce papers.

“So, I’ve asked my lawyer to file for it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover the whole cost.”

I had found myself a lawyer after the family banquet ended that day.

Sharon had poured a bucket of scalding water onto the old camphor tree right in front of me and given me a smug look.

“Let’s see if Charles still wants you when you can no longer make him any sleep balm.”

Charles always carried the sleep balm I made him. She was jealous, but there was nothing she could do about it.

I panicked and tried to save the tree, but in the process, I accidentally pushed her.

Unexpectedly, Charles ordered his men to tie me to the camphor tree all night after he witnessed it.

No matter how much I cried and screamed, he only said, “Reflect on this,” and walked away with Sharon in his arms.

I struggled until midnight. My hands turned a frightening purple from the lack of blood circulation.

The camphor tree seemed to sense my despair because its thick branch snapped…

I clung to my last ray of hope and called Charles.

The call went through, but he answered with cold indifference, “Hazel, haven’t you learned your lesson? You frightened Sharon today. I have to stay with her. Don’t bother me if you’re still alive.”

Sharon’s coquettish voice then came through the phone. “Charles, it’s your turn to bathe.”

Trembling, I hung up and lay on the ground as my tears soaked the earth.

In the end, I called Albert Moore, the lawyer.

…

We were in the living room, and Charles still believed that I was being unreasonable. “Hazel, what happened yesterday was your own doing!”

My own doing?

I chuckled softly. “Yes, it was my fault. This is exactly what I deserve.”

…

Charles and I met because of a kidnapping.

He had been locked in a pitch-black warehouse. But my father rescued him and brought him home.

His body was covered in wounds when he was found. So, my father asked me to take care of him.

We grew close as we spent time together, and we kept in touch even after he returned to his family.

Perhaps due to post-traumatic stress, he started having insomnia, and he was not responding to treatment.

He told me that whenever he closed his eyes, he would return to that rotting and suffocating warehouse. It was dark and empty, and I was not there.

It broke my heart, but I could not do anything to help.

Then one evening, he came to visit my father. He dozed off unexpectedly under the camphor tree in my garden and slept peacefully through the night.

So, I began making sleep balms from the camphor leaves and sending them to him.

He carried them with him every day, and his insomnia gradually improved.

To make sure I could always prepare fresh sleep balm for him, I gave up the chance to study abroad. Instead, I enrolled in the art program at his university.

On graduation day, he held my scarred hands and teared up looking at the wounds.

After he started working, I set aside my painting career to help expand his company by attending social events with him.

We became the best partners and quickly secured a place in the market.

One night after drinking, he held my hands and murmured that they had pulled him out of darkness.

He claimed that he wanted to hold my hand for the rest of his life.

His face was flushed, and his eyes shone like stars.

Without thinking, I nodded.

That night, we promised our lives to one another.

However, he ruined these very hands that had once saved him.

…

On the night of the family banquet, Albert took me to the hospital. The doctor told me that the nerve damage in my hands was severe and that I might never be able to hold a pen again.

Albert advised me to sue Charles for intentional harm.

I put his suggestion on the back burner and insisted on pursuing divorce first. If that did not work, I would consider additional charges.

The pain of rehabilitation dragged me out of memory lane.

The doctor looked at my hands with regret. “If only you came in an hour earlier… What a pity.”

I smiled faintly.

“It’s alright. It’s a relief.”

No more sleepless nights drawing up designs for his company.

No more painful fingers from making sleep balm for his health.

Never again would I wait on him and hope that he would come back to me.

After prescribing some nerve-repair medication, the doctor thanked me, “Ms. Hazel, the sleep balm formula you provided us has passed clinical testing. It’s now being promoted across other hospitals in the city. I thank you again on the hospital’s behalf.”

The results did not surprise me.

Charles’s insomnia had baffled many medical institutions, and this sleep balm was the only thing that helped him sleep.

The formula worked because I had spent years fine-tuning it.

As soon as I stepped out of the rehabilitation ward, I ran into Sharon.

Her stilettos clicked sharply against the floor until she stopped before me. Her eyes were full of scorn and condescension.

“Hazel, you really haunt us like a phantom. Why are you everywhere we go?”

‘Everywhere we go?’

Of course, wherever Sharon was, Charles was never far behind.

Since her return from abroad, the two of them had been inseparable.

I had no desire to see Charles, much less their sickening displays of affection. They were like animals in heat.

Charles appeared just as I turned to leave, and his voice was heavy with displeasure. “Are you following me?”

It was not entirely unreasonable for him to think so. I had followed him for seven years through high school and university.

I would think the same too if I were him.

“Charles, narcissism is an illness. You should have it treated.”

I shoved my medical report into my bag and tried to leave.

However, as I walked past him, his hand shot out. He gripped my wrist so tightly that it felt like he was going to crush it.

My face twisted in pain.

“Let go,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

For seven years, I had been nothing but gentle with him. No matter how angry I got, I would remain meek.

When he saw how pale my face was, he loosened his grip. Concern and suspicion flickered in his eyes.

“Why are you at the hospital? Are you sick? I’ll be back in a few days. You don’t have to follow me around.

“Just stop pretending to be ill. You look so fake when playing the victim.”

Apparently, he saw every encounter we had as some kind of ploy on my side.

Every vulnerability was a performance.

Even illness was an act.

Whenever disappointment ran deep enough, it would kill any urge to argue.

So, I looked at him emotionlessly and spoke in a flat tone. “Sure. Think whatever you want. Sign the divorce papers quickly so that I can clear out for the both of you.”

He snapped and yelled at me, “Hazel! This is your last chance! Keep pushing, and you’ll waste it!”

I met his glare coldly.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Then, I walked away without hesitation. The sting in my wrist kept me utterly sober before the man I had loved for seven years.

He tried to come after me, but Sharon grabbed his arm. “Charles, I just used my connections to get you a prescription for insomnia here.”

She clung on to his arm affectionately. “You haven’t been sleeping well lately, so we should try it.”

As people bustled through the hospital corridor, Charles lowered his gaze.

He stared at the all-too-familiar prescription in her hand and stood frozen for a long time.

…

I had built my own network of contacts while helping Charles grow his business. Many of them kept in touch with me.

Since painting was no longer possible, I shifted my focus to business.

After handing in my resignation, I set out on a research trip to Zureland.

Charles called me repeatedly during my trip.

I wondered how he found the time to waste on all these meaningless calls. This was the same man who never had time to reply to a single one of my messages.