The man slept heavily. His harsh features were relaxed, his usually piercing eyes hidden beneath closed lids, making his face unreadable. Beside him, Elena Ashcroft struggled to push herself out of bed. Her body felt numb and battered. Hunching slightly against an invisible weight, she swept her long hair over her shoulder and bent to gather her clothes from the floor. The moment her fingers brushed the fabric, a voice cut through the silence behind her. "How much do you want?" His tone was flat, stripped of any emotion. The heat and haze of the previous night had vanished, completely erased the second he woke. Elena froze, her blouse clutched in her hand. A bitter wave of irony washed over her. She had been legally bound to this man for years, yet he didn't even know who she was. Three years ago, she had done a massive favor for his grandfather, Gareth Blackwood. At the time, her father's company had been on the verge of collapse. Gareth had offered her a lifeline: marry his grandson, Ethan Blackwood, in exchange for a three-hundred-million-dollar investment to save the business. Ethan, however, had been entirely absent from the process. It was only after the marriage was officially registered that she learned he had already left the country. For three long years, she had been Ethan's wife in name only. A phantom wife—ignored by his family and constantly ridiculed by outsiders. She never could have imagined that their first real encounter would happen like this. "I don't want anything," she finally replied. She resumed dressing, her movements stiff and mechanical. Her head throbbed, heavy and ready to split open from the lingering alcohol. "If it's not money, what? Are you planning to stay?" Ethan let out a low, mocking laugh. His cold, piercing gaze slid over her without an ounce of restraint. She was undeniably beautiful. She had a flawless figure, silky skin, and an elegant demeanor. But in his eyes, that didn't make her any different from the countless other women scheming to catch his attention. "You got what you wanted," he said, sitting up against the headboard. "Don't expect anything more. That would be a mistake." Even though he had been drinking last night, he knew his limits. He never would have lost control like that for no reason. Something was wrong. The glass she had handed him... there must have been something in it. Fully dressed now, Elena thought back to the evening. The Blackwood banquet had been packed with influential figures. Everyone had come to catch a glimpse of the man poised to take the reins of the family empire. She had arrived late. Even from abroad, Gareth had expressly ordered her to attend. She had planned to make a brief appearance and slip away, but her father had stopped her, pressing two glasses of wine into her hands. He had urged her to use the opportunity to finally speak with Ethan, who had just returned to the country. And then... everything had spiraled out of control. Elena knew perfectly well that Ethan had never wanted this marriage. So how could she possibly convince him that last night wasn't her doing? A flicker of helplessness crossed her eyes. After a brief silence, she parted her lips to speak. "Actually..." The phone resting on the nightstand suddenly buzzed. Ethan glanced at the screen. It was his personal lawyer. He answered, putting it on speaker. "Mr. Blackwood, I checked Ms. Ashcroft's apartment. She isn't there. Should I send the divorce papers to her family's estate?" Ethan stood up and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. He stared out at the river in the distance, his brow furrowing slightly. This wife he had been tied to for three years... he didn't even have a concrete memory of her face. He had been told she was gentle and well-educated. So what? The Ashcroft family had weathered their crisis, and his grandfather's debt was settled. "Contact her first. Make sure she signs them." His voice was sharp and final. "Understood. And if she refuses?" "Then handle it with her family." Standing near the door, Elena checked her own phone. A message from her father had popped up on the screen. "Did you leave early yesterday? Katrina asked me to check: did Ethan drink from the glass I gave you?" Her fingers froze over the screen. A second message immediately followed. "Katrina had something else to attend to. If you can, go see your sister at the hospital. She says she's thinking of you." A cold sense of unease rose in Elena's chest. She understood immediately. None of this was a coincidence. Last night... someone had orchestrated the whole thing. "Are you okay? Are you still drunk?" Her father texted shortly after. He was clearly worried, assuming she was just suffering from the excesses of the banquet. Elena drew in a slow, steady breath. Her mother had died a long time ago, and her father, despite being overwhelmed by his business, had always done his best to protect her. She didn't want to add to his worries. "I'm fine. I'll go see Bridget later. Tell Katrina thank you for her concern." Across the room, Ethan continued his phone call, the topic now shifting to business matters. Elena lifted her gaze. Morning sunlight bathed the room, outlining the broad silhouette of the man standing by the window. