Chapter 6

Natalie jerked her head up, staring at Ethan in shock and disbelief. "Ethan… What did you just say? Why?!" Ethan met her gaze, his eyes icy, his tone utterly devoid of warmth. "Why? Don’t you know perfectly well in your heart?" "The last time, when you needed surgery, you learned nothing from it. Instead, you got even bolder—you bribed the party staff and poisoned Vivian's wine glass! The person you paid off confessed everything. The evidence is ironclad." He signaled to the police. "Take her away. Do whatever needs to be done. The Fletcher family won't cover up any crimes." "Ethan! You bastard!" Natalie shook all over, her voice shrill with rage. "How can you be so sure it's me?! Just because some nobody accuses me, you’re ready to convict me?! Am I even your wife in your eyes anymore?!" The weight of her anger and humiliation crushed all sense of reason. She shoved aside the police officer who tried to handcuff her, ran out of the house without thinking, and jumped into her sports car. With the pedal slammed to the floor, she shot out onto the street like an arrow from a bow. "Natalie! Stop the car!" Ethan's face darkened. He hurried to his own car and raced after her. He gripped the steering wheel, calling her on the phone. For once, his steady voice sounded out of control. "Natalie! Are you trying to get yourself killed driving like that? Pull over, now!" "Stop the car? So you can throw me in jail?! Ethan Fletcher, let me tell you—I'd rather die than let you send me in for a crime I never committed!" "That's not some trumped-up charge! There are witnesses and hard evidence!" "Witnesses? Evidence? This is all Vivian’s setup! Ethan, what did I ever do to deserve this? Why do you keep trampling on me, slandering me?" He listened to her sobs over the roar of the engine, her pain and desperation filling his ear. Ethan's brow tightened, his eyes dark and unreadable. He stopped arguing and hit the gas. At just the right moment, he swerved, crashing his own car hard into the side of hers. A thunderous crash exploded through the air! The impact was loud and violent. Natalie's sports car spun out of control and slammed into the guardrail. The hood crumpled with a sickening crunch. Her forehead slammed against the steering wheel, and hot blood instantly blurred her vision. Ethan leapt out, crossed to her wreck, and yanked the door open. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes unfocused and dazed. Something twisted in his chest—a feeling so brief he could almost ignore it—but his face stayed expressionless and cold. He didn't check her wounds. He just turned to the police following close behind. "She's here. Take her away." They pulled Natalie out of the car. Blood streamed from her forehead, sliding down her cheek and dripping onto her coat, blooming into startling clusters of red plum blossoms. She looked at Ethan’s profile—cold and hard as ice—and watched him hand her over to the police without hesitation. In that moment, her heart went utterly cold and dead. They dragged her straight to a holding cell. The place was damp and dark. The air was thick with mold and the sharp scent of disinfectant. That very night, Vivian showed up, which no one expected. She stood on the other side of the bars, watching Natalie’s battered figure, her face full of nasty, unfiltered triumph. "Natalie, how does it feel in here? I pulled a few strings, just so you’d have a truly unforgettable time every single day." Vivian made a quick gesture to the guard. Soon, several tough-looking women were let into the cell. They closed in around Natalie, smirks on their faces. "Take good care of Mrs. Fletcher," Vivian said with a wicked little laugh, her eyes bright with cruel delight. "I’ve always wanted to see a high-and-mighty rich girl get dragged through the mud. Only then can I finally say I've beaten you." With that, she didn't spare Natalie another glance. She turned around, graceful as ever, and left. After that came endless torment in the dark. Punches, kicks, insults, hair-pulling—their attacks were brutal, and they always aimed for places she couldn't protect or spots where she'd already been hurt. Natalie curled up in the freezing corner, biting down on her teeth so hard she refused to let out even a single cry for mercy. Her back, barely healed, was torn open again. The skin graft on her arm was scratched raw until it bled. Pain, cold, despair—day and night, they ate away at her. She had no idea how she survived. A whole week passed. By the time she was almost too weak to move, just barely clinging to consciousness, the cell door finally opened. Ethan stood in the doorway, light behind him, tall and immaculate—so out of place in that filthy, suffocating space. He took in the girl who used to be proud and defiant—now she just looked empty, numb. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it vanished a moment later. "Come on," he said, his tone distant. "After all this, I hope you'll finally learn to behave. Don't cause any more trouble." Behave? Cause trouble? Hearing his words, Natalie just felt the last bit of her heart freeze over for good. Not a single ripple inside. Fighting against the pain, she brushed past his hand as he tried to help her, stumbling forward—one shaky step after another—out the door.