Chapter 1 Chapter 1

The day I decided to file for divorce, Dean Potter couldn't wait to draft the divorce agreement. Five years ago, he had been forced to marry me, and now he was finally free. On the day we were finalizing our divorce, Dean arrived with his new flame, radiating delight mixed with a hint of mockery. "Veronica Byrd, look at you—you're miserable." I watched his figure fade into the distance, my vision blurring. Miserable? In the next life, it wouldn't happen again. - As I initiated the divorce, Dean stood before me, staring for what felt like an eternity, as if he were trying to bore a hole through me with his gaze. It wasn't until I pulled out the divorce agreement and signed my name that he snapped out of it, his fingers tracing over the document, glancing at it repeatedly. I knew he must have found it hard to believe that I, the woman he had been entangled with for five years, was the one initiating the divorce. After a long silence, he tossed the agreement aside, a barely perceptible smirk playing on his lips. "I don't understand this. I'll need to consult my legal team." I tightened my grip on the pen and replied firmly, "You don't need to. I'm walking away with nothing." His tone shifted, displeased. "How do I know you won't try to pull something?" I looked him in the eye and suddenly remembered that night five years ago; he had held onto that grudge all this time. But after all these years, he should know best what kind of person I am. With a decisive gesture, I threw the pen aside and settled into my chair. "Fine, I'll wait for you to revise the agreement before I come back." With that, I started to rise to leave. He blocked my path, preventing me from leaving. "Just wait here; it won't take long." He seemed eager to cut ties with me, moving swiftly to the door and disappearing from sight. I collapsed onto the couch in the quiet office, recalling what the doctor had told me. Late-stage leukemia—there might not even be a chance for a bone marrow transplant. I sighed, watching where he had vanished, and wondered if he truly cared at all. Blood filled my nostrils, and I wiped my nose, but there were still stains. I hastily pressed a tissue to my face, almost emptying Dean's box of tissues in the process. Thank goodness no one was around to see. Before long, Dean returned with a new divorce agreement in hand. Seeing me with my head tilted back, still trying to stop the bleeding, he looked surprised. "What are you doing?" I quickly tossed the tissue in the trash and composed myself as I sat down. As I took the agreement from him, I noticed a new clause he had added at the end: everything that wasn't mine had to remain, including jewelry, clothes, and shoes—none of which I had ever laid claim to. I knew who those items were meant for, and I had never dreamed of taking them for myself. I signed my name hastily and handed it back to Dean. He inspected it thoroughly before saying, "Veronica, I hope you mean what you say. I don't want to see you again." I understood how much he despised me. In the five years we had been married, he had never spared me a second glance. I glanced at that familiar silhouette waiting by the door and nodded slightly. This should be the last time. During my five years with Dean, I rarely acquired new things. The jewelry and clothes he bought remained untouched by me. After signing the divorce papers, I only took a bag with a few changes of clothes when I left. Now, I felt like a homeless person. After much deliberation, I finally dialed my brother, Fred Byrd's, number. Truth be told, I had a home, five years ago—a loving set of parents and a gentle elder brother. I hadn't contacted Fred in a long time, and the phone rang for ages before someone picked up. His voice was laced with irritation. "What do you want?" I paused, feeling an unexpected wave of vulnerability. "Fred, I want to come home." After what felt like an eternity, Fred replied, "We can talk about it when you get back." To reach home, I had to navigate a narrow path that was shrouded in darkness, void of any light. In my hazy state, I caught a glimpse of Fred's familiar figure making his way down the path. He knew I was afraid of the dark and had come to guide me home. I reached out my hand, but the figure vanished again, leaving me standing alone on that dim path. I couldn't remember the last time Fred had come to fetch me like this. Pushing through the fear, I finally made it home. Upon entering the living room, I found Fred sitting there, his expression grim. Before I could settle in, he angrily tossed a stack of papers at me. I picked them up and examined them closely; they were contracts for projects that had been canceled. "Is this your doing?" I didn't argue back. It