“Who is she?”

Carolyn heard the faint tremor threading through her own voice.

Ronald shrugged off his suit jacket—a casual, effortless motion. His gaze swept over her, cool and detached. “Victoria. Mr Victoria’s daughter. He had to leave the country unexpectedly and asked me to look after her for a few days.”

*Mr Victoria. Look after her.*

What a convenient excuse.

Her heart sank like a stone.

So his panic this morning, his personal escort home tonight—all of it was just business. Just because of some client?

Victoria studied Carolyn openly, her eyes sharp with a spoiled girl’s entitlement. Clearly dissatisfied with Ronald’s brief introduction, she swept her gaze over Carolyn once more before pointing a dismissive finger. “Ronald, I’m starving. Have her make me something to eat.”

It was less a request than a command, spoken as if ordering a servant.

The air in the room thickened.

“Victoria!” Ronald’s voice dropped, edged with warning. “Mind your manners. She is not a servant.” He paused, his eyes shifting back to Carolyn, his tone careful and distant. “This is my wife, Carolyn.”

The word *wife* hung in the air, weightless and insubstantial.

He turned to the housekeeper. “Rebecca, prepare a few of Ms Victoria’s favorite dishes. She prefers seafood, light on the seasoning.”

Dinner was served swiftly. Across the polished dining table lay an array of seafood: Dover sole meunière, prawn cocktail, scallops wrapped in prosciutto.

The aroma was rich, but it churned Carolyn’s stomach into a violent sea.

Ronald picked up a tender piece of fish and placed it on her plate. “Have some.”

Her throat tightened. “Ronald, you know I’m allergic to seafood.”

It was usually a mild allergy, nothing more than an inconvenience. But now, weakened and exhausted, her reaction would be severe.

Victoria immediately set down her seafood fork, lips forming a petulant pout. “Ronald, what’s her problem? Is she saying she doesn’t want me here?”

Ronald’s brow furrowed. He looked at Carolyn, his voice low and firm. “Carolyn, Mr Victoria’s help was crucial. He pulled the company out of that crisis. Just a little bit won’t hurt. Be reasonable.”

*Reasonable?* He wanted her to be *reasonable*.

Under the combined weight of his and Victoria’s stares, a wave of utter exhaustion washed over her. Slowly, silently, she lifted the piece of fish to her mouth.

Almost instantly, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through her stomach—more violent than anything she’d ever felt before. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, fighting down a surge of nausea.

When the agonizing meal finally ended, Ronald was still patiently fielding Victoria’s endless, chirping questions.

It was time. Whether he believed her, whether he cared—she had to tell him the truth. About her illness. About the little time she had left.

Carolyn took a deep breath and walked toward him. “Ronald, I—”

A sharp gasp cut her off.

“Ah!”

It was Victoria.

She stood by the living room display cabinet, where she’d been holding the framed wedding photo of Carolyn and Ronald. Now the frame lay shattered on the floor, glass shards glittering in the light.

Victoria clutched her finger, a bright bead of blood welling from the tip. “It hurts…” Her voice trembled, on the verge of tears, her eyes seeking Ronald.

His expression shifted instantly. He was on his feet, sweeping Victoria into his arms and carefully depositing her on the sofa. Kneeling, he inspected the small wound with an intensity Carolyn had never seen directed at her. “How could you be so careless? You just fell this morning, and now this!”

His scolding was soft, almost tender. He fetched the first-aid kit and began cleaning the cut with meticulous gentleness, his focus absolute—as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Carolyn stood frozen, an awkward intruder in her own home.

Tears surged without warning, blurring her vision. Her skin began to itch; angry red hives blossomed and spread rapidly.

The world tilted, spun, darkened.

The last thing she saw was the silhouette of Ronald, still bent over Victoria’s hand, utterly absorbed.

The sharp scent of disinfectant cut through the haze, pulling Carolyn back to consciousness.

Her body was still weak—a dull ache in her stomach, a lingering itch on her skin, constant reminders. She glanced around the sterile room. The figure she’d half-expected, half-hoped to find waiting beside her was nowhere to be seen.

Groping weakly beside the pillow, her fingers found her phone. The screen lit up, a single WeChat notification glaring back.

Sender: Ronald.

Time: Three hours ago.

**[Urgent meeting at the office. I’ve gone ahead. If you’re awake and feel fine, go home and rest.]**

Concise. Professional. Detached.

No inquiry about how she felt. No explanation for his absence. Not even a perfunctory word of comfort.

As though her collapse yesterday had been nothing more than a minor head cold.

Carolyn ripped the IV needle from the back of her hand, ignoring the protest of her body and the nurse’s objections. She signed herself out.

A taxi dropped her off at the imposing glass-and-steel tower that housed Ronald's Group.

She didn’t know why she’d come. Perhaps she needed to see the cruelty with her own eyes—to make it undeniable.

The elevator carried her soundlessly to the top floor, to the executive conference suites. Through the heavy, frosted glass doors, she could make out blurred shapes inside.

Driven by something nameless, she pushed the door open a crack.

At the head of the long conference table sat Ronald, impeccably suited, his profile sharp and cold as he listened to a subordinate’s report. And right beside him, pressed close, was Victoria.

Victoria seemed utterly bored by the proceedings, idly scrolling through her phone. She leaned over and whispered something into Ronald’s ear. He tilted his head slightly to listen, not a trace of impatience on his face.

Then Victoria reached out and casually tapped the screen of Ronald’s open laptop.

The screen went dark. The presenter paused.

Ronald’s reaction froze the blood in Carolyn’s veins.

He didn’t get angry. He didn’t scold her. He didn’t even look annoyed.

