Idella Rutledge's calloused fingertips, roughened by years of sculpting, were smoothing the wrinkles on her vintage white silk evening gown. On the vanity, a federal court bankruptcy liquidation notice silently proclaimed the end of the Rutledge family bloodline. Three years ago, to pay off her family's debts, she was forced to sign a contract and marry the Wall Street financial tycoon, Hale Montgomery. But now, both her family and her marriage have reached a dead end. She took an unlabeled amber vial from the drawer and gripped it tightly in her hand. Then walked down the dim hallway toward the double-height living room. In the faint glow of two wall sconces, she went behind the marble bar and retrieved a bottle of Macallan whisky from the climate-controlled liquor cabinet. She quickly unscrewed the cap of the small vial, poured the liquid into a crystal glass, and filled it up with the whisky. Billy Hampton, the butler who had served the family for years, came out of the kitchen carrying a silver tray. When his gaze caught the glass of whisky, it darkened slightly. He did not stop her; he merely bowed his head in silent salute and retreated into the shadows. At the front entrance, the smart lock beeped sharply. The heavy door swung open, and a blast of cold late-autumn rain swept into the warm living room. Her husband，Hale Montgomery strode into the foyer. Dressed in a dark gray bespoke three-piece suit, the ruthless CEO of Montgomery Global looked tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing. He raised one hand to yank his silk tie loose, his gray-blue eyes cold and exhausted after a brutal day on Wall Street. He tossed his rain-soaked trench coat to Billy and glanced toward the bar. The moment his eyes landed on the pure white gown clinging to Idella's figure, his pupils contracted sharply. His long legs carried him across the room in heavy strides, his leather shoes clicking loudly against the marble floor until he stopped three paces from the bar. Idella forced down the sour tightness in her throat. Lifting her amber eyes, she slid the crystal glass across the marble counter toward him. "Happy third wedding anniversary, Hale. Have a drink." Hale looked down at the swirling amber liquid, pressed the tip of his tongue hard against his back teeth, and spoke in a voice as cold as ice. "I've told you many times not to wear pure white in this house." Idella's fingers tightened around her own glass until her knuckles turned white. "It's just an ordinary dress. Tonight is our anniversary. Don't we even deserve a normal dinner?" Hale let out a low, mocking laugh and stepped right up to the bar, his tall shadow swallowing her whole. "Anniversary? Idella, have you forgotten how this marriage started?" He reached out, picked up the spiked whiskey, rubbed his long fingers against the cold glass, and tilted his head back to drain the liquor in one gulp. The whiskey burned down his throat, spreading a fierce heat through his stomach that quickly turned into an abnormal, raging fire rushing through his veins. He slammed the empty glass down onto the marble counter with a sharp crack. Under the dim light, the faint, old bite scar on the inside of his left wrist flushed a dark red. He raised his left hand to rub the tight bridge of his nose, bloodshot veins creeping into his gray-blue eyes as his vision grew hot and blurry. Idella took a deep breath, walked around the bar to stand in front of him, and summoned all her courage to place both hands gently against the warm, taut fabric of his suit jacket. Through his tailored shirt, her palms felt the violent hammering of his heart. She tilted her pale neck up, softening her voice. "Hale, we need a child. For the Montgomery family, and for us." Hale's large hand shot up and clamped around her wrist. His palm was burning hot, his grip tight enough to crush her bones. "A child?" He lowered his head, his ragged, scorching breath brushing against her ear as he rasped out a bitter taunt. "You went through all the trouble of drugging me just to trap the family trust fund with a baby?" The drug exploded fully inside him. Hale yanked her into his arms, gripped the back of her neck with his free hand, and crushed his mouth against hers, stealing her breath in a rough, desperate kiss. Their bodies tangled under the dim light, the heavy weight of his frame pressing her back as the rustle of his suit filled the quiet room. Idella closed her eyes in surrender, a hot tear slipping from the corner of her eye as she wrapped her arms around his broad, burning back. Suddenly, Hale's unfocused gaze caught the white lace and smooth satin slipping off her shoulder. A buried memory of a girl in pure white who had saved him during his darkest childhood years flashed violently through his mind, tearing his sanity apart in a surge of rage. He wrenched his mouth away from hers, the veins on his forehead bulging as he shoved her back with all his strength. Idella stumbled backward and slammed her spine hard against the sharp corner of the marble bar, gasping for air as pain shot through her back. Bracing one hand on the counter, Hale panted heavily, grabbed a pitcher of ice water, and dumped the entire thing over his own head. Freezing water mixed with sweat dripped down his sharp jawline as he glared at her pale face. "Don't dirty the color she used to wear. You don't deserve it." Idella slid down the side of the bar onto the carpet, wrapping her arms around her stomach as if an invisible hand were squeezing her heart until she couldn't breathe. Billy stepped forward from the shadows to hand Hale a dry towel, casting a complicated look at Idella on the floor. Instead of taking the towel, Hale swept his arm across the counter and knocked over the crystal decanter, sending dark red wine pooling across the white rug as thunder boomed outside the penthouse windows.

