My heart felt hollow, like something inside me had been drained completely. I didn’t have the energy to feel anything anymore—it was like a phone running out of battery, slowly shutting down.

For two years, I had convinced myself that Alexander cared about me.

Now... every time I looked at him, all I could see was her.

I wanted to ask him—if he cared so much about Lilian, why let her go? Why agree to marry me?

"Your hand..." His voice softened slightly. "What happened?"

I opened my eyes slightly. His gaze had fallen on the back of my hand, now red and swollen.

"I burned it while eating," I replied indifferently.

"Why didn’t you treat it?" His tone sharpened. "Jim, turn around. We’re going to the hospital."

I glanced at him. There was unmistakable concern in his eyes.

But instead of warmth, it only stirred bitterness within me.

I pulled my hand away.

"No need. It’s nothing serious."

In the past, his concern would have melted me.

Now, it only made me want to laugh.

He really was a good actor... keeping up the performance for two whole years.

"Alicia," he said, his voice firm, "you can be upset, but don’t joke about your health."

"I’m not upset," I replied flatly. "And I’m not joking."

I closed my eyes again, resting my head against the seat.

Silence fell once more, heavier than before.

I could feel his gaze on me.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter—tinged with something close to helplessness.

"Alicia... do you have to be like this?"

I opened one eye slightly, raising a brow.

"Like what?"

My lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it.

"I just don’t want your concern," I said. "You don’t have to keep pretending to be a good husband."

