Wendy settled into the car for her ride home, her fingers reflexively unlocking her phone. A message from Rita Olson popped up almost immediately—a screenshot.

In the image, Rita was sprawled on the floor in a provocative black bunny outfit, her legs draped with sheer stockings. Her expression was hazy, her gaze both vulnerable and enticing as she looked into the camera.

The message read: [If Master arrives within twenty minutes, this little bunny is yours to devour.]

Beneath it was a brief reply from Grayson's black-profile avatar: [Wait for me.]

Wendy turned off the screen. She closed her eyes, willing herself to suppress the needle-like pain pricking at her heart.

She had thought that after seeing so many such photos, she'd become numb, that her heart would learn to shield itself. But no amount of practice could dull the ache. It swept through her body, relentless, invading even her bones.

Finally, she forced herself to shut her eyes, shutting out the screen as well.

Late that night, Wendy curled up at the edge of the bed, her eyes swollen and red, exhaustion dragging her into a restless sleep. Yet the phone on her bedside table buzzed relentlessly, vibrating every hour until the early morning.

When she finally woke and checked her messages, she found that Rita had been sending her photos throughout the night.

Each photo showed something unmistakable—used contraceptives, one after another.

The accompanying message was sharp as a dagger: [He had me all night. Tried every position imaginable until I couldn't even get out of bed. Has he ever been like this with you?]

Wendy didn't react outwardly, yet she couldn't stop herself from rereading the words and images over and over, dozens of times, as if the repetition would somehow make them unreal.

When Grayson returned, he found her lying on the bed, her eyes swollen and red, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

His chest tightened, and he hurried to her side, pulling her into his arms, his voice taut with concern.

"Wendy, why are you crying?"

Crying?

Wendy blinked, as if only now realizing it herself. Her fingers brushed her cheeks, and she found them damp. At some point, without knowing it, tears had carved their way down her face.

After a long moment, she let out a soft laugh, though it failed to mask the sadness lingering in her eyes.

"It's nothing. I just saw some… deeply moving photos."

Grayson stroked her face, his tone indulgent, almost playful. "What kind of photos could make you cry like this, baby? Are you trying to break my heart?"

Before she could answer, the butler knocked lightly on the open door and spoke with measured respect. "Sir, the car is ready."

Grayson nodded, then turned back to Wendy, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Wendy, I was wrong yesterday for leaving you alone at the bridal boutique. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to an auction today. Whatever you like, it's yours. Okay?"

Wendy didn't respond, but Grayson took her silence as consent. He scooped her up effortlessly and carried her out of the room, personally selecting her dress, jewelry, and shoes.

At the auction, Grayson spared no expense, bidding on every item during the first half to please Wendy, even though she seemed indifferent to it all.

During the intermission, a group of his friends approached from behind, their voices loud and familiar.

"Well, well, I wondered who was sweeping up everything in the first half—it's Grayson, of course!"

"And here I thought I'd snag something for my grandma's birthday. Looks like I'm going home empty-handed."

"Grayson, the legendary wife-spoiler! Give us a break and let us have a shot at something in the second half, won't you?"

Their teasing was lighthearted, but Grayson barely spared them a glance. He continued peeling an orange for Wendy. "Don't bother trying. Everything in the second half is for Wendy, too."

The men groaned dramatically, clutching their chests as if wounded, though their grins betrayed their admiration.

Grayson ignored them, carefully offering the peeled orange to Wendy. His voice was soft, coaxing.

"Here, baby. It's sweet. Have a bite."

Wendy shook her head faintly, her expression unreadable.

"I'm not hungry. You eat it."

The second half of the auction began soon after. Just as the first item was unveiled, the grand doors to the hall swung open.

A waiter stepped in, bowing respectfully as he escorted a striking woman in a red dress into the room.

In that moment, Wendy felt the subtle stiffening of Grayson's body beside her.

She lifted her eyes, following his gaze, and met Rita's radiant smile as it pierced through the crowd.

Rita casually retrieved a few crisp dollar bills from her bag and slid them into the waiter's pocket with an effortless grace. Her smile was an intoxicating blend of mischief and allure. Before the startled waiter could react, she walked straight over and settled herself boldly into the seat beside Grayson.

