Chapter 1

After carefully choosing among countless suitors, the eldest daughter of the Quinn family chose to marry a man who was as good as a mute. … The first year after their wedding, Frost Quinn came down with a high fever in the middle of the night. Barely conscious, she sent Peter Lynch ten voice messages begging him to come home, but there were no replies. The second year, while overseas, she was mugged on the street and nearly had her throat slit. She called Peter, who was nearby, pleading for help. Those 20 calls were answered. In the fifth year, her car's central control failed on the highway. She was pregnant, hemorrhaging badly, and on the brink of death. The doctors needed a guardian's signature to operate, yet none of their calls connected. Desperate, she signed her own name. As she lay on the operating table, she felt the baby's heartbeat fade away, bit by bit, until it was all gone. That was when she finally gave up. The moment she came out of surgery, she stormed straight into Peter's office with a hammer and smashed his phone to pieces. "If you never answer your messages or calls, what the hell do you even need this thing for?" Peter stood calmly to the side, watching her rage without a word. But then, amidst the hammering, his broken phone suddenly let out a special notification chime. It was a text message. However, the sound ended abruptly with her furious hammering. For the first time, his composure cracked. He grabbed his car keys and rushed downstairs. Frost hailed a cab and followed. … Half an hour later, his car stopped at a luxury apartment complex. Under the blazing sun, Frost saw a pale woman waddle out from the building, with one hand on her pregnant belly. From the side, she seemed to be very young. Peter hurried up to her, listening to her tearful complaints, then carefully scooped her up in his arms. "Don't be scared. The baby will be fine…" His low, gentle voice drifted to Frost through the car window. Her fingers dug into the glass so hard her nails cracked and blood seeped out. She never knew her husband, who had ignored her for five long years, could reply instantly to a text, could show worry, gentleness, and care for someone. Moreover, it was to another woman… pregnant with a child. Frost trembled, then laughed through her tears. Of all days, it had to be today, the day she lost their baby, that she saw this. Oh, the irony. She returned home, dazed, and collapsed on the bed. That night, she dreamed of her child. The child called her Mommy, and she kept apologizing repeatedly. Then, a sharp pain gripped her wrist. She woke up to Peter's cold, furious face. "Melanie lost her baby because of you. You went crazy and smashed my phone, so I didn't see her message in time," he said flatly. The calmer his tone, the tighter his grip grew, until her wrist felt ready to shatter. Frost gave a bitter laugh. "Dead? Good. Why should my baby die while yours lives?" His expression twisted with rage. Moments later, he climbed on the bed and tore at her clothes. He muttered like a madman, "You owe her a child. You'll carry one and miscarry to make things even." "Peter Lynch!" she screamed, her heart numb from the pain. She had just told him her child… their child… was gone, yet he didn't seem to have heard it. So, in his world, even when face-to-face, she was just as good as invisible. Every word from her was like a message left on read. She fought back, her fingers brushing the fruit knife on the nightstand. She grabbed it and plunged it into his chest. She hated him so much that she wanted him dead, yet he didn't. He only sustained a minor wound. … A few days later, Frost went to the hospital with her lawyer. Peter was in bed, hosting an online business meeting. He didn't even glance at her. His phone chimed again with the same special tone. He looked down, stopped the meeting, and typed out a long reply. Frost caught a glimpse of the name on the screen—Melanie Johnson. She felt her chest tighten, overwhelmed by disappointment. So he was capable of responding instantly; he could stop a meeting for someone, but just not her. They chatted for ten minutes before he resumed work. … An hour later, the meeting finally ended. Frost finally spoke. "Let's get divorced. You're the one at fault, so I want extra compensation." Peter looked up, mildly surprised. "Melanie's baby wasn't mine. I never crossed any physical boundaries with her, and I never will." Then, his tone hardened. "But I'll take care of her as best as I can. You'd better not lay a finger on her." That guarded look stabbed right through Frost's heart. She asked, "How long have you two been together? Why…" "A year." He ignored the second question. Instead, he pulled a photo of Melanie from his wallet and handed it to her. Then, he signed the divorce papers without hesitation. "Hopefully, this time next month, you'll actually show up at the courthouse," he mocked. Frost didn't answer. She stared intently at the wallet, as if trying to burn a hole through it with her gaze. It was the place where he'd never once kept her photo. After a long silence, she glanced at the picture of Melanie, then took a deep breath. "I'll be there." He didn't believe her. He was too used to her pursuing him. After all, she had survived five years of marriage with thousands of unreplied messages. However, this time, she was done, completely disillusioned. As she reached the door, he called after her. "By the way, that villa in the southern suburbs that you liked? I transferred it to Melanie. It's surrounded by trees and fresh air. It's good for her recovery after the miscarriage." Frost clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. "I told you before—that house was my first gift for our baby. Even if… she's gone now." There was no response. When she looked back, Peter was already typing on his phone, his attention completely elsewhere. She scoffed, then turned and walked out quickly, hoping that distance would erase the years of pain behind her. In the car, she pulled out Melanie's photo again. She couldn't stop her fingers from trembling. The resemblance was uncanny. Melanie looked almost identical to Peter's dead first love, the woman he had truly wanted to marry. Five years ago, the Lynch Group's finances had collapsed. The Quinn family offered a lifeline on one condition—a marriage between the two families. Frost's father, Daniel Quinn, had seen through her crush on Peter and agreed, hoping to help his daughter find happiness. When the families met, she stared boldly at Peter, her eyes full of stars. However, the first thing he said was that he wanted to marry Tara Lloyd, Frost's stepsister. That was when Frost learned they'd been lovers all along. Daniel refused to take the risk for an outsider and withdrew the offer. He then tried to persuade her to give up on Peter. "Sweetheart, love has to go both ways. Otherwise, you'll just suffer." Frost tried to let go, but then Peter came to her privately. He was desperate to save his family, so he said he wanted to marry her. One dinner was all it took for her to fall for him. She convinced himself that he'd changed his mind for her, that he'd eventually fall in love. Their wedding, funded by Daniel, was magnificent. It should've been a day to remember forever, but before the banquet ended, tragedy struck—Tara took her own life. The celebrations stopped then and there. All Frost remembered afterward was Peter's back as he ran out of the hall, her stepmother's screams, the gossip, and Daniel's sorrowful eyes. Their honeymoon was canceled, and everything fell apart. For the first six months of marriage, Peter didn't reply to messages, saying he preferred phone calls. Then, when Lynch Group's business took off, he stopped answering calls altogether. He became a black hole. She poured all her emotions into it, and nothing came back. When she broke down and confronted him, he threw a chat record in her face. Before Tara died, she'd messaged him for help. However, Frost had been dragging him around, making toasts, so he missed it. He blamed Frost just as much as he blamed himself. And now, with Melanie looking almost exactly like the woman he couldn't save, Peter had found someone new to protect. With Melanie around, all of his affection went to her instead of Frost. Frost snapped out of her thoughts, crushed the photo into a ball, and tossed it aside. In the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back—pale skin, messy hair, and hollow eyes. She looked like a madwoman. For five years, she'd clung to Peter, refusing to let go. The more he ignored her, the harder she tried, like an addict craving one last hit of attention. However, in the end, she'd only pushed herself further into ruin—breaking down, going mad, healing alone. Finally, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in five years, asking, "Does that promise from five years ago still count?"