1
At our lavish wedding anniversary party, with North Carolina’s elite gathered in attendance, my husband, Clint Fleming, announced something. He and Odette Ervin—the housekeeper’s daughter—would be preparing to have a child.
I overturned the dinner table in front of us. Yet instead of shame, his furrowed brow and cold words made me the object of ridicule.
“Soleil! When did you become so unreasonable? I married you even knowing you’re infertile. Now, do you mean to condemn this family to die without an heir?”
The moment the word infertile left his lips, the entire hall filled with sighs. Dozens of disdainful and disappointed gazes pierced me like knives.
“The Bellemares’s daughter doesn’t even know her place! Would the Flemings, standing at the top of the business world, really allow their legacy to end with a woman like her?”
“An infertile woman dares cling to the Flemings? My god, that’s shameless beyond belief!”
His mother’s expression darkened. She called for the family law: a rod as thick as a forearm, meant to strike across the flesh.
“Pull down her trousers and beat her. This family does not need a daughter-in-law who disregards the greater good.”
The searing pain came swiftly and brutally. I fainted three times, only to be revived each time by buckets of cold water.
By the time my body was broken and raw, flesh and blood mangled beyond recognition, Clint finally opened his mouth to intercede.
“Mom, that’s enough. Odette is still preparing for pregnancy. Such a bloody scene—it’s not good for your future grandchild to witness it.”
He shielded Odette in his arms, covering her eyes gently.
“Don’t look,” he murmured. “It’s filthy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. In that instant, I understood—the ten years of marriage I believed to be built on devotion had been nothing but a complete defeat.
With trembling hands, I opened a chat window that had remained unopened for a decade.
[You once said you’d steal me away at the wedding. Does that promise still stand?]
——
The reply came instantly.
[On one condition.]
I stared at the chat window with the remark name, Alec Sargent, momentarily stunned.
My marriage to Clint had been arranged since childhood—an agreement sealed by our families.
Alec, my childhood companion, knew all too well how impossible it was to escape such alliances in North Carolina’s circle of power.
That so-called “stolen marriage” back then had long been brushed off as just a joke between us.
This time, when I reached out to him, it was only because I needed someone to confide in, a place to let my emotions spill.
Never had I expected him to say he’d waited ten years for me.
My fingers trembled above the keyboard, afraid that whatever condition he would raise might be too difficult to bear.
But before I could reply, another message popped up on the screen.
[I want you to start dancing again.]
My heart skipped a beat. Memories I thought buried surged up like a tide.
If not for his words, I might have almost forgotten—I was not only Clint’s wife but also the cherished daughter of the Bellemares, and once upon a time, a world dance champion.
Once, I had been a rising star with the world at my feet. But marriage had reduced me to nothing more than a man’s accessory, nearly no different from a tool for bearing children.
I typed slowly.
[I promise.]
He didn’t answer in words. Instead, a voice message followed.
“Ten days from now. At dawn. I’ll pick you up outside the Flemings’ place.”
It was the same clear, youthful voice I remembered, unchanged by time.
The door opened suddenly. Clint walked in. Panicked, I shoved the phone under my pillow and pretended to be asleep.
His eyes were full of feigned concern. But the fresh marks along his collarbone and neck betrayed him, stark and undeniable.
As he applied ointment to my wounds, his lips still couldn’t stop lecturing me.
“Odette and I are only having a child together. It’s not even an affair.”
He didn’t stop. “Why did you have to make such a scene in front of all those people and embarrass my mother over something so trivial?”
In his eyes, everything about me was trivial. Even the slightest prestige of the Flemings outweighed me a hundred times over.
Biting down hard to endure the sting of the ointment, I drew in a sharp breath and forced the words out.
“Do you still remember, between me and Odette, who your wife is?”
His hand stilled only for a moment, then pressed harder on my wound, making me wince. His tone was laced with open impatience.
“Soleil, the one I love, has always been you. But don’t forget—you can’t bear children.”
He paused, as though the words themselves disgusted him.
“Odette isn’t like you. She’s naturally fertile, the perfect vessel to carry on the family’s bloodline.”
Infertility. Humiliation. It was a pain I’d grown used to.