A collective intake of breath rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like the quiet fizz of champagne bubbles, each voice charged with disbelief.

"Who does she think she is? Sitting beside Mr. Bryce like that?"

"Doesn't she know he could ruin her with a snap of his fingers?"

"Shh, you don't understand. Word is, she's backed by someone powerful. Have you seen the designer brands she flaunts during her live streams?"

As Wendy was about to shift her gaze away from the commotion, a gesture caught her eye—casual yet brazen. Rita took Grayson's hand and, without hesitation, guided it beneath the hem of her dress.

His hand froze, rigid as stone. Reflexively, he tried to pull away, but Rita's delicate fingers tightened around his, her smile deepening as she made a subtle movement.

For a moment, his hesitation flickered, then extinguished. He stayed still.

Wendy's breath hitched, her trembling fingers clenching tightly at her side. She turned her head abruptly, trying to anchor herself against the storm surging inside her chest.

The second half of the auction began, though Wendy hardly registered its progress. She floated through the proceedings, adrift in a haze of numbing detachment, until a sharp collective gasp yanked her back to the present.

Her eyes rose to meet the object of everyone's attention—a dazzling necklace displayed on velvet, its brilliance almost surreal.

The auctioneer's voice rose with fervor as he extolled its virtues, weaving an enchanting tale of its provenance. Rumored to be Queen Elizabeth's most cherished piece, the necklace symbolized steadfast, eternal love.

Noticing Wendy's faint flicker of interest, Grayson didn't hesitate. He raised his paddle. "One million."

A feminine voice, playful yet deliberate, immediately followed. "Three million."

Grayson's head snapped toward the source. Rita was raising her own paddle, her lips curved into a teasing smile, her gaze brimming with challenge. She leaned back leisurely, an image of effortless confidence. "Sorry, Mr. Bryce, but my boyfriend wants me to have this necklace too."

A shadow crossed Grayson's face, his jaw tightening. "Five million."

"Ten million."

"Fifteen million."

The auction climaxed in a dizzying crescendo until Grayson, exasperated, signaled to the auctioneer. The gavel fell, the auctioneer's voice reverberating with triumph. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bryce has lit the lantern! Congratulations on securing the Heart of True Love!"

As the room erupted in applause, Grayson turned back to Wendy, his expression softening. He leaned in, planting a kiss on her. "Wait here, my love. I'll get the necklace for you."

Wendy watched his retreating figure, her eyes tracing every step until he disappeared from view. Rita rose as well, casting Wendy a glance that lingered—a mix of satisfaction and something suggestive.

When everyone had left, Wendy finally loosened the grip of her clenched hand. Her nails had dug deep into her flesh, drawing tiny beads of blood. But it was as though she didn't feel the pain. Without a hint of hesitation, she stood up and walked out.

Her phone screen glowed faintly, the notification still visible: [Underground parking lot.]

Perhaps it was because all the guests had left. The parking lot was empty, save for a lone vehicle stationed in the shadows, a sleek Maybach. From afar, she noticed a young driver standing nearby, his polite demeanor hiding a quiet vigilance. Any passerby who neared the car was quickly and discreetly turned away.

What no one seemed to notice was the faint rocking of the vehicle, the open back door exposing a scene that made Wendy's blood run cold.

The sound hit her first—a mix of feminine gasps and low masculine groans, each note threading into the heavy, humid air. Her legs buckled slightly, forcing her to lean against a pillar for support. Her eyes stayed fixed on the car, unwilling yet unable to look away.

Inside, Rita's figure was unmistakable, her body entwined with Grayson's, their movements raw and uninhibited. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her cries blending into the rhythm of their entanglement.

"Gentler, Master. The little bunny can't take any more…" Her voice was a broken whimper, pleading and delicate.

Grayson's response was a guttural growl, his hands gripping her hips with ferocity. "You wanted this. Now bear it." He thrust forward, his movements harsh, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.

Wendy clasped her trembling hand tightly over her mouth, as if trying to suppress the overwhelming torrent of emotions threatening to break free. She couldn't bear to watch any longer. Turning sharply, she fled the suffocating scene.

She ran—further, faster—until her legs gave out beneath her, leaving her to collapse in a stairwell. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each intake of air sharp and piercing, as though it scraped against her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unrelenting. She pressed her hand to her chest, futilely trying to steady the erratic pounding of her heart.

