White ceiling. That was all Norman Calloway ever saw in this hospital, for the past two weeks. His body felt like stone due to the accident two weeks ago. Heavy, stiff, refusing to move no matter how hard he commanded it. His throat was plugged with a breathing tube that felt like burning iron every time air was pumped into his lungs. Then the sound of the door opening pulled his gaze toward it. Two figures walked in—a doctor in a white coat, and a woman with long brown hair wearing an elegant black dress. Vivienne. His wife. Warmth spread through Norman's chest. She finally came to visit. But something about the way Vivienne walked made him go still. There was no panic. No tears. Her steps were easy, almost... light. Like someone who had just finished shopping, not visiting a dying husband. The doctor—his name pinned to his chest, Dr. Marcus Webb—opened a tablet and began speaking in a professional tone. "Mr. Calloway's condition remains critical, ma'am. However, his vital or

"Norman!" Vivienne's voice rose sharply, cutting through his thoughts. "Are you deaf?! I'm talking to you!" The impatience on Vivienne's face deepened into open irritation. "Did you seriously just ignore me?" she snapped. "If you don't move right now, I'm really going to lose my temper." Norman let out a cold laugh. "Lose your temper?" His eyes hardened. "What the hell gives you the right?" For twenty-two years, he had swallowed every grievance, obeyed every request, satisfied every unreasonable demand. Looking back now, he wanted nothing more than to slap his younger self across the face. What the hell had he been thinking? With his abilities, his family's wealth, and his status, what kind of woman couldn't he have married? So why... Why had he obsessed over Vivienne as though she'd cast some spell on him? What a damn fool he’d been! "What... did you just say?" Vivienne's beautiful eyes widened in disbelief. "You actually dared yell at me? Have you lost your mind?!"

Norman didn't turn around. Didn't let out a heavy sigh. Didn't do any of the things he used to do every time Vivienne stormed out—rush to the door, pull it back open, call after her. He simply walked back to the sofa and sank into it. A smile slowly spread across his face. For the first time so far, the future actually looked worth looking forward to. If he remembered correctly, right now, he was still in the early stage of building his company. The business was barely surviving. Its cash flow was stretched to the limit, forcing him to work from dawn until long after midnight every single day. And after dragging his exhausted body home, he still had to endure Vivienne's cold face. If he accidentally upset her, he'd spend hours swallowing his pride just to coax her into a better mood. Every waking hour, every single day, he had lived under constant pressure. Even sleep had become a luxury. Later, it only got worse. Night after night, year after year, until insomnia became pa

In the lobby of Grand Corholt Tower, the night air drifted in through the automatic glass doors every time someone passed, carrying with it the smell of rain that had just let up and the damp scent of the city. Vivienne stood near the entrance, one hand on her bag, the other scrolling through her phone. Her lips were still slightly tight from the anger upstairs, but her eyes were already bright with an anticipation she couldn't quite hide. Headlights swept across the lobby from outside. A black Bentley Continental pulled up directly in front of the entrance. Smooth, silent, chrome rims catching the glow of the streetlights. The driver's door opened. Nathan Voss stepped out. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled a tailored dark grey suit perfectly. His hair was dark brown, neatly styled with one strand left to fall across his forehead—deliberate, but not overdone. A strong jaw. Brown eyes that had a habit of looking at a person as if they were the only one in the room. The Patek

“Who the hell are you?” Camille froze for a beat. "I'm Camille, Viv's best friend. What, you think I don't have the right to call you out?" Norman let out a cold snort. "Who the hell asked for your opinion? Mind your own damn business. Now get lost, you bitch!" Click. The line went dead. "What?!" Camille stared at the darkened screen. Nobody had ever hung up on her before. Her face burned with humiliation. Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Norman calmly dropped Camille's number to his blacklist before tossing the phone onto the table. He already knew exactly why Camille had called. Women like Camille had no sense of shame. They only cared about taking sides, protecting their own interests, and always wanting more. So why waste his time? Birds of a feather flock together. Camille's love life had always been a complete mess. Even in his previous life, the gossip surrounding her and her sugar daddies had never stopped. Just hearing her voice again was enough to make him s