Chapter 2

Back when Frost was getting married, one man had tried to stop her a total of three times. She'd wanted a relationship based on love, but he'd only wanted sex. He said, "Peter's too stiff. Trust me, he's going to be just as dull in bed. You, on the other hand? You need someone passionate." She had laughed. "Oh? And who's that someone? You?" He raised an eyebrow and remained noncommittal. "Frost, I bet you two won't last five years. If I win that bet, promise me you'll consider me first." … "I'm still single, so that promise counts." The response from the familiar voice over the phone pulled Frost out of her thoughts. "I'll be divorced in a month, but I'm not looking for love," she commented. "I just need someone to waste time with and to help me loosen up a little." The man on the other end laughed. "You have a deal! Babe, I'll humor you." After hanging up, Frost went home, tidied herself up, and started preparing for the death anniversary of her mother, Chloe Sutton. Daniel had always treated that day with great care. … The next morning, when they met at the memorial, Peter was nowhere in sight. Daniel frowned and asked, "He couldn't even take an hour off? Again?" Frost looped her arm through his and forced a smile. "Dad, we're getting divorced. I'm the one who asked for it. Whether he comes or not doesn't matter anymore." He stared at her for a long time, then gently patted her head. "Good girl. You're right to cut your losses early." After a brief prayer to Chloe, they went to the kitchen to cook her mom's favorite dishes. Just as they finished setting the table, Peter's parents, Martha Flemming and Martin Lynch, stormed in, their faces twisted with fury. Without warning, Martha slapped Frost hard across the face. "Daniel! This 'wonderful' daughter of yours just stabbed my son and didn't even stay in the hospital to take care of him. What kind of wife does that?" Frost snapped back to her senses, stepped in front of her father, and returned a slap at Martha without hesitation. Then, she snatched Martha's phone and dialed Peter's number. The call connected instantly. It seemed he could answer quickly after all. Frost sneered. "Your parents are in my house, acting like thugs. Get them out of here right now. Today's my mother's memorial!" Peter's voice came through as calm as ever. "I can't… leave the hospital right now." Then came a sweet, girlish tone from the background. "Pete, which couch do you think looks better in the villa you gave me? Why don't you give them a try and help me choose?" It was Melanie. Frost's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. Just as she opened her mouth, she heard him say gently, "No ice for you. You're not in the condition for cold stuff." Then, the call cut off. Frost stood there motionless, her gaze cast down like a statue. Martha mocked, "After slapping me, his mother, do you really think he's going to take your side? Dream on. He's never loved you, not once in the past five years!" She smirked and flipped the entire table over, sending the dishes crashing to the floor. The frame of Frost's late mother shattered against the tiles. Frost froze, then grabbed her trembling father by the arm and glared at the in-laws she had once treated with respect. "I used to put up with you because I cared about Peter. But now, I don't give a damn about him. What makes you think I'll care about you?" Right after that, she stormed out, bringing two bodyguards with her. They drove straight to the Lynch residence. While the guards stood by to keep her safe, Frost picked up a baseball bat and went to work, smashing everything from the living room to Martha's beloved walk-in closet. Crashes echoed through the house, accompanied by Martha's shrill scream over her ruined jewelry. That was when Peter appeared, striding in and grabbing Frost's wrist. "Are you done yet?" Frost looked up at him, panting, and laughed softly. "Oh, looks like you found the time after all. It didn't even take you 15 minutes!" She shoved him away, dropped the bat, and headed for the door. Someone was standing there—half hiding, half peeking inside. When the woman saw Frost, she quickly said, "Please don't be mad. It's all my fault that Pete got delayed. He didn't mean to ignore you…" Melanie again, with that practiced, gentle tone. Frost couldn't be bothered to engage and brushed past her. However, Melanie suddenly flinched backward dramatically, letting out a soft yelp as she fell to the floor, screaming, "My stomach hurts…" "Melanie!" Peter rushed forward to pick her up, bumping into Frost's shoulder. The impact wasn't enough to knock Frost off balance, but a sudden stabbing pain from her abdomen hit her hard. Her vision blurred, and she dropped to her knees. Through the haze of pain, she saw him lifting Melanie in his arms, tender and protective, as if she were something precious. Melanie's face, rosy and radiant from Peter's doting care, showed not a trace of pain. When Frost's knees hit the floor, the sound made Peter frown. "Are you seriously trying to fake an injury now? Trying to make yourself the victim?" Martha snorted with laughter. Frost almost laughed out loud, too. How had she, the pampered daughter of the Quinn family, allowed herself to become this pathetic? She gritted her teeth and used the doorframe to slowly pull herself up. Martha watched her coldly. "Melanie's gentle. She suits Peter better." "Indeed," Frost agreed between breaths, forcing a smile. "For a family that mooched off the Quinn family's fortune without a shred of gratitude, someone like her—a cheap masseur who'll hop into bed for a mere 800 dollars—fits right in."