Leaving the wine-stained rug behind, Hale stalked up the spiral staircase into his study to strip off his soaked suit, while Idella forced herself up from the floor and followed him upstairs. Rain lashed violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline, with only a dim brass desk lamp lighting the room. Having changed into a clean black silk shirt with the top two buttons undone, Hale sat behind his wide black walnut desk. The flush from the drug had faded into a cold pallor as he spun a black-and-gold Montblanc pen between his long fingers with a steady, dull clicking sound. Still wearing her crumpled white gown, Idella stood alone in the center of the rug, her arms crossed over her chest and her spine ramrod straight. The study door opened, and Eden Rogers, Chief Legal Officer of Montgomery Global, walked in. He placed a thick leather folder on the desk, bowed respectfully to his boss, and stepped back by the door. Hale pushed the folder to the edge of the desk, tapped the gold family crest on the cover, and looked at her without a trace of warmth in his gray-blue eyes. "Sign it. Let's keep this decent for everyone." Idella looked down at the bold title on the front page: Supplemental Prenuptial Enforcement and No-Fault Mutual Divorce Agreement. She stepped forward, picked up the document, and flipped through the pages. When she saw the clause stating that she waived all Montgomery trust benefits and that capital injections into the Rutledge Group would terminate immediately, her fingers clenched tightly. She slapped the papers back onto the desk. "When we got married three years ago, you promised my grandfather you would inject capital to help the Rutledge Group restructure its debt. Now you're pulling the funding right before our bankruptcy hearing?" Hale stopped spinning the pen and narrowed his eyes. "That verbal promise required you to know your place. As for what you put in my drink tonight, I don't need a medical examiner to run a toxicology report, do I?" Idella bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. "I did that because I wanted to save this marriage! For three whole years, what have I been to you? A vase displayed in your penthouse?" "You were never the mistress of this house." Hale cut her off coldly, standing up to adjust his diamond cufflinks. "There is only a contract between us, not a home." Right then, the private encrypted phone on his desk buzzed sharply. The screen lit up with an incoming call from John F. Kennedy International Airport. Seeing the name flashing on the display, the icy expression on Hale's face cracked, replaced by a fleeting look of panic and tenderness. Without hesitation, he tapped the speakerphone button and lifted the device. A sweet, breathless female voice, carefully practiced by an ambitious climber pretending to be an innocent socialite, sobbed through the speaker. "Hale... my flight just landed at JFK. It's raining so hard outside, and I'm so scared..." Hale's voice softened instantly, a stark contrast to his earlier rage. "Don't be afraid, Kelli. Stay in the VIP lounge and don't move. My convoy will be there in ten minutes." Idella stood frozen on the rug. Hearing the name Kelli Santos felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head from top to bottom, chilling her to the bone. Hale hung up, grabbed his black overcoat from the back of his chair, and walked toward the door without sparing Idella a single glance. She spun around and raised her voice. "Is it because she came back that you couldn't even wait one more night to kick me out?" Hale paused with his back to her, his voice low and cruel. "She is the person I will protect for the rest of my life. For you, signing the papers and taking the settlement is your only way out." "And if I refuse to sign?" Her voice shook, her eyes bright red as she lifted her chin stubbornly. Hale turned his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye with absolute contempt. "Then when the market opens tomorrow morning, the last three galleries under the Rutledge name will be seized and auctioned off by the court." He pulled the study door open and strode out, the heavy front door slamming shut downstairs a moment later. Idella bit down hard on the knuckle of her index finger as tears spilled down her cheeks, ten years of secret devotion turning into suffocating humiliation. She lunged forward and grabbed the Montblanc pen on the desk, holding the tip over the signature line before stopping abruptly and snapping the gold nib in half against the wood. Black ink splattered across the expensive legal paper like an ugly dark stain. Turning on her heel, she ran downstairs, snatched her Porsche keys from the entryway console without changing out of her thin gown, and rushed into the private elevator. The elevator dropped straight to the underground garage. She jumped into her red Porsche 911, floored the gas pedal, and tore out into the pouring rain on Fifth Avenue. The windshield wipers whipped back and forth frantically as neon city lights smeared across the wet glass. Her psychosomatic depression flared up in the thunderstorm, a crushing weight tightening around her chest until she could barely draw breath. On the passenger seat, her phone rang nonstop with emergency calls from her family's old butler and the bankruptcy court. As she sped onto the curved ramp of the FDR Drive overpass, the blinding high beams of a skidding heavy cold-chain truck suddenly smashed through the center divider, hurtling straight toward the hood of her car.

