To Willa Fowler, I'm not her husband, but rather, a non-performing asset that awaits her handling.

When I fall sick and ask her for help, she grows impatient with me.

"This is a low-tier problem that you should be dealing with on your own. There's no need to report to me about it."

When I burst into tears from an emotional breakdown, she berates me, "If you lose control of your emotions, you'll just show everyone else the vulnerability in our alliance. Next time, I'll have the PR team teach you how to manage your emotions."

Even when I call her for help after getting into a car crash, she doesn't hesitate to hang up on me.

"Everything concerning you isn't important enough for me to suspend the hundred-billion-dollar transaction I'm performing right now."

I spend seven days in the ICU getting my life saved afterward.

On the first day of getting home, I witness Willa bending down to gently coax another young man into taking his medication.

She opens her mouth in an attempt to explain the situation to me.

But I just chuckle bitterly before handing over the paperwork I've already prepared in advance to her.

This time, I sound exactly like her.

"Ms. Fowler, regarding our marriage project, after a comprehension evaluation, the return on the investment is deemed too low. Therefore, I'd like to officially propose a termination on this project.

"This is the divorce agreement. Please leave your signature here."

Tristan's POV

It was then that Willa Fowler suddenly got up and glanced at the divorce agreement without picking it up.

"Where have you been in the past two months? Taylor said you weren't answering any calls or messages. You'd better check in with me first if you're going to disappear like that again, Tristan."

She didn't show any concern at all. Instead, she immediately started berating me without knowing the facts.

Truthfully, in all the time I had known her, this was the first time I felt annoyed and weary of looking at Willa's face.

I didn't force her to accept the divorce agreement. I merely set it down on the coffee table and stated, "You can just sign it if you have no objections, Ms. Fowler."

I glanced at the young man in the wheelchair beside me. As I was too weak to even muster the energy for an angry confrontation, I just walked around him, intending to head upstairs to get some rest.

It seemed like my quiet response was too out of character, as Willa suddenly explained herself.

"Simon is my friend's younger brother. They asked me to look after him, so I had him move in here to make things easier. I told you all this in a text, but you must have missed it—wait, what's wrong with your hand?"

I followed Willa's gaze downward as she shifted the topic, noting that my right hand was exposed now that the divorce agreement wasn't there to cover it.

It looked gaunt, with two layers of gauze wrapped around the wrist and bruises on the back of the hand from the IV needles used during the emergency treatment.

"Have you fallen ill, Tristan Quinn?" Willa seemed to think she had found the root of my strange reaction.

She addressed me directly by my full name, sounding more like a superior reprimanding a subordinate than a concerned spouse. "You shouldn't be making impulsive decisions when you're in such a state, Tristan Quinn! You'd better take this divorce agreement back!"

Having been accustomed to this treatment, I hesitated briefly but continued up to the second floor without looking back.

I couldn't even manage to shut the door before my strength gave out. I leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground, overcome by intense dizziness.

I could hear Simon Jensen's frail voice drifting up from the lower floor. "Is Tristan upset with me, Willa? You should probably send me back to my place. I'll be fine on my own. It'll probably be a bit inconvenient, but I can handle it on my own."

Willa leaned over and consoled Simon, "How could that be? You should just stay here and relax, Simon. He's always been like that, so he'll get over it in a few days. You should take your medicine now. I have a glass of water here and some candy ready so that it won't taste bitter for you, Simon."

I noticed that Willa was speaking softly, with a kind of gentleness I had never experienced. I could picture her face at that very moment—the warmth and attention I had pleaded for countless times, now lavishly offered to some other stranger.

I suddenly felt a piercing sensation of nausea rising from my stomach. I reflexively covered my mouth and retched, but I couldn't throw anything up. I could only feel the bitter burn of bile in my esophagus.

I realized then that Willa wasn't inherently cold—she just didn't love me enough to care for me.

I wanted to laugh at my own folly and innocence. I couldn't believe I still harbored such pathetic illusions about this marriage even after coming back from the brink of death.

I could hear Willa's voice—gentle yet heartless—drifting from downstairs, each word driving a fresh sting into my open, bleeding wounds.

It was then that my phone suddenly buzzed on the floor where it had fallen. I couldn't make out who was calling me, but I still answered it with a shaky hand.

I heard a woman's voice, languid and sultry, teasing me from the other end. "You hardly ever text me now that you're married, Tristan. What's the matter? You looking to start something on the side with me?"