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he stood perfectly straight, as motionless as a statue. He was undeniably handsome, but his profile remained harsh, distant, and utterly icy. Slipping her phone into her pocket, she turned and walked out the door without another word. Since he was already planning to divorce her, it was better not to complicate things. If he found out he had just slept with the wife he so deeply despised, the situation would only become more humiliating. She might as well just disappear quietly. Ethan hung up a moment later. Only then did he remember the woman who had been standing there just minutes ago. He turned around. The room was dead silent. She was gone. A deep crease formed between his brows. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled in disarray. A discarded shirt still lay at the foot of the bed. The mingled scent of her perfume and red wine still lingered in the air. He ran a hand wearily over his forehead. If not for the stain on the sheets, he almost could have convinced himself that the entire night had been nothing but a fever dream. A sharp knock sounded at the door. "Mr. Blackwood," a voice called from the hallway. "Come in." The door opened to reveal his secretary, Grant, carrying an impeccably pressed suit. Grant hesitated for a fraction of a second upon seeing the state of the room, but wisely kept his mouth shut. He set the clothes down and discreetly stepped back out. Ethan headed into the bathroom. After a quick shower, he dressed in the fresh suit and stepped back out. Grant fell into step behind him at a respectful distance. Just as they were about to leave the suite, Ethan stopped abruptly. "The woman who left here this morning... Who was she?" Thinking back to the scandalous state of the room, Grant replied in a rushed, flustered tone, "I'll go find her immediately—" Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly, pausing. He realized it was useless to pursue the matter. If the trap had been set with such precision, whoever was behind it would undoubtedly show their hand again soon enough. "That won't be necessary." Meanwhile, Elena returned to her apartment in total silence. She let out a shaky breath, struggling to keep her composure, before collapsing onto her bed without even bothering to change clothes. She closed her eyes, but sleep was impossible. Her mind remained stubbornly fixated on the man she had just left behind. At first, she hadn't known how to react to what was happening, completely caught off guard by the raw intensity of the night. Now, in the harsh light of day, a deep, icy fear settled into her bones, coursing through her veins. Yet it wasn't just the shock of the experience. Ethan had been her first. She could have accepted losing that to him without too much difficulty... if only, in the heat of the moment, he hadn't called out another woman's name. Marion. That name still echoed painfully in her memory. That was the real reason he wanted a divorce. Even utterly exhausted, Elena couldn't fall asleep. Every slight shift of her body reminded her of the lingering ache. Uncomfortable and restless, she eventually sat up and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. Inside lay their marriage certificate. On the day they were supposed to register, Ethan hadn't even bothered to show up. Her father had pulled strings to force the paperwork through despite his absence, leaving her standing completely alone at the county clerk's office. It was the first time she had ever really taken a good look at the document. After a brief glance, she tossed it back inside as if it meant nothing, then got up to go see Bridget. By the time she arrived at the hospital, it was exactly noon. The nurses had already gone on their lunch break. Bridget, lying quietly in her hospital bed, lifted her head the moment she walked in. Her pale face lit up with surprise, and she immediately pushed herself up. "Elena? What are you doing here?" She still looked incredibly fragile, but her tone was bright and light. "Dad is worrying too much again, isn't he? I told him I was perfectly fine, though... And I specifically asked him not to bother you with it." Elena walked over and took a seat beside the bed, handing her sister a glass of warm water. "He can't help it. He just really worries about you." Bridget had always been in delicate health. Her attacks could be violent—just taking a few steps was often enough to leave her gasping for breath, and her hospitalizations were painfully frequent. That was also why their father Dean paid such special attention to her. Bridget gave a small, exaggerated pout. "I'm so sick of being stuck in here. Mom stays glued to my side all day, and I can't even eat what I want..." She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard the nurses talking about a new fruit milkshake shop nearby... It sounds so good." She grabbed Elena's hand, flashing an almost childishly pleading smile. "You're the best. Just a little sip. It won't hurt..." Faced with that desperately hopeful look, Elena couldn't help but give in. She went downstairs to buy the milkshake. Once back in the room, she handed it over with a strict warning. "Just a taste, okay? Don't swallow it."