seemed that the moment Dean and I divorced, he informed Fred and then used this as a means to retaliate against the Byrds. "Veronica, did you not think this would happen after you schemed your way into Dean's bed? "Now that he's discarded you, you think you can just waltz back into the Byrds? Do we owe you something? "Our family is going to be destroyed because of you!" Fred's eyes were red, his emotions spiraling out of control. In five years, this was the most he had ever said to me; he was finally venting his feelings. I knew he had held resentment toward me all this time, but these past five years hadn't been easy for anyone. I held back my tears, and when that stack of papers hit me, I felt a familiar dizzying sensation wash over me, snapping me back to reality. I pressed my nose tightly, relieved when no blood flowed out. Once Fred calmed down, I spoke. "I will repay whatever I owe to the Byrds to the best of my ability." With my illness, I had no idea how much time I had left. But before I would die, I intended to make things right. Fred scrutinized me, as if he had just heard a joke. "And how do you plan to do that?" Then he suddenly remembered something. "Dean has a dinner meeting with those business partners tonight. Come with me to see him; maybe he can help.""We're divorced," I replied. "Then tell me, how are you going to help? Right now, only the Potters can save us!" Before I could respond, Fred had already gathered the contracts and was pulling me out the door. I hadn't anticipated running into Dean so soon after our separation.

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

That night, Dean was in a great mood, accepting every drink his business partners offered without hesitation. Meanwhile, Fred and I sat in the corner, like forgotten clowns at a circus. When Fred tried to offer him a drink, Dean didn't even acknowledge it. The people around us exchanged knowing looks and began mocking us openly. "Seems like the Byrds really don't know their place. Mr. Potter has already thrown them plenty of projects, and now they want to steal more from us.""With an appetite that big, they'd better watch out… Greed never ends well." Fred's face paled, but he quickly forced a smile. "All those projects have been cut. We're just hoping you can throw us a bone, Mr. Potter." Dean, visibly irritated, gestured toward me. "You want new projects? Let her do the drinking." Fred grew flustered, glancing at me nervously before speaking up. "She can't drink. I'll drink with you instead." Dean didn't budge, his gaze fixed on me, savoring the opportunity to make things difficult. He always did enjoy seeing me struggle. Fred tried to defuse the situation, stepping in front of me. "You two were married once. Don't make this harder on her. I'll take the drinks." Fred downed glass after glass of potent liquor, the kind that would burn all the way down. His face turned red, and eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, retching violently. Dean, disgusted, quickly stepped back, wiping his hands with a napkin. I rushed to help Fred, but he pushed me toward Dean. "Apologize to Mr. Potter. Beg him to help the Byrds." I grabbed the bottle of liquor from the table and chugged it. I knew Dean would only be satisfied seeing me humiliated like this. As the alcohol churned in my stomach, the words I meant to say—words pleading for help—died on my lips. Instead, I said, "We will find a way to pay off our family's debts, Mr. Potter. If you don't want to give us new projects, that's fine." Fred snapped back to attention, his anger flaring as he slapped me hard across the face. "Do you even realize what you're saying? Without Potter Enterprise, the Byrds are finished! How are you going to repay those debts? "Veronica, do you know how our parents died?" A sharp ringing filled my ears, like a needle piercing my brain. I staggered, barely staying upright as Dean's voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain. "Don't put on a show in front of me. It makes me sick." He stepped past me without a second glance. I looked up just in time to see him wrapping his arm around Elaine Willis as they left together, not even bothering to look back. I clenched my fists, fighting the wave of nausea rising in my throat. Blood trickled from my nose, but I barely noticed it until Fred's shocked voice rang out. "Veronica, what's happening to you?" I wasn't ready to use my illness as an excuse for sympathy, so I brushed it off with a forced smile. "I drank too fast, and my body couldn't take it." Fred's concern flickered briefly before his expression hardened again. "The Byrds are going down because of you. Our parents died because of you. Veronica, how can you live with yourself?" I knew