Within twenty minutes of the crash on the FDR Drive, a court-dispatched emergency medical helicopter airlifted Idella from the twisted wreckage to the trauma center at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, while Hale's Maybach screeched to a halt under the hospital's rain-swept entrance canopy. Ambulance sirens wailed through the downpour, red and blue lights flashing across the puddles on the pavement. Standing beside the open car door with his bespoke suit half-drenched, Hale held his phone tight against his ear, his face livid. His special assistant, Colin Foster, ran over holding a large black umbrella, his voice shaking. "Mr. Montgomery! The helicopter just brought Mrs. Montgomery into the trauma center. Her car was completely crushed, and she suffered severe head trauma!" Standing right beside Hale with his overcoat draped over her shoulders, Kelli hid a flash of glee in her eyes before putting on a fragile, weeping expression and grabbing Hale's sleeve. "Hale... how could this happen to her? It's all my fault, I shouldn't have come back tonight..." She dug her fingernails into her palm to force out more tears. Hale yanked his arm out of her grip in irritation and spoke without looking at her. "Stay in the car. Don't go anywhere." He turned and bounded up the emergency room steps, his leather shoes splashing through the water as he strode straight toward the private elevator leading to the neurosurgery floor. Upstairs, the red "IN OPERATION" light glowed brightly above the double doors, the hallway thick with the smell of antiseptic and blood. A trauma surgeon covered in blood hurried out holding a critical condition notice. "The patient has an acute subdural hematoma and cerebral contusion. We need to perform a decompressive craniectomy immediately! Family member, sign here!" Hale took the clipboard. His right hand shook uncontrollably, the tip of his pen nearly tearing through the thin paper as he signed his name. Suddenly, the heavy, rapid thud of a cane striking the tile floor echoed from the end of the corridor. Jeb Montgomery, the ambitious eldest son of the family's second branch who was always looking for a chance to seize power, walked up fast while supporting the family patriarch, Almon Montgomery. A gloating smirk tugged at the corner of Jeb's mouth. Over seventy years old with a full head of silver hair and a tailored black wool coat, Almon was livid, his face dark with fury because he had always treated Idella like his own granddaughter. Walking straight up to Hale, the old patriarch raised his heavy cane topped with a solid gold eagle head and swung it down hard against Hale's broad shoulder. The cane struck bone with a loud thud. Hale staggered slightly but took the blow in silence, clenching his jaw tight. "You bastard!" Almon roared, his chest heaving. "For some cheap, low-class woman from nowhere, you pushed Idella into driving to her death in a storm?" Jeb stepped in pretending to play peacemaker, his tone dripping with fake sympathy. "Father, please calm down. Hale just acted on impulse. It's just a pity for the last heir of the Rutledge family. If she dies on that operating table tonight, we won't be able to suppress the Wall Street headlines tomorrow." Hale whipped his head around, his icy gray-blue eyes locking onto Jeb. "Jeb, shut your mouth, or when the market opens tomorrow I'll liquidate every offshore account under your branch's name." Jeb's face stiffened under that murderous glare, and he backed up half a step, clamping his mouth shut. Almon pointed a trembling finger at Hale's nose and slammed his cane against the floor. "If Idella doesn't make it through this, I will convene the board immediately, strip all voting rights from your trust, and kick you out of Montgomery Global!" The operating room doors remained shut as the red light stayed on for five agonizing hours. Hale leaned his back against the cold white wall the entire time, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms as images of Idella's pale face and quiet smiles over the past three years replayed in his head. At four in the morning, the doors finally slid open. The lead neurosurgeon walked out exhaustedly and pulled down his bloodstained mask. "The intracranial hematoma has been cleared and the skull flap is secured. Her life is out of danger for now," the doctor said, letting out a long breath. "However, due to severe concussion and localized neural trauma, she may experience shifts in emotional perception or cognitive behavior when she wakes up." Almon's tense shoulders sagged in relief as he whispered a quick prayer, before shooting Hale another venomous glare. Hale's Adam's apple bobbed as he let out a shaky breath. "Can I go into the ICU to see her now?" Almon let out a cold laugh and blocked Hale's chest with his gold cane. "Get lost and go deal with that shady woman you left outside. Until Idella wakes up, you are not allowed to take half a step into her room!" Nurses pushed the gurney out of the operating suite. Idella's head was wrapped in thick white gauze, her face as pale as paper and the back of her thin hand taped with IV tubes. Watching her motionless face past the nurses' shoulders, Hale felt a hollow ache squeezing deep inside his chest. The gurney was wheeled quickly into the intensive care unit, and the heavy doors locked with a click, shutting him out in the cold hallway. Inside the quiet ICU room, the heart monitor beeped steadily beside the bed, and next to the pillow where her dark chestnut curls spilled out, Idella's right index finger twitched slightly.