He had already buried the vow he once swore, ripping my premarital medical report to shreds as if nothing could shake his resolve.
“So what if you can’t have children? I love you, Soleil. You’re not a machine for giving birth.
“Even if it means adopting for the family, I’ll still marry you. I’ll give you the grandest wedding and the happiest life.”
Apparently, that “happiest life” he promised me lasted only ten short years.
The throbbing pain from my wound spread through me, mingling with a disappointment that cut deeper.
“Clint,” I said at last, “let’s divorce.”
2
Maybe my tone was too calm; Clint took it for a joke.
He gave a short laugh, pressing his face close to mine with a false intimacy.
“My wife is still the same—so quick to get jealous. Don’t worry. I have no feelings for her. I’m only using her body to continue my family line.”
Before the sentence finished leaving his mouth, a slender, pretty hand rested on his shoulder.
Odette stood there with bare, fair legs, wearing only one of his oversized white shirts. Three buttons were undone, revealing an arresting line of cleavage.
“Clint… I wanted to make you soup, but I accidentally burned my finger.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. “It’s my fault. I’m so clumsy, getting in the way while you’re tending to your wife’s injury…”
Clint’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He set down the ointment he hadn’t finished applying to my wounds.
“It’s fine. Her wound’s mostly healed.” He stepped closer. “Where did you get burned? Let me see.”
And with that, he swept her up into his arms like a princess and carried her straight to the master bedroom without glancing back.
Odette turned her head as he walked away, flashing me a mocking, triumphant smile.
Right then, a notification chimed on my phone. Her message came through just in time—a photo of my husband pressed against her neck, kissing her hungrily.
[The way Clint looks at you… There’s no more spark. How can a dull, old woman like you possibly compare with me?]
Every nerve in my body screamed with pain, but I forced myself to stand and follow.
I hadn’t even reached the corner when I heard Clint’s low, ragged breaths, heavy with lust.
“I told you not to wear my clothes like this. You… You make it impossible to hold back.”
“Sorry. I’m stupid. I forgot about your obsession with cleanliness, that you don’t like it when—”
Suddenly, his kisses rained down on her body like a storm.
“Your scent is different from hers.” He breathed. “I like it.”
Naked and unashamed, the two of them lost themselves in passion on the bed.
A few minutes ago, he had said to me, “I love you. I don’t have the slightest feeling for her.”
Now, the words rang with savage irony.
Apparently, the “no feelings” he promised me meant abandoning me while I was grievously wounded, then flirting with Odette.
For ten years, his obsession with cleanliness had forced me to tread on eggshells, never daring to leave a trace.
The same shirt that could not even hold the faintest whiff of my scent, he let Odette wear without a thought.
Through my tears-smeared vision, I saw Odette take out an ultrasound report; a flush colored her cheeks in shyness.
“Look, Clint, the IVF worked. I’m pregnant now.”
Excitement flashed across Clint’s face; his embrace grew even more tender.
“Odette, thank heaven for you! Without you, my weak sperm would have doomed my family to an end!”
That line hit me like a blow to the head.
The truth behind my ten years of failed pregnancies was not my barrenness?! It was Clint’s weak semen?!
“What do you plan to give me as a reward then?” she asked playfully.
“What do you want?”
Clint let her coo and tilt her head like a child, and it melted him.
“You know what you’re asking.”
I understood immediately: what she wanted was status, a place by his side.
“Odette,” he murmured, “Soleil is perfectly healthy. She has borne the shame of infertility for me. I owe her. Besides divorce, I swear I’ll give you everything you want.”
Odette threw the ultrasound on the bed in a mock pout. “So you really can’t live without her?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Without her, I wouldn’t survive. you couldn’t bear that either, could you?”
Half joking, he tapped the tip of her nose, drawing laughter from her lips.
The sound of their joy burned my eyes.
But worse than that was the truth searing my chest: his weak sperm, hidden for ten years, while I bore the scorn, the humiliation—while I endured every one of his family’s seventy-two punishments! This naked truth!
A bitter, salty drop slipped into the corner of my mouth. I opened my phone with deliberate calm and replied to Alec.
