Everyone in Harbor City knows that the city's prince, Brandon Schmidt, is a devoted husband. Countless homewrecker wannabes are dealt with before they can even reach me.

But one day, I see Brandon's text conversation with one of his mistresses. "You're going to open up for me tonight."

"It's so embarrassing to be doing this on your wife's bed."

Meanwhile, my arm is shattered from dealing with one of his competitors.

The conversation makes my stomach turn. So be it, then. No one's getting off easy now.

I couldn't remember exactly when my marriage to Brandon Schmidt started falling apart. After all, everyone in Harbor City knew that Brandon adored me to death, that he couldn't live without me. But that day, his little bird decided to come knocking at my door.

The girl was pitiful to look at, like an innocent princess from a fairy tale.

I had just finished dealing with two moles who tried to steal our bid documents. I personally broke one's leg with an axe and cleanly chopped off four fingers from the other.

The little princess sat across from me. Just as I took the towel my bodyguard handed me and was calmly wiping the blood from my hands, she got right to the point, saying, "Bran doesn't love you anymore. If you leave on your own, it's better for everyone."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Brandon has countless women flocking around him. You're nothing special."

The girl was in her late teens. She was wearing a white blouse, a light-colored pleated skirt, and canvas shoes, with her waist-length black hair casually tied up. Her face still had the youthful glow, fresh and bright as a newly bloomed magnolia.

"We've been together for a year. We sleep together almost every day, and ten times, it was in your marriage bed. He says after all these years, you only know one position, and he's bored. You know he doesn't love you anymore. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, right?"

My expression remained unchanged as I casually lit a cigarette. "Is that all? Continue."

She pushed a test report toward me. It stated that she was already 13 weeks pregnant with a detectable heartbeat.

"So, an embryo gives you confidence?" I chuckled softly.

She argued, "Bran loves children. He'll definitely want me to keep this baby. Cami, how long can love maintained by guilt really last?"

Looking at her features that resembled mine so closely, I sighed lightly. "Luna Adkins, a freshman at Harbor College's Literature Department and from a modest background. As the only child of an ordinary family, your parents gave you the best life they could afford in a place with high living costs like Harbor City.

"Is being a mistress something you're proud of? Didn't your parents teach you dignity and shame? Throwing yourself at rich men and using love as an excuse for gold-digging—you dare talk to me about love?"

I asked, "If I sent your words today and this test report to your school and posted it online, do you think you'd have a good outcome?"

Luna stood up abruptly, pointing at me. "Hey! You wouldn't dare!"

"Thinking you can secure your position with a child—how should I put it? Naively stupid."

If any new woman were in Brandon's life, people would line up to bring that information to me. However, Luna was the only one who dared confront me directly. She did not know that it was never about me being unable to leave Brandon, but that Brandon's business depended entirely on me.

I slowly blew out a smoke ring and looked Luna straight in the eyes. "Get out. I'm giving you one chance because we're both women. Show up in front of me again, and even Brandon won't be able to protect you."

Watching her retreating figure, I became lost in thought. From first glance, I knew Brandon might be serious this time. After all, she was different from the other women—she resembled me.

Not the current me, though. But Carmelia Sanders at 19 years old.

I got with Brandon when I was 19. At that time, Dad had fallen victim to a scheme and owed loan sharks money for construction payments. The debt collectors drove him to jump from a building.

Eventually, Mom abandoned our family to become a wealthy overseas businessman's mistress and fled the country. Only my seriously ill grandmother and I were left to rely on each other.

I worked various part-time jobs during the day and at a nightclub in the evenings to earn money for tuition and Grandma's medical bills.

Once, I encountered a difficult drunk customer who cornered me. He hissed, "You're working at a nightclub and still playing hard to get? I'm going to have you today no matter what."

I broke a glass, cut him with it, and as I fled through the door with bloody hands, I crashed right into Brandon's arms. He was the club's behind-the-scenes owner, and I had heard about him—ruthless, cold-blooded, and with a terrible reputation.

Later, I heard Brandon's associate say, "In all these years, this is the first time I've seen Bran go soft for a woman."

He helped pay Grandma's medical bills and found her the best private hospital. His way of pursuing me was straightforward. He showered me with money, and I could have anything I wanted within his means.

Others described him as cold-blooded, merciless, and decisive. But with me, he was devoted, gentle, and responsible. I fell for him quickly, and on my 20th birthday, he coaxed me into my first time. Once I had a taste, I knew I wanted more, and we completely became one.

Gradually, I began to understand Brandon's business. A significant portion of his enterprises operated in gray areas, with all sorts of people working under him.

His associates had warned him, "Bran, in our line of work, having a weakness is taboo. Your woman is too innocent, she'll hold you back."

