Chapter 1

By the time Marceline Ballard arrived at the hillside villa, she was breathless, and the party inside had long since started. The person at the front door was surprised to see her. He clearly hadn't expected her to show up. "Ms. Ballard, what are you doing here? Everyone's already eaten…" This was her husband's birthday celebration, and yet, no one had thought to invite his legally wedded wife. Among all these people in their social circle, not a single person bothered to contact her. Marceline gave the doorman a faint smile and was just about to push open the door when she heard voices from inside. "Jenna, what did you get him? Curtis hasn't taken his eyes off your gift for a while now. He's been looking forward to opening it all evening." "Have I now?" "Don't pretend. The bag's practically got two holes burned into it from your staring. Since Jenna's finally back, why don't you just divorce Marceline already? It's better than keeping things awkward for everyone." "Exactly. If you hadn't married her out of pity after she drugged you to save her reputation, she would've been publicly shamed to oblivion." The man seated in the very center wore a sharp, dark suit, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His features were striking and sharp, with deep-set eyes, a high bridge, and thin lips. He was like a colorful but poisonous butterfly, and his slightly upturned eyes gave him a distant and prideful appearance. "There's no rush," he said. "Curtis, it's been three years. What do you mean there's no rush? It was her fault Jenna's sister ended up in a vegetative state. If your grandmother hadn't protected her, we would've destroyed her long ago." Curtis Wolfe fiddled with the lighter between his slender fingers, his gaze flickering to the figure at the doorway. It was only then that the others realized Marceline had been standing there for some time now. Someone whispered, "Did any of you invite her?" No one responded, which meant that she had come uninvited. Marceline lowered her gaze. She had a light colored cashmere sweater on, and her hair was neatly tucked behind her ear. With her gentle demeanor and delicate features, she hardly seemed like the type to do anything shameless. But apparently, she had. As she held a gift in her hands, she looked at Curtis in the center. She felt as though barbed wire was coiled around her chest, the piercing pain burrowing so deeply that she involuntarily clenched her hands into fists. Marceline walked up to Curtis, but before she could hand him the well-thought-out gift, he knitted his brows slightly and sneered with indifference. "Who said you could come?" Derisive laughter echoed around Marceline, chipping away at her dignity. Jenna Farrell was seated nearby. She playfully glared at Curtis before pulling Marceline to sit down. "Come on, she's your wife. It's only right that she came to give you a gift. "Sit, Marceline. Curtis is just grumpy as always." Marceline kept silent, her lips tightly pursed. She was his wife, and yet it was his ex-fiancée who was helping her smooth things over. No one here welcomed her, but Marceline still came—all because Curtis had said that they'd spend his 28th birthday together back when he was 18. Without hesitation, she took a seat beside Curtis and edged Jenna out of the way. Jenna's expression faltered for a moment, looking displeased. She then asked, "So, what gift did you get for Curtis?" A curious onlooker reached over and opened the gift directly. It was a scarf without a label—most likely a hand-knit one. "Oh, wow." Jenna remarked, "We must really think alike—I also made him a scarf." The two hand-knit scarves were then placed side by side. It was hard to tell which was better made. Just then, someone accidentally bumped the table. Then, an opened bottle of wine tipped over, sending a stream of red liquid rushing toward both scarves. Curtis reached out to grab one of them while the other got soaked in wine. The one he grabbed was Jenna's. Upon seeing the scarf she'd spent two months knitting now drenched in alcohol, Marceline went pale, and her heart felt numb and heavy. Jenna let out a sigh, linking arms with her in a comforting gesture. "Don't be upset, Marceline. Just wash it when you get home, and it'll be good as new." Ignoring her, Marceline turned to Curtis. He was looking down, concealing whatever emotions he was feeling. The atmosphere became a little awkward. Then, as if Marceline had ruined what was meant to be a cheerful gathering, one by one, people started standing up and claiming they had to leave. Marceline sat still, staring at the scarf abandoned on the coffee table. It resembled her own situation. As the others gradually left, she saw Curtis getting up as well. She softly said, "Curtis, happy birthday." But Curtis acted as if he hadn't heard her. The people around him were all part of his elite circle. Curtis had only been found by the Wolfe family when he was 21, but by then, he was already a self-made business prodigy—and beside him had been the 19-year-old Marceline. Within just seven years, the rising business star had become a central figure among the elite. But the love between them had long since vanished. Those tough, humble days they had weathered together now seemed like a past life. Curtis soon asked someone to drive Jenna home. Jenna lightly tapped his shoulder, saying, "You two should talk things out. Stop fighting all the time." Someone nearby snorted. "Jenna, you really are too nice." "It's not about being nice. Marceline was young and foolish back then. She probably didn't mean it." "As if. She ruined someone's life, shamelessly stole your place, and still has the nerve to show up here." The voice, thick with contempt, gradually faded. Marceline sat there as if frozen in place. Every inch of her blood began to go cold, and even her lips lost their color. She stood up, grabbed her soaked scarf, and looked at Curtis. "Curtis," she softly called out. Curtis had already slung his suit jacket over his arm by then. Upon hearing her voice, he loosened his tie slightly without looking at her. Visibly irritated, he asked, "What do you want to say now?" With a faint smile, Marceline uttered, "Let's get a divorce, Curtis." A flicker of surprise crossed his gaze, but it soon gave way to a chilling, dark stare. "What's your angle this time? First, you drugged me to get me into bed, and now you're acting all high and mighty, demanding a divorce. Aren't you tired of all this, Marceline?" "I'm sorry for wasting three years of your life, but I'm serious this time." The scorn in Curtis' eyes slowly faded. He yanked Marceline toward him and clamped her chin between his fingers. When she winced in pain, it eased the inexplicable tension in his chest. "You're talking about wasting time now? What the hell were you doing three years ago? You want a divorce, you say? Fine, but don't expect me to give you a damn cent!" "I'll leave with nothing." Marceline's eyes were clear, and her voice remained calm and unbothered. After Curtis was brought back to the Wolfe family back then, Marceline—who had been with him—was formally acknowledged by his parents as their goddaughter. However, everyone knew that they only did it because they didn't want their long-lost second son to marry a woman of humble origins. Giving her that title was merely their way of silencing public opinion. Curtis stared at her indifferent face, his throat tightening soundlessly before he turned away. "Fine. Leave with nothing. Just don't regret it."