[Ten days. Don’t be late.]
‘Clint… I want to see how you fare when you can’t live without me!’
3
After I decided to accept Alec’s so-called wedding snatch, I did three things.
First, I secretly collected Clint’s hair and asked a trusted acquaintance to do the medical tests again.
Second, I slipped the divorce papers into his work files, so that he would sign them without noticing.
And third, I pulled out the pair of dance shoes that had been locked away for years, starting from the very basics to reclaim the version of myself who once belonged on the stage.
When Clint saw me wearing those dance shoes, a faint confusion crossed his brow.
But he didn’t question me, not when his entire focus was on preparing for the upcoming charity auction gala.
He was throwing money around like water, all for the sake of making Odette’s pregnancy known to the entire North Carolina elites—just to win her a smile.
Every skyscraper in the CBD lit up with neon banners, broadcasting the news that Odette was carrying the Flemings’ heir.
Even my own wedding had never been so celebrated.
Back then, because his mother was the lone voice of opposition, he didn’t even dare post on social media without blocking half of his relatives.
But now? That same in-law was holding Odette’s hand, eyes crinkling with laughter, personally offering her a glass of red wine.
And me? With wounds on my hips and legs still unhealed, I could only wheel myself into a corner, burying my dignity lower than the dust on the floor.
The whispers pierced like needles.
“Isn’t that Soleil, Clint’s discarded wife? Just a few days apart, and she already looks like an old woman.”
“Skin, figure—everything is worse than that maid’s daughter. If I were a man, I wouldn’t be able to resist someone like Odette either!”
Clint wrapped his arm around Odette’s slender waist and brought a champagne glass toward me.
I turned away, face dark, my interest nonexistent.
Instead of comfort, his words struck like a whip.
“Soleil, in public, you are first and foremost my wife. Change into something that covers you better. Don’t embarrass me.”
So he had heard every cutting remark. And instead of defending me, he chose to scold me, huh?
I told myself over and over, ‘This jerk isn’t worth my sorrow anymore.’
But the tears betrayed me, spilling despite my will.
‘Clint… seven more days, and then, you and I will be strangers forever. You and I will never meet again!’ I swore secretly.
By the time I returned in a change of clothes, the auction was down to its final item.
My blood froze when I saw it.
It was my mother’s Protective Pendant, her keepsafe for peace and blessings.
“Five hundred thousand!” I called out in a panic.
If it failed to sell, it would be donated to charity.
I had no time to care why it appeared here. All I knew was that I could never allow it to be taken.
The piece itself was nothing special, hardly worth a glance to the North Carolina elite, long accustomed to rare antiques.
The auctioneer called for bids three times, silence answering each one. And just as his gavel was about to fall, Odette’s hand shot up.
“Fifteen million.”
The entire ballroom erupted.
Odette raised her hand, eyes brimming with triumph as she met my bloodshot gaze.
“I like that pendant,” she said sweetly. “I want it to protect the baby. Mr. Fleming already promised—no matter the price, he’ll get it for me.”
Then, with mock innocence, she added, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fleming. But this is for the baby. Please don’t be upset.”
Clint’s tone was devoid of emotion.
“She is my wife. She must think of the bigger picture. If she loses her temper over something so small, then she doesn’t deserve to be my wife.”
This time, he was wrong.
I lifted a glass of red wine from the table and splashed it across Odette’s gown.
“Sorry,” I said coldly. “But I am upset. And this pendant absolutely cannot belong to her.”
Odette shrieked, ducking behind Clint, then peeked out with a pitiful, innocent face.
His expression darkened instantly. Shielding her, he barked at me, “Soleil! Do you even know what you’re doing? It’s just a pendant! Is this worth such a scene?!”
Even my teeth chattered as I forced the words out.
“Clint, this was my mother’s keepsake!” I said word-for-word. “Didn’t you once say this lock would only ever be left to our child? Or have you really forgotten everything now?”
Of course—he had forgotten it all.
The vows, the tenderness, every trace of affection… All of it had been buried and erased, just like the Protective Pendant itself.
4
Clint’s eyes flickered with hesitation, but he quickly regained his composure.