Fred didn't really mean it, that he was just furious. Once, he had been kind to me, but now the hatred in his eyes was real. It seemed like I was the only one to be blamed for what happened five years ago. I suddenly felt so tired, wiping my face carelessly as I walked out into the cold night alone. The wind cut through me like a knife, and the streets were eerily empty. Blood smeared across my face as I tried to wipe it away with my sleeve. Dean's parting words echoed in my mind. "It makes me sick." My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the pavement, drained of energy. I knew what he was referring to—the event five years ago. I didn't blame them for hating me. They had every right to. Back then, I had just graduated from law school, landing a prestigious internship at one of the top firms in the city. My career was bright, but it came at the cost of rarely visiting home. Worried about me, my parents planned to sell our house and move to the city where I worked. Sylverwood's real estate market was incredibly expensive, and in their rush to be closer to me, they took on a construction project and even became guarantors for it. But they were careless. The project manager ran off with the money, leaving them with a mountain of debt. From that point on, Fred and I were constantly harassed by debt collectors. My parents, unable to cope, were driven into a corner. One day, they jumped from the roof of a building, unable to see any other way out. On that day, I was out of town, handling a legal dispute for Dean's company before it went public. Dean had been polite and gracious during the meeting, always smiling warmly whenever he praised my work. When our eyes met, my heart skipped a beat. There was something captivating about him. One too many drinks later, I woke up to find everything spiraling out of control. My parents had leaped to their deaths. Debt collectors were banging on our door. Fred's desperate call came in. "Veronica, come home. Mom and Dad are gone." That same day, Dean and I were ambushed by reporters. The media was quick to paint him as a man with a scandalous personal life. To protect his company's upcoming stock launching, Dean lied, claiming we'd been in a long-term relationship. I was going to settle everything at home and then clear things up with Dean. But when I saw my parents' bodies in that cold, sterile morgue, something inside me snapped. Burdened by overwhelming debt, I couldn't summon the strength to track down the person responsible for my parents' ruin. So, I changed my mind. I told Dean I wanted to marry him, hoping to use his influence to achieve my goals. I still remember his face at that press conference—shocked, torn apart by disbelief. He looked like someone had ripped him in half. Afterward, I followed him to his house and asked to borrow money. His fury was palpable as he threw a credit card at me, the force of it striking my head. "Stay away from me. You make me sick." That was the real Dean, so different from the polished, well-mannered man I thought I knew. That night, Elaine came to see him, sobbing quietly in his arms. I didn't have the energy to think about it. I transferred the money to Fred so he could start paying off our debts, but he cursed me out again, calling me shameless. In the end, everything was my fault.

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

I collapsed by the roadside, the chill biting through my bones. Someone nudged me, lifting me gently into their arms. "Veronica… Veronica…" I could barely tell if it was Dean or Fred. When I slowly opened my eyes, I was met with a stranger's face. It was then I realized it was all just my imagination. I touched my face and forehead, feeling like they were boiling with fever. The blood smeared all over my face startled a kind-hearted passerby, who had woken me. With every ounce of strength, I pushed myself up, my head feeling as heavy as a lead ball. The passerby asked if I needed an ambulance, but I shook my head, declining his offer. I forced my battered body to make it to the hospital on my own. As dawn broke, warmth began to seep into my frozen limbs. After registering with a few other doctors, I sat quietly waiting. When Keith White spotted me sitting alone on a bench in the corridor, confusion spread across his face. "Why are you sitting here? Are you not feeling well?" I looked up at him, a bit sheepish. "I have a fever. I just need a prescription.""Come on. Let me take a look." Seeing that I didn't move, he stopped and asked, "What's wrong?""I registered with other doctors. It's nothing serious. I just need some cold medicine.""Veronica!" Seeing the anger flash in his eyes made me finally get up and follow him inside. I just didn't want to