The auction had been painful enough—every glance, every word a tiny wound. But what she'd just witnessed in the car was a fatal blow. Memories surfaced unbidden, vivid and cruel.

She thought of Grayson's careful tenderness, the purity of his affection when they first started dating.

He had been shy then, almost boyishly so. Holding her hand would make him blush; kissing her brought a tremor to his lips. He had waited patiently for their first night together, steadfast until she agreed to his marriage proposal.

She once teased him for his restraint, only to find herself wrapped in his embrace, his voice low and gravelly against her ear.

"No man can resist the woman he loves," he'd said. "But I love you too much to rush things. I want everything to be perfect. I don't want you to ever regret it."

Those words, spoken with such sincerity, had warmed her heart back then. Now, their echo only deepened her despair. Her fingers dug into her face as she sobbed silently into the stairwell, her grief spilling into the emptiness around her.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled herself together. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by invisible chains, but she willed herself to move. Step by step, she made her way to the bathroom.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Another message from Rita.

She hesitated before opening it, her fingers cold and reluctant. The image struck her like a slap: the car's disheveled backseat, and a tangle of ripped stockings in the corner.

"The car's filled with the scent of our passion. Oh, and by the way, Grayson promised me your necklace. The Heart of True Love? It's mine now."

Wendy's chest tightened. She powered off the phone without another glance. She walked out of the bathroom after fixing her makeup.

When Grayson finally appeared, his arms reached out to hold her, carrying a faint trace of perfume that wasn't hers.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he murmured against her hair, his tone laced with contrition. "That necklace was a little chipped. It wasn't perfect for you. I'll find you something more dazzling next time, alright?"

Her breath caught. She tilted her head up, her voice weighted with emotion. "What if I only want that necklace?"

Her tear-streaked face and quivering words struck him like a blow. He cupped her cheeks, his voice soft, coaxing. "Don't cry, baby. Please, don't cry. I'll get you something even better, right now if you want. Anything for you."

She let out a laugh—bitter, hollow. Once, he had given her anything she desired. Now, even her simplest wish came with conditions, tangled in another woman's lies.

"It's fine. I don't want it anymore," she said, exhaustion seeping into her tone. She stepped out of his arms, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable.

He moved as if to follow, but froze when her gaze shifted past him. He turned and saw Rita saunter by, the Heart of True Love glimmering on her neck like a mockery. His face turned ashen.

"Wendy—" he started, but she didn't look back, walking past Rita without so much as a glance.

When Wendy was gone, Grayson whirled on Rita, his hand gripping her wrist tightly. "Are you insane? I told you to stay away from her! Wendy is off-limits. She's my bottom line."

Rita smiled faintly, unbothered by his outburst. "Relax, she didn't notice anything. And if it bothers you so much, I won't do it again. Promise." She leaned closer, letting the fabric of her dress slip slightly from her shoulders. "How about I make it up to you tonight? I have another surprise."

The tension in his jaw eased as his eyes darkened.

He didn't return the entire night. He fed Wendy some excuse about urgent business at the company. She knew it was a lie but didn't question him.

Instead, she quietly set about her task. If she was going to disappear, she would leave nothing behind—no trace of her existence, no memories to tether him, just a fake corpse.

Three hours later, she stood before a pile of her belongings, a lighter in hand. Everything went up in flames, the smoke curling around her like a shroud.

Then, she opened a storage box from the bottom of a book rack and pulled out a collection of gifts Grayson had given her over the years.

At sixteen, his first love letter, its boyish handwriting brimming with earnest affection.

At eighteen, her first pair of crystal heels, promising to walk life's path together.

At twenty, a pink diamond crown, declaring her his princess.

At twenty-two, a custom-made ring, designed by him. He had vowed to propose every year until she said yes.

Now, all of it was meaningless.

She packed up the gifts without a second thought and listed everything online for 1 dollar, postage included. Those items worth millions were snatched up by eager buyers in mere moments.

After arranging for someone to collect the goods, she was about to retreat to her room when the front door suddenly burst open. Grayson stormed in, drenched from the rain, his face a mix of panic and disbelief.

He seized her hand, his voice trembling. "Wendy, why? Why did you sell everything I gave you for 1 dollar?"