He simply turned toward Victoria, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t mess around,” he said, his tone carrying a note of indulgent exasperation—as if chiding a mischievous child.

A long time ago, Carolyn had once come to his office during a meeting, missing him. She hadn’t dared to interrupt, waiting quietly in the lounge outside. When Ronald finally emerged and saw her, his brow had furrowed. He’d led her inside, his voice stern. “This is a workplace, not home. Stay in my office. Don’t wander around. It’s unprofessional.”

And now, he allowed another woman to casually tamper with his work equipment in the middle of a serious meeting.

The truth, cold and brutal, settled over her. She had been lying to herself all along.

Numbly, she turned from the conference room door. Her feet carried her, as if of their own volition, toward Ronald’s private office.

She pushed open the heavy mahogany door. The familiar, clean, masculine scent of his space washed over her—now undercut by a faint, cloying sweetness of perfume.

The office was as immaculate and efficient as ever, a testament to its owner’s discipline. But her gaze was instantly, irrevocably drawn to the expensive leather sofa in the lounge area.

It was no longer the sleek, minimalist piece she remembered. Now it lay buried under a mountain of fluffy, cutesy stuffed animals—a garish, jarring invasion in the room’s severe aesthetic.

Carolyn walked over in a daze. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing against a rabbit plushie dressed in a frilly princess gown.

Just then, the office door opened. Ronald’s assistant walked in, arms laden with files. Seeing Carolyn and the toy in her hand, a flicker of acute discomfort crossed the assistant’s face.

“Mrs Ronald… those were Miss Victoria’s request. She said the office was too cold and impersonal, uncomfortable to sit in. She insisted on putting them there.”

*Miss Victoria’s request.*

So, the one who could make him break his own rules, cross his own boundaries, was Victoria.

A violent, twisting pain seized her chest—so sharp she nearly doubled over.

“What are you doing here?”

A low voice cut through the silence from the doorway.

Ronald stood there, the meeting evidently over. His eyes went immediately to the plushie in her hand.

He strode over, almost hurriedly, and plucked the toy from her grasp.

Then, with a care that felt like a physical blow, he placed it back on the sofa, even adjusting its position so it leaned more comfortably against the others.

Only then did he turn to Carolyn, his expression settling back into its usual cool composure. “Why are you here? I told you to go home and rest.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled in Carolyn’s throat.

Her husband—snatching a toy from her hands as if guarding someone else’s world.

“What are you so nervous about?”

Carolyn’s voice was soft, like a feather settling onto the floor.

Ronald’s brow only furrowed tighter, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “Carolyn, I should be asking why you came to the company without letting me know.”

His words carried a tone of righteous certainty, as though she were the intruder—the one who didn’t know her place.

The office door swung open again, accompanied by light footsteps and the cloying scent of bubble tea.

“Ronald, I’m back! I brought you bubble tea—half sugar, no ice. Try it…”

Victoria bounced in, holding a cup aloft, a bright smile on her face.

But the moment she spotted Carolyn, that smile froze.

She went straight to Ronald’s side, leaning her whole body against him, and held the cup to his lips. Her voice turned saccharine. “Come on, just a little! I waited in line forever.”

Ronald turned his head slightly away. “I don’t drink that.”

“No, no, no! I bought it just for you! Just one sip, okay? One sip?”

Victoria persisted, tugging at his sleeve, her eyes darting toward Carolyn in clear challenge.

A flicker of conflict passed through Ronald’s eyes.

In the end, he took the cup and forced down a small sip.

Ronald hated sweets.

As a child, when Carolyn offered him her most treasured candies, he’d always shake his head and refuse.

After they married, he never touched the pastries or desserts at home.

He’d once said the sickly-sweet taste made him nauseous.

Yet now, to placate Victoria, he drank what he despised.

So it wasn’t that his principles couldn’t be broken. It was just that she, Carolyn, didn’t have the right to make him break them.

Her own voice came out dry and brittle, threaded with a shattered tremor. “Before, when I came to the company, you only let me into your office. You said it looked bad—that I couldn’t wander around. Why can she follow you to meetings, touch your computer freely, make you… drink something you can’t stand?”

Ronald set the cup down, his expression darkening.

He turned to Victoria, his tone softening just slightly. “Why don’t you go browse the mall downstairs? Buy whatever you like.”

Pulling a black platinum card from his wallet, he handed it to her.

Though visibly reluctant, Victoria took it under his unwavering gaze, pouting, “Then you’d better come find me soon.”

She shot Carolyn one last glance and left, strutting out like a triumphant peacock.

The office door clicked shut again.

Ronald turned back, the impatience on his face barely contained. “Carolyn, you’re overstepping.”

Overstepping?

She looked at him and let out a low, choked laugh, tears spilling uncontrollably.

So caring about her own husband was “overstepping” in his eyes.

“Overstepping…” she repeated the word, tasting its bitterness. “Ronald, I told you. If you met someone you truly loved, tell me. I would let you go.”

Drawing a shaky breath, she made each word deliberate. “Let’s get a divorce.”

The air in the room froze solid.

Ronald’s pupils contracted sharply—a crack finally appearing in his usual mask of composure.

He looked at her, his gaze complex and unreadable.

He was silent for a long, long time. So long that Carolyn thought he wouldn’t speak at all.

Then, finally, he said, “Carolyn, even if we divorce, I’ll still take care of you.”

He paused. “It’s also my promise to your parents.”

Parents…

The word pierced her final defenses like the sharpest arrow.

Images from the horrific car crash two years ago flooded her mind unbidden—her parents’ smiles and voices, frozen forever on cold headstones.

Right. She’d almost forgotten. The care he spoke of was rooted in that vow, made at her parents’ hospital bedsides.