“After all these years, how could I possibly remember every single thing I’ve said?” he replied coldly. “And even if it was your mother’s keepsake, why take it out on Odette? She didn’t even know!”
Tears welled in Odette’s eyes, glistening like fragile glass about to shatter.
“Mrs. Fleming… I’m sorry… If I had known earlier, I never would have dared to take your belongings.”
With just a few words, Clint effortlessly lifted her onto the moral high ground while I was cast as the villain.
If this was his idea of “loving me more,” then I would rather have none of it!
By the time the auction ended, the skies had opened. Rain poured down in sheets.
Odette, draped in Clint’s coat, had a protective pendant resting against her neck.
The two of them clung tightly to each other as they slipped into his golden-orange Cayenne, leaving me behind at the venue like discarded trash.
Numb, I pushed my wheelchair home alone, the downpour drenching me to the bone.
I looked so pitiful that even a beggar on the roadside tossed his broken umbrella at my feet.
On the way, I received a notification from the hospital.
The test results were clear—Clint was, without a doubt, oligospermic!
As for me, I was perfectly healthy, fully capable of conceiving!
I had known it all along, yet the confirmation still cut colder than the storm, the chill of betrayal seeping deeper than rain ever could.
By the time I returned to the villa, my body was shaking violently. Fever burned through me, the old injury in my hip and leg flaring back with a pain that split me apart.
With my pale lips, I asked the maid to make me a bowl of lobster and ginger consommé.
I waited and waited, but all I received was a cold takeout bag, tossed carelessly at the doorstep.
Only then did it strike me—Odette’s mother had already been promoted to head housekeeper.
I couldn’t help but bitterly laugh.
I decided to go downstairs and make the soup for myself, only to find her barring the kitchen doorway.
Now that her daughter’s “status” had elevated hers as well, not only had her lifestyle risen a tier. Her attitude had grown arrogant and overbearing, too.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” she snapped.
I had lived in this villa for nearly thirty years. I had seen every kind of servant come and go. Even burning with fever, on the verge of collapsing, I managed to keep my voice steady and firm in the face of her arrogance.
“Annabel, this is my own kitchen. I don’t need your permission to enter.”
To my surprise, she even had the nerve to shove at my wheelchair with a rough hand.
“Odette is carrying the heir. Sir Clint has already given orders early this morning—every last bit of lobster and ginger consommé in this villa is to be reserved for her!
“As for you, Ma’am, you only have a little cold. Drink some warm water, go to bed, and you’ll be fine. There’s no need to waste such expensive soup like that on you!”
I stared at her in utter disbelief.
“Even if there’s no lobster, can’t you at least make a simple honey ginger tea?” My tone sharpened. “Annabel, caring for the lady of this house is your duty. And you think tossing cold takeouts at me is an acceptable attitude as the head of the household staff?”
She had no words, only rage. Her face twisted with spite as she snatched the takeout bag from my hands.
“Eat it if you want! If you won’t eat takeout, there’s dog food on the floor!” She sneered. “You still think you’re that once-respected wife? Once Odette gives birth, we’ll see who really runs this house!”
From the entryway, Clint’s voice cut through the tension.
“What’s all the noise about?”
5
Clint had one arm around Odette, his other hand overloaded with luxury shopping bags.
I remembered how, on my way home, I’d tried to hail a cab only to discover that my black card had been frozen.
In that instant, I understood. He had taken away even my last bit of living allowance—just to fund Odette’s indulgence.
While I was being drenched alone in the downpour, he was escorting her through every high-end mall in North Carolina, swiping the very same black card that was once promised to me exclusively.
His gaze fell on my face, pale as paper, and on the ends of my hair, dripping wet. The carefree smile that had lingered on his lips moments before dulled slightly.
“Annabel,” he said, his voice tinged with displeasure, “my wife is unwell. Why weren’t you taking better care of her?”
I furrowed my brows and cut him off. “Thank you for your concern, but I am not unwell. No need to trouble yourself further.”
I had long since stopped expecting kindness that came as alms.
Besides, to keep entangling myself in this farce would only create more pointless strife.
After tonight, there were only six days left until Alec came to take me away.