She was about to help her when a sharp voice shattered the moment. "What are you doing?" Katrina stormed into the room. Her face was twisted in a volatile mix of shock and fury. Closing the distance in seconds, she snatched the cup from Elena's hands and hurled it straight into the trash. "Are you trying to kill her the second my back is turned? I knew you were up to something!" Elena stood off to the side, perfectly still. She glanced at the discarded milkshake, finding the sheer hysteria of the situation almost absurd. Katrina, meanwhile, had already spun back to Bridget. "Did she give you anything else? Do you feel sick anywhere?" She hovered over her daughter, practically vibrating with the urge to call Dean on the spot and complain. But Bridget quickly intervened. "Mom, you've got it wrong. I asked her to buy it for me." Katrina paused, though she didn't look the least bit embarrassed. "You don't know what's good for you. But she does. She's your sister—she should know better." Her tone sharpened into a blade. "If your father hadn't spent so much time doting on her, would we even be in this mess? How else could your health have deteriorated this much?" "Mom, stop... Elena works a lot. She hardly ever comes over." Katrina scoffed, her gaze sliding back to where Elena stood in silence. She had never cared for her husband's daughter from his first marriage. Yet, in her own way, the woman was still useful to the family. Her eyes darted to Elena's neck. Nothing. Not a single mark. A flicker of confusion crossed Katrina's face as she wondered if her little setup the night before had actually paid off. If she hadn't been desperate to secure an advantage with the Blackwood family, she never would have handed Ethan over to Elena. But with Bridget's health being so fragile, the situation was complicated. Annoyed, she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain, "Ethan is back in the country. You're his wife. For once in your life, think about someone other than yourself. Find a way to get the Blackwoods to step in and help your father." Elena stared at her, letting out a soft, mirthless laugh. "You talk as if I've never done a single thing for this family. Is that just your opinion... or is it Dad's, too?" Katrina's jaw tightened, but she had no answer. A heavy silence settled over the room. Bridget broke the tension. "The doctor prescribed me some medicine... Elena, could you go pick it up for me?" Elena nodded and slipped out of the room. She had barely crossed the threshold when Katrina's venomous voice started up again behind her. "Your father has been nothing but good to her all these years, and this is how she repays us. She resents me—that much is obvious. Her mother worked herself into an early grave, and your father was too absorbed in his business to notice... life wasn't easy back then. But she acts like I'm the one to blame for all of it." A disdainful scoff followed. "Whatever. Her mother was just born unlucky." Elena frowned at the cruel remark but kept walking. Despite everything that had happened the day before, she refused to give Katrina the satisfaction of seeing her bleed. After waiting in line at the pharmacy to collect Bridget's prescription, she made her way to the gynecology department. She was still battling a lingering, deep-seated discomfort. The doctor finished the examination with a grave expression. "Miss... would you like to report this to the police?" Elena froze, slowly realizing the dark implication behind the question. "No... that won't be necessary. It was my husband. He just got back from a long trip, and he... lost control." The doctor studied her hesitation before her expression softened with a knowing look. "I'm going to prescribe a topical ointment. Apply it regularly. I strongly advise avoiding intercourse for a while, and tell your husband to be more careful. You're still young—don't let your body take the brunt of his recklessness." The doctor had clearly drawn her own conclusions. Feeling a rush of awkward heat to her cheeks, Elena took the tube of ointment and quickly tucked it away. On her way out of the wing, she practically ran straight into Warren, Bridget's brother. His eyes immediately dropped to the pharmacy bag in her hands, his brow furrowing. "Elena? Were you here to see Bridget? Or are you not feeling well?" He flashed an easy, practiced smile. He was well-groomed, broad-shouldered, and at first glance, the picture of a perfect gentleman. Yet, something in his eyes always made Elena's skin crawl. It was a predatory gleam—hard to define, but more than enough to set off her alarms. Masking her unease, she held out the bag of medication Bridget had requested. "I was just stopping by. The doctor renewed the prescription for Katrina." Warren raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "We could head up together. It's been a while since we took the time to catch up." "I have other things to do," she replied curtly. Shoving the bag into his hands, she turned on her heel, desperate to put distance between them. Warren stood in the corridor, watching the sway of her retreat. A dark, ambiguous look clouded his eyes. Once she was out of sight, he couldn't resist peering into the plastic pharmacy bag she had handed him. Antibiotics, antivirals... Seeing an elegant young woman walking out of the gynecology wing with this specific cocktail of drugs left very little to the imagination. His gaze darkened. His fingers tightened their grip on the crinkling plastic. Who would have thought that Elena—always so cold, always so reserved—could be caught up in something so... compromising? Then again, her husband had been a ghost for the past three years. A woman left alone in an empty bed for that long was bound to stray eventually. But Warren was