I let out a couple of coughs and said weakly, "I'm not looking for an affair since I'm getting a divorce anyway. I'm looking for a sugar baby, so tell me your price."

Tristan's POV

On the other end of the phone, Delilah Erickson froze momentarily, then laughed with greater pleasure.

She sounded genuinely interested and provocative as she said, "You should send me your address. I'll go pick you up, Tristan."

…

Willa's POV

It was early in the morning when I spared a look at the empty chair beside me.

I turned to the housekeeper, Freya Warner, and instructed, "Have someone call him down for breakfast, Freya."

Freya, who had her head lowered, looked up in confusion, saying, "Mr. Quinn left first thing this morning, bringing his suitcase with him, Mrs. Quinn."

My hand, holding the fork, stopped mid-air. "You mean Tristan actually left?"

Simon said tentatively, "You should probably send me home, Willa. I'm certain that Tristan must be upset, which is why—"

I cut Simon off, my expression hardening. "Tristan has done this before. He'll return once he cools off for a couple of days. You shouldn't worry about him and continue eating your meal, Simon."

Having said that, I pushed the glass of warm oat milk toward Simon, who lowered his head and took a couple of sips, looking utterly blissful.

I intended to continue my meal, but my mind involuntarily flashed back to Tristan's deathly pale complexion yesterday, his cold and decisive remarks, and the divorce agreement currently lying on the coffee table.

I suddenly clicked my tongue, losing my appetite in an instant.

I stood up with a trace of uncharacteristic haste and instructed, "You can clear the table now."

I then turned to the butler, Sebastian Greene, and said, "Get the car ready. I'm heading to the company."

…

Tristan's POV

In the meantime, not long after being discharged, Delilah took me to the hospital once more. I was probably in such bad shape because I had forced my own discharge.

As a result, I came down with a fever and passed out in her car not long after.

I vaguely felt someone rubbing the bruising on my right hand while I was half-conscious.

"What do you mean he got into a car accident, and that three critical-condition notices were issued? Is this a lingering effect? It seems like the wound on the abdomen is slightly infected.

"I'll head out for a while. Have the nurse hurry with the anti-inflammatories and change the dressing. Go turn up the AC and get the IV heater in here."

I pried my eyes open with effort, meeting a gaze full of worry. "D-Delilah?"

Delilah replied, "I'm right here, so just go back to sleep, Tristan. You'll feel better once you've rested."

I could feel the heat from her palm as she held my freezing right hand. I was so delirious with fever that I lost the ability to identify her, only registering the fact that her hand was remarkably warm.

…

Willa's POV

I had already called Tristan eight times, only to have each call go unanswered.

I knew that in the past, whenever Tristan threw tantrums, it would only take two or three calls to reach him. I didn't even have to coax him, as he would eagerly return to my side.

At this thought, I instructed Taylor, "I need you to go find out—"

I got interrupted mid-sentence as someone from the secretariat suddenly knocked on the door with a guest beside her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Fowler, but Mr. Ziegler insisted on meeting you. He said he's here at Mr. Quinn's request."

Zachary Ziegler straightened his glasses and said, "Good morning, Ms. Fowler. I'm the lawyer whom Mr. Quinn has commissioned to discuss the divorce details with you."

I was momentarily stunned. I sneered and asked with a knowing smile, "Is this Tristan's latest stunt, Mr. Ziegler? Where is Tristan right now? I'm very busy and have no time to play along with his runaway antics, so please have him return to the residence as soon as possible.

"Simon has a bit of a sensitive nature, so all this worrying is hindering his recovery. Tristan needs to apologize to Simon when he returns."

I sounded very dismissive, treating the matter as nothing more than an unreasonable child throwing a tantrum.

Zachary remained silent for a beat before he opened his briefcase and pulled out a document. "I was told to present this to you by Mr. Quinn if you were skeptical about the whole thing, Ms. Fowler."

It wasn't a divorce agreement. Instead, it was a printed copy of an official announcement.

Zachary continued, "In accordance with Mr. Quinn's instructions, his capital company and its subsidiaries released this announcement through official channels at exactly 10:00 am today.

It's a formal declaration to the public and his business partners that he has begun the process of divorcing you, Ms. Fowler."

My smile immediately crumbled, my pupils constricting sharply as I stared at the official announcement, complete with an official stamp.