When that time came, I would leave Clint his infertility diagnosis as my parting gift!
I wheeled myself forward with effort, only to feel someone grab the chair from behind.
“Soleil, you’re not yourself,” he murmured. “Are you still upset about the pendant? Fine, I’ll have Odette return it to you.”
‘Oh, Clint,’ I replied in my head, ‘you will never understand. The chasm between us can no longer be bridged by a keepsake like a pendant!’
I watched coldly as he gestured with his eyes, silently instructing Odette to remove the pendant she was wearing.
The longer I looked, the more staged it seemed.
And sure enough, a few steps away on the flat floor, she suddenly stumbled.
The protective pendant fell from her hand, shattering into pieces against the floor.
In that instant, it was as though I saw my mother again—her faint smile as she lay dying in her hospital bed…
A sharp, twisting pain gripped my chest, so fierce I nearly coughed up blood.
“Ah! Soleil, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
My silence made Clint visibly panic.
He knew me too well; the quieter I became, the deeper the pain I was enduring.
“That’s enough,” he snapped. “Take your mother and go home.”
Shock flashed across Odette’s face.
“Clint… where do you want me to go?”
“This is my home,” he said coldly. “Soleil is the lady of this house. Don’t forget your place. Go back to where you belong.”
Since she and Clint had begun preparing for pregnancy, the two had been inseparable.
Even the master bedroom I had slept in for ten years was stripped from me, my belongings shoved into bags just so Odette could sleep there instead.
And Clint was ridiculous enough to rather burn my beloved dance costumes to ashes than allow me to sleep in the master bedroom.
He forced me into the secondary bedroom, as though he had forgotten entirely that I was still his wife.
Now, he pushed my wheelchair down the stairs, saying, “Is this enough, Soleil? She’s learned her lesson already. Don’t be so stubborn.”
Odette bit back her grievances, turning her back to him.
But when she reached the doorway, she suddenly hurled herself forward, ramming her belly hard against the cabinet.
In that single instant, I felt my wheelchair jolt, its balance giving way—sending me tumbling violently down the staircase.
Just before I lost consciousness, I glimpsed, in a blur, Clint’s figure shielding Odette with his own body, bearing the brunt of the impact for her.
I never could have imagined it, nor allowed myself to believe it.
The person I had once trusted with everything — the one who slept beside me — chose someone else when it came down to life and death.
6
I regained consciousness three days later, lying in a hospital bed.
The first thing I saw was Clint standing at my side. Dark circles ringed his eyes; he looked like he hadn’t slept for days.
“Soleil! You’re finally awake, I—” he began.
“How are my legs?” I cut through his false concern and asked the question that gnawed at me.
My legs… My legs wouldn’t move at all!
My mind was clear, but my legs felt like they didn’t exist—a terror as if I were trapped in abyss.
Watching him fumble and fall silent, I already guessed the answer.
But still, I croaked hoarsely, desperate. “Clint! Tell me—what happened to my legs?!”
At that moment, a nurse happened to come into the ward to change the IV bag.
“Ma'am, you’ve suffered compound fractures in both legs. They can be treated, but the rehabilitation will be very long. During this time, you’ll be in constant pain, and there’s even a risk you may never be able to perform strenuous physical activity again.”
I bit my lip until I tasted the metallic sweetness of blood.
“So… I… I’ll never be able to dance again? Is that what you’re saying?” I almost cried.
The nurse looked somewhat bewildered but still gave a firm answer.
“Ma'am, given the condition of your legs, you may have trouble walking in the future. Dancing is out of the question. Start rehabilitation and take extreme care of yourself.”
Clint didn’t understand either. “Soleil, haven’t you not danced for years?”
He didn’t let me explain. “Don’t worry about silly things. You’re my wife now. Just be the lady of the house, and that’s enough…”
His words were cut off by the sharp crack of my hand across his face, the sound slicing through the air.
“My legs are damaged, Clint! And you dismiss that with a careless ‘don’t think about it’?” I snapped.
Fatigue showed on his face. His brooding features seemed to say: he was tired already; what more did I want from him?
