Chapter 2

"The trust fund was set up by my dad after we got married, so technically, you’re entitled to part of it. Just have your lawyer come over and we’ll split it up. This house was bought after we got married too, so whether you sell it or buy out my share, just give me the half that’s mine. I can move into my dad’s old villa for the time being. As for the last bit of shares in the company, I’ve already signed the first refusal agreement. Just pay me a fair price. I’m not trying to take more than what’s mine." Emma spoke with calm, folding the document in her hand and sliding it back across the table toward Ethan. "That’s it?" Ethan looked at her, frozen for a few seconds before asking. "Yeah, that’s all." Emma nodded, the corners of her lips pulling up into a soft smile. Ethan was still stuck in place. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Emma didn’t even flinch? Not a trace of begging, not even a hint of unwillingness? Before he stepped into the house, he’d half-expected this woman—who he always thought of as weak and useless—to flip the table, cry, scream, maybe throw a fit. He was even mentally prepared to roll his eyes and walk right out. But when she picked up the pen and signed her name so decisively, with no tears, no drama — something twisted deep in Ethan’s chest. A strange, bitter swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite name. The air hung heavy for a while, until the clock struck midnight, jolting them back to the present. Emma finally let out a long breath and gave him a light smile. "Honestly, Ethan, it’s probably better this way. Now I’ll never have to worry about you leaving — because you already have." She turned around, lifting the hem of her long black dress, and headed quietly upstairs. The doctor had warned her that her heart couldn’t take too much stress. Surgery or transplant, neither was a permanent fix. If she wanted even a few more years, pulling all-nighters was off the table. "Stop," Ethan snapped suddenly as she turned, grabbing her wrist without thinking. He blinked — her skin was soft, her wrist so delicate. For a moment, he was genuinely surprised. Three years of marriage, and he’d never really looked at her. She didn’t work, got sick whenever seasons changed, and stayed cooped up in this big house like some fragile bird in a gilded cage. No matter how fancy the clothes she wore, she always felt out of place to him. He hated how pale and sickly she always looked, hated her quiet personality, hated how behind that porcelain face was a mind that he thought schemed more than she let on. But now, with her gentle expression and calm tone, she seemed almost... transformed. And something in him churned — a flicker of frustration, almost violent. The truth was, Ethan just couldn’t admit it to himself — Emma’s calm tonight had shaken the twisted control he’d grown so used to having in this marriage. "Is there something else?" Emma asked, rubbing her now sore wrist, her voice steady as ever. "What the hell are you trying to prove here?" Ethan raised his voice, clearly pissed. "Acting all selfless and saintly now—what, trying to make me look like the cold-hearted jerk in comparison? Emma, don’t you forget why we even got married in the first place!" Emma bit her lip gently, brows slightly furrowed. She couldn’t help but wonder—what was the real reason Ethan married her? He was the golden boy—brilliant, successful, the dream of every socialite out there. And her? Aside from coming from a well-off family, she was chronically ill and hadn’t even finished college. The two of them were never on the same level. She had only managed to latch onto him with her one-sided hope, forcing an illusion of fate. And all the cold shoulders, the emotional distance... she never said a word to anyone. She just kept wearing that fake smile—especially in front of her dad—pretending everything was fine. But love isn’t some perfect fairy tale. Whether it burns hot or fades cold, there's always a reason. And if she couldn’t be the woman Ethan respected and loved, it wasn’t because she didn’t try—it was because just staying alive already took every ounce of strength she had. "Ethan... I know this wasn’t about feelings. It was all about family interests... Our families—well, we match on paper," Emma lowered her head, lightly biting her lip. "But even so, I don’t regret… being married to you." “Matching families? Emma, stop acting all noble, seriously,” Ethan scoffed coldly. “Brooks Enterprises got to where it is because of my hard work and strategy! And as for you... please. You think I forgot how you schemed your way into my bed when I was drunk? That whole gossip storm you kicked up across town—” "You—no, Ethan! That night was a total misunderstanding, I didn’t even—" Emma’s face went pale. She honestly hadn’t thought that one stupid night would still haunt him like this. “Misunderstanding? Funny, because it really felt like you timed it perfectly. Just enough to turn a one-night mess into a scandal. What do you think would’ve happened if I didn’t play along? Your dad? My parents? You think I would’ve ever picked someone like you otherwise?” “Ethan, it’s not like that! Really! If you'd just listened—” Emma felt like she could’ve cleared everything up in a few simple sentences. But in three whole years, Ethan had never once given her the space to explain herself. “I never made a move on you… I didn’t even—” “Save it!” Ethan’s chest tightened, and his throat was dry. The next second, he bent down without warning and scooped Emma right off the floor into his arms. Three years. Three years of keeping his distance. His aversion and obsessive need for control made sure he never touched her—not from day one. He’d slept in the study their entire marriage, as if setting the whole tone right then and there that this was never gonna be about love. But now… something felt different. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was that primitive part of a man that just didn’t like letting go. He... actually wanted her. That tiny spark of desire finally crashed through the walls of logic. Jaw clenched, Ethan tossed Emma onto the bed. And then, tugged at his shirt and yanked his belt free—