trouble him; every time I visited Keith, he either waived the consultation fee or fronted my medication costs. I owed him too much already and was afraid I wouldn't be able to repay him before I died. After assessing my condition, Keith's brows knitted together. His tone turned serious. "It's getting worse. You should check in to the hospital." I registered my appointment with him on my phone, trying to sound nonchalant. "No need. It's not like it can be cured anyway. I might as well make some money first. "Dr. White, can you prescribe me something to stop the bleeding? It seems like it's happening more often lately." Keith fell silent, knowing my situation well. I could see the corners of his eyes redden, and he turned his head away for a moment before speaking again. "You still need to be hospitalized. Don't worry about the money; I—" "Maybe next time," I interrupted, not letting him finish. His mouth opened and closed, unable to find the words for a while. Eventually, I broke the heavy silence. "Dr. White, you mentioned introducing me to a case. Can I still take it?" He rejected me immediately. "You shouldn't work in your condition." I had to plead with him for a while before he reluctantly agreed to send me the contact information for his friend. Seeing the concern in his eyes, I reassured him, "Don't worry. I'll do my best to help your friend win this case." After thinking for a moment, I knew what he was worried about and promised again, "As soon as I make some money, I'll check into the hospital." The last couple of weeks had gone smoothly; Keith's friend's case was easy to handle with solid evidence. In just a week, it would be settled. As I looked at the remaining balance in my bank account, I knew it was because of Keith's trust in me. So, I called to invite Keith to dinner, wanting to express my gratitude properly. At the restaurant, I coincidentally ran into his colleagues, and we ended up sharing a table. Just as everyone settled in, someone walked in from outside. I looked up and saw Dean. He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and pulled out a chair to sit down. He was friends with the head of Keith's department, but there was a noticeable hostility in his gaze when he looked at Keith. During the meal, Keith shielded me from drinking, while Dean insisted. "Ms. Byrd, I remember you have a good tolerance. Why aren't you playing along today?" Keith's face darkened as he declined for me. "She can't drink." Dean, refusing to relent, poured me more wine. "Ms. Byrd knows what she can handle." His tone was laced with threat. I understood that if I didn't drink today, he would soon turn his ire on Keith. He had always been ruthless like that. I didn't want to drag Keith into this, so I raised the filled glass and downed it in one go. The harsh alcohol burned my throat and lungs. With each drink I took, Dean matched me. After several rounds, I was completely intoxicated. Seeing how things were unfolding, others started to intervene. "It's obvious Ms. Byrd can handle her drink. Let's save some for next time; that's enough for today." But Dean seemed unwilling to let me off the hook, continuing to pour. One of his friends tried to block him, joking, "If you keep this up, your wife will come looking for me." Dean paused, staring intently at me. My heart raced, panic coursing through me. Aside from Keith, they didn't know that I was the one Dean married five years ago. "We're divorced. She has no right to manage me." In that moment, I felt a strange sensation; his tone sounded almost jealous, but when I looked up, his eyes were filled with obvious hatred. It hit me—he had always hated me. Since that day five years ago when I had torn him apart from Elaine. Keith helped me out the door. He wanted to take me home, but I had no fixed address anymore, and I had no idea where I should go. So, I refused. The effects of the alcohol were heavy on me. While suppressing the urge to throw up, I decided to find a nearby hotel to spend the night. In a daze, I thought I saw Dean following closely behind me, but the dizziness clouded my vision, making everything indistinct in the dark. I managed to book a room, and just as I was about to close the door, someone barged in, grabbing my arm and throwing me onto the bed. My stomach churned, and I rushed to the bathroom to vomit. In the mirror, I saw Dean standing unmistakably behind me. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His voice dripped with malice. "Ms. Byrd, it seems like you've been getting quite popular among the gents since our divorce." I wanted to explain, but it felt unnecessary. Seeing my silence, Dean suddenly lost his temper and violently shoved me aside. "Veronica, don't forget we're still married!"