I knew exactly what it meant, as this was the very approach I had always been most skilled in and most fond of using.

I finally realized then that Tristan hadn't been joking—he was serious about getting a divorce.

Tristan's POV

"It's already the fifth time Ms. Fowler has asked to meet and talk things over this week. Do you still refuse to meet her, Tristan?" Delilah asked.

I accepted the glass of warm water from Delilah and swallowed the pills in one gulp.

"Why would I meet her? Do I have to watch her size me up like she's evaluating a financial report or listen to her 'analyze' our bullshit marriage in the tone of a project summary?

"Do I then have to cooperate with her by waiting for her to condescendingly 'handle' our divorce agreement? Willa's AI-like, business-only attitude sickens me to the core.

"I won't subject myself to that kind of insult again, Delilah."

I set the glass aside, took a deep breath, and continued, "In any case, I can't skip the cocktail party happening on Friday. I'll sign the divorce agreement, end the relationship, and finish it all in one go.

"We'll have nothing more to do with one another from then on. In the end, Willa can go back to being the CEO of her company, and I'll be the CEO of my own company."

I began to feel drowsy as the sunlight bathed me in warmth.

I took a bank card out of my bag just as Delilah was about to close the door and said, "I have five million dollars here—no PIN is needed."

Delilah was momentarily stunned as she looked at the closed door. She chuckled softly and whispered to herself, "You're actually really treating me like a sugar baby, huh?"

…

It was finally the day of the cocktail party, and the banquet hall was thick with the mingling scents of champagne and perfume.

It was my first appearance after the divorce announcement, so I held a glass of champagne and chatted briefly with various long-time family acquaintances and elders from my social circle.

Willa made her way through the crowd and came up directly to me. She spoke in a gentler tone than usual, saying, "I'd like to have a word with you, Tristan."

I lifted my gaze, noting that the roles were now reversed—I was now the one scrutinizing her like a mere commodity. "Is something the matter, Ms. Fowler?"

Willa appeared taken aback by my formal address. She fell silent for a moment before Taylor, who was behind her, passed her a velvet box.

She handed me the box containing the latest watch from Shely and said, "I've been neglecting you before this, Tristan."

She spoke awkwardly, obviously out of her element when it came to apologies or asking for a second chance. "I've prepared this gift for you. As for the divorce, maybe we could reconsider…"

I observed Willa, unable to tell what was going on in her mind. I mused that perhaps she didn't want to lose such an ideal "marriage partner" for the sake of her business empire.

I was definitely getting a divorce, but from the perspective of business cooperation, even with a divorce, there was no need to make things too tense.

I simply thought that there was no reason to let my grudge against her interfere with financial interests.

I was in the midst of my hesitation when a crisp voice broke through—filled with just the right amount of shock and familiarity. "I didn't realize this watch was intended for Tristan, Willa. If I had known, I would have let Tristan choose first."

Simon approached in his wheelchair, looking at the watch with a mix of longing and coquettishness. He was already wearing a different piece from the same collection.

"I mentioned recently that the design was too understated for my taste, but looking at it now, I find that it's actually quite lovely. I'm actually quite reluctant to let it go now."

He reached out and lightly tugged at Willa's sleeve while saying that.

Willa furrowed her brow slightly. She glanced at me, then at Simon in his wheelchair.

She said in her usual matter-of-fact tone, as if she were coordinating a trivial matter, "It seems like Simon wants this watch, Tristan.

"I have an ongoing cooperation with Jensen Group, so you should let him have it first. I'll have Taylor get you another one in whatever style you prefer—"

I sneered in response, though my expression remained calm. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not in the habit of fighting for leftovers that someone else didn't want, Ms. Fowler."

I cast a pointed glance at Willa, my tone dismissive and haughty while adding, "It also makes no sense to take back a gift that has been given, Ms. Fowler. How could you not know such basic rules after being in the business world for so long?

"You're clearly trying to humiliate me, so I don't think we have anything more to talk about, Ms. Fowler."

I deliberately raised my voice so that everyone present could hear me clearly. "I'll be notifying my lawyer to choose a good day to officially file for the divorce, Ms. Fowler."

I "accidentally" let go of the champagne glass in my hand, causing it to shatter at Willa's feet with a sharp crack and splattering her with the drink.

"I'm sorry. I lost my grip. It's difficult to keep a steady hand when faced with someone so nauseating, after all."