“I’ll make it up to you, okay?” he offered. “What do you want, Soleil? Bags? Clothes? I’ll have the butler buy them right now. Just—”
I cut him off. “I want Odette to lose a leg, too. Can you do that?”
He froze, stunned, for a full three seconds. I knew those three seconds of hesitation were his answer.
He reached into an inner pocket of his bespoke suit and pulled out a stack of checks.
“Ask for as much as you want,” he said. “After all, Odette’s carrying my heir. Don’t make things hard for me, Soleil. Please.”
“Make things hard for you?” I shot back. “Then, what was it when you hurled me down and broke my legs yourself? Am I blind to marrying you, huh, Clint? Do I deserve this?”
He offered no defense. He only kept coldly adding zeros to the amounts on the checks—a hundred thousand, a million, ten million.
When he wrote one hundred million, I laughed until tears came to my eyes.
“Enough. That’s enough, Clint,” I said.
I would let the so-called compensation stand. I would let whatever remained of our relationship stand. I would let it be over.
After all, to him, my life was nothing more than a string of digits on a check.
As he tossed the checks onto the bed, a sweet girly ringtone began to play from his phone—Odette’s signature tune.
The lyric was about “exchanging the golden pact of our ring fingers, giving each other our years.”
It was the ringtone I had nagged him to change for three months, only to be mocked as childish.
When Odette called, he hurriedly left without even a word of farewell.
At this point, in my heart, I couldn’t even feel sadness anymore.
I messaged Alec to tell him I’d broken my legs and could no longer dance.
He didn’t retract his promise to steal the marriage back.
Instead, he sent more than ninety-nine messages—care tips and instructions for looking after compound fractures—and one short, gentle line.
[Three more days. Get better.]
Yes. Three days left.
This time, I wouldn’t look back!
7
When the sun sank low, the IV bag had been empty for an hour, and still no nurse came to change it.
I pressed the call button a few times, but no one responded.
I tried to get into the wheelchair to go look, but kept falling, tumbling until both knees were a mess of bruises and scrapes.
Just as I reached the doorway, I overheard two nurses whispering.
“Hold up! If you don’t want to cross the big shot, don’t touch the IV in that room!”
The new nurse frowned in confusion. “Why not?”
“That room’s for Clint’s mistress.
“His wife’s in the next room, and she’s pregnant! They’re all lovey-dovey. Mr. Fleming himself is even spoon-feeding her soup.
“See the brutal difference? His wife only scraped her knee; this one’s leg’s broken—could ruin her whole life—and yet, he doesn’t even lift a finger for her…
“That’s what I mean—a mistress is still a mistress. She’ll never be presentable. The wife has class. They’re in a completely different league.”
The two nurses kept gossiping as they walked off.
I only gave a faint smile—because at that moment, I already had confirmation.
I had successfully tricked Clint into signing the divorce papers I’d slipped into his work documents.
It was the second day after my discharge. While I was packing, I received a message from Odette: a video from her birthday party on a cruise.
She wore an insanely expensive couture gown and kissed Clint under the flash of a thousand eyes.
He promised to grant her any wish, saying he would personally fasten that incomparable Pink Graff diamond on her, and they danced together like a prince and princess in a fairy tale.
Almost at the same time, Clint sent me a message saying he had important work and couldn’t accompany me.
It did not stir me anymore.
‘Clint. Your performance is over. I no longer wish to watch. Because of you, I have already stopped caring.’
On the last day before I left, I burned everything associated with him.
The wedding ring—burned. The photo album—burned. Even the pair of adult-gift dance shoes he had given me—I set them aflame.
All that was left was the small square box that once held our wedding ring.
Inside, I tucked away the fragments: his infertility diagnosis, my clean bill of health, and the divorce agreement bearing his own signature.
At the same time, I leaked the story to a paparazzi and told him to publish it once I had completely left North Carolina.
By dawn, everything had been dealt with in order. Alec’s black Bentley waited downstairs.
I turned for a last look at the emptiest room I’d ever known—the Flemings’s villa that had held ten years of my youth and shattered ten years of my hopes.
Now, it was nothing but a scattering of ruined things.
This was my final goodbye.