What they did was dangerous work, walking on a knife's edge where one misstep could mean disaster. I promised, "Brandon, I won't become your burden, trust me."

The way he looked at me then was so tender it could have drowned me. So, I hardened my resolve. From a delicate girl who got winded just from running, to someone who could take down three men with her bare hands—it only took me two years. Even his associates were amazed that my shooting skills eventually surpassed Brandon's.

Later, for the sake of Brandon's business, I cut my hair short, got tattoos, and collected countless scars. I became Brandon's most reliable support, managing his operations efficiently—I was no longer his burden.

However, Brandon wasn't happy about it. On countless drunken nights, he would gently trace my tattoos and scars, sighing softly. "Cami, I wish we could go back to ten years ago. I still prefer the way you were then."

I knew it was drunk talk, but it was also his true feelings. After everything we'd been through, my heart had hardened. Even so, I couldn't help feeling hurt.

I thought, "Brandon Schmidt, you're such a fucking heartless bastard. The youthful, bright, and pure Carmelia from ten years ago died along the path of fighting alongside you."

...

When Brandon came home, it was already late at night. He habitually pulled me into his arms, but when he tried to kiss the top of my head, he missed. He asked, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

I didn't answer him, which caught him off guard. He pressed, "What's wrong? Who upset you? I'll take care of them."

He still had traces of orange-scented perfume on him—I never used anything that sweet. I looked up at him and said, "Your little pet crossed the line."

He frowned and let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Cami. I didn't know she would come looking for you."

I placed the finalized bid documents into a folder and sealed it, casually lighting a cigarette. "You know my methods. If there's a next time, she'll end up dead or crippled—I've never been a patient person. She says she's pregnant. I have no interest in raising a bastard child, so you have one week. If the child still exists after that, I'll handle it myself."

I once suffered a severe injury while saving Brandon. The doctors informed us that I could never have children of my own. Then, Brandon told me he didn't want children, that we would live lovingly together for a lifetime. He said our relationship didn't need children to prove its worth.

I believed him and his words.

When Brandon remained silent for a long time, I let out a soft snort. His eyes met mine, and I noticed that they held hesitation and reluctance.

He said, "Cami, I'll handle the child. Don't touch her."

I found this curious. "What's this? Getting soft?"

He anxiously rubbed his brow, "Cami, you two aren't the same. She's too pure and innocent—she's no match for you."

The word "pure" stung me. Distant yet deeply carved memories came flooding back, making my heart ache. So, it was purity that he liked after all.

Seven years ago, Brandon was betrayed by a trusted associate during a shipment run, losing both the cargo and being kidnapped. In Harbor City's underworld, everyone knew who was behind it.

They were jealous of Brandon's meteoric rise as a "newcomer" in the business and had conspired to set him up. To humiliate Brandon, they said they would release him if I entertained their boss. We had just gotten married then and were deeply in love.

Murder might end a life, but this was designed to destroy the soul.

I was terrified. In the video they sent, he was covered in blood, having gone two days and nights without water, looking frighteningly pale.

Eventually, I approached his enemies on my own. I knew what I would endure, but I would do anything as long as Brandon could live.

Two days later, I was delivered to the hospital, barely clothed. They released Brandon as promised, but they had despicably recorded videos of everything. In the footage, I was on my knees, actively begging while enduring multiple men's brutality. They even sent a backup copy to Brandon.

He only saw the thumbnail before going berserk.

It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry, and we huddled together, sleepless for many nights. He swore that those who violated me would pay the price and that he would kill them with his own hands. Later, he did exactly that, consuming all their territories.

Afterward, Brandon desperately begged all those who knew to keep silent about the incident. He paid with both money and his dignity. But at some point, he began to change. Young, "pure" girls started appearing around him one after another. I suddenly realized that people's hearts do change.

...

Brandon stood on the balcony smoking when his phone suddenly rang. He irritably hung up, but the caller persisted.

Finally, Brandon answered. The girl's soft crying came through, but I couldn't understand what she said. He cursed under his breath, "What a nuisance."

Then, he turned to me and said, "There's an issue at the port that I need to handle. You should rest first."

After that, he hurried out, not returning all night. He knew exactly where my boundaries lay. After going through so much together, I could accept everything about him.

I wasn't fond of sex, so I didn't care how many women he sought for release. However, I couldn't accept him truly falling in love with another woman and letting her get pregnant.

He felt sorry that I had suffered so much for him, becoming "unrecognizable". So, when he saw Luna, who resembled my younger self so much, he couldn't help but soften, wanting to protect her.

Yet, the person who had suffered alongside him was right beside him, so why care about a mere shadow? In the decade we shared, the last eight as husband and wife, I had lived almost entirely for Brandon's sake. Now I just felt so tired, so exhausted. I could not help but think I just wanted to be Carmelia again.