in no rush. He knew she would have to return to the Ashcroft house sooner or later. He could afford to wait. Safe inside her car, Elena let out a shaky breath as a heavy weight settled in her chest. Ever since Katrina, Bridget, and Warren had moved in, the entire atmosphere of her childhood home had turned toxic. Warren wasn't even blood, yet his constant, looming presence made her skin crawl. Her father had tried to convince her to stay, but the moment she brought up Warren making her uncomfortable, Dean had hesitated. Dean felt deeply indebted to Katrina and her daughter. It translated into an almost blind leniency toward Warren. Not wanting to force her father into an impossible position, Elena had simply chosen to pack up and leave. Now, the house she had grown up in felt like enemy territory. She had no pressing obligations at the studio today, but as she navigated through traffic, her phone began to vibrate in the console. The caller ID flashing on the screen instantly drained whatever was left of her good mood. The ringing persisted, demanding and shrill. After a brief moment of hesitation, she tapped the screen. "Hello, Mrs. Calloway." On the other end of the line was Simone Calloway, Ethan's mother. Ever since the wedding, the woman hadn't shown Elena a single ounce of basic human decency. Elena was well aware of where she stood. Aside from playing the dutiful wife in front of the family elders, she had always kept a safe distance from the Blackwoods. "I need you to come to the manor. We need to discuss your divorce." The tone was cold and straight to the point. Simone didn't even pause for a breath, barreling forward to crush any potential objections: "You know perfectly well that this marriage was only permitted to humor old Gareth's dying wishes. Now that Ethan is officially running the Blackwood Group, the situation has changed. It is time to put an end to this farce." The underlying message was crystal clear: this divorce was happening, with or without her consent. Simone was clearly bracing for a hysterical reaction, or at least a desperate plea to reconsider. After all, what woman would willingly surrender her status as Ethan Blackwood's legitimate wife? Even in a loveless marriage, being tied to a man of his caliber meant wealth, power, and prestige. But Elena merely stared at the road ahead, her expression completely calm. "Alright. Should I come over now?" No protests. No begging. Her voice emerged steady and entirely detached, sounding exactly like a woman who had been waiting for the axe to fall for a very long time. The sheer apathy in her tone visibly threw Simone off balance. "Well... as long as you agree, that's what matters. You and Ethan were never a good match anyway. He deserves someone of his own standing. Come over right away. I've already called him. He shouldn't be long." Elena's breath hitched for a fraction of a second. Ethan would be there, too. A sudden, intrusive thought crossed her mind. If he found out that the anonymous woman he had spent the night ravishing was the exact same wife he was so desperate to divorce... how would he react? A man as fiercely proud as Ethan Blackwood would undoubtedly be sick to his stomach. A soft laugh slipped past her lips despite herself—bitter, brief, and utterly devoid of humor—as she signaled and turned the steering wheel toward the Blackwood estate.

When she arrived, Simone greeted her with barely concealed coldness. However, since Elena wasn't demanding a payout, she didn't push the issue. "I'll be direct," she said, taking a seat. "You know your family's situation. Your father has no head for business. He needs to accept reality instead of being so stubborn. The Blackwoods bailed you out once. It won't happen again. Not to mention your stepmother, who never stops meddling. This marriage brings us nothing. If anything, it's the exact opposite. It's a liability." She paused, then added in a much sharper tone, "Your background is far too modest. You have only your own origins to blame." Sitting across from her, Elena remained entirely impassive. "You're right. I'm not worthy of being Mr. Blackwood's wife." In truth, aside from the marriage certificate, she had never shared any real connection with Ethan. They were nothing more than two strangers bound by a simple agreement. Putting an end to this arrangement would honestly be a relief. Faced with such a placid reaction, Simone felt like she was swinging at thin air. She couldn't tell if Elena was putting on an act or if she truly couldn't care less. The crunch of tires sounded outside. The servant stationed by the entrance hurried inside. "Mrs. Blackwood, Mr. Blackwood is here!" Simone's face instantly lit up. She stood up in a rush to go greet him. Elena, too, turned her gaze toward the door. She had braced herself for this moment, yet now that he was actually here, an unexpected knot of tension tightened in her chest. The car door swung open. Simone started forward to welcome him, but as the figure emerged, her smile faltered. It wasn't Ethan. Instead, his assistant, Grant, stepped out of the vehicle. "Mr. Blackwood was held up by urgent business. He won't be able to make it tonight. He asked me to deliver this." Simone had made that call with a simple hope: that he would come and share dinner with them. She hadn't bothered mentioning that Elena would also be present. After all, he had abandoned his new wife and moved abroad three years ago. Under those circumstances, it was obvious he would have refused the invitation had he known. She waved a servant over to take the bouquet Grant had brought. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, though she quickly tried to mask it. "I know how busy he is. It's fine... just remind him to take care of himself." Grant gave a polite nod of acknowledgment, then returned to the car without lingering. When Simone returned to the living room and saw Elena, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand, eager to close the subject. "You can go. I'll let you know when he has a free moment." "Alright." Elena nodded, not showing the slightest hint of annoyance. She had spotted Grant, and through the window, she'd caught a brief glimpse of Ethan's silhouette. That alone was enough to tell her he had no intention of stepping out. His absence changed nothing, anyway. The divorce papers were already drawn up. She left the estate and climbed into her car. Idling at a red light, she mindlessly checked her work group chat. It was their lunch break, and messages were flooding the screen. "I heard Mr. Fan is coming back to get married. Didn't he just buy a place and start renovations?" "The boss went to high school with Ethan, right? Do you think he could help us land the interior design project?" "If we snag the design for his newlywed home, we'll be making a massive leap! His fortune alone puts him in the top tier of the ultra-rich. International investor, influential family... just getting to work with him is a privilege." Outside of a very tight-knit circle, almost no one knew Ethan was already married. Even the media had never caught wind of it. Elena paid no mind to the gossip. She was about to close the app when a message from her boss, Barrett, popped up. "Come to The Moonlight. Mr. Alderton is interested in the villas you designed. He wants to meet you." Her detour into interior design hadn't been planned at all. Originally, she had intended to pursue fine arts. But during her freshman year, she had helped design a classmate's villa on a whim. The finished project caught the eye of a wealthy buyer, who snapped it up for well over the asking price. Overnight, her name had started making the rounds. Later on, Barrett—an old classmate—had offered her a gig at his studio as a part-time designer. Why it was only part-time... well, that was another story. Reading the text, she immediately rerouted her GPS. The Moonlight was an exclusive playground for the ultra-rich. Anyone who walked through its doors had nothing left to prove financially. Pulling up to the entrance, she received another text from Barrett. "I can't come out to grab you. The client asked a friend to escort you in. Just wait outside." The club was strictly invitation-only, and Elena didn't have one. So, she had no choice but to wait. At the exact same time, Ethan's phone buzzed with a call from Bryson. "Ethan, I've got someone waiting at the entrance. Can you bring her in when you get here? It'll be a good opportunity for you two to meet." Bryson was currently flipping through a stack of design sketches. He was convinced Ethan would love them, especially with construction on his Greenfield Gardens property about to break ground. Finding anything that actually caught Ethan's eye was no small feat. "Trust me, you're going to like this." But before Ethan could reply, the heavy bass of club music swelled on Bryson's end, drowning out whatever he said next. Bryson was one of the most prominent heirs in their circle. If he was offering up a "gift," Ethan couldn't exactly brush it off. Stepping out of his car, Ethan spotted a woman's silhouette lingering near the club's entrance. She stood slightly off to the side, yet it was impossible not to notice her. As he drew closer, his suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed her. Just a few hours ago, they had been sharing the exact same bed. Elena, meanwhile, was just about to call Barrett back when she saw him striding in her direction. Even outside The Moonlight, where the city's elite constantly rubbed shoulders, Ethan effortlessly stood out. His posture, his sheer presence—everything about him commanded absolute authority. He wore a flawlessly tailored black suit, his expression unreadable, his demeanor cool and fiercely controlled. He briefly recalled how she had slipped out of the estate that morning without a backward glance. Now, he assumed Bryson had orchestrated her being here all along. "Are you the one Bryson asked me to bring inside?" Elena found it odd that he was actually initiating a conversation with her. But at the mention of Bryson's name, she quickly connected the dots to Barrett's text. So, the "friend" her boss had mentioned was none other than Ethan. And he was the one supposed to escort her in... or perhaps, he was even the client himself. The sheer irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. She wasn't even officially divorced yet, and here she was, about to be pitched to design her husband's new marital home. The universe truly had a sick sense of humor. But she never mixed business with her personal life. If a lucrative opportunity presented itself, she wasn't about to walk away. "That would be me. Good evening, Mr. Blackwood." Ethan's gaze hardened. A distinct chill flashed in his eyes as he stared her down, his voice dropping to a flat, neutral tone. "Drop the act." She didn't bother replying, simply falling into step behind him. Ethan produced a sleek black card, swiped it at the scanner, and the heavy doors glided open. The grand lobby gleamed under the ambient lighting. Their silhouettes reflected off the polished marble floors as the staff lined up by the entrance bowed in deep respect. A few steps inside, Ethan abruptly stopped and turned to face her. Elena slowed to a halt, offering a faint, barely-there smile. "How much did Bryson pay you?" The question caught her completely off guard. She had no idea what kind of relationship Bryson and Ethan actually had. In truth, she knew next to nothing about the Blackwood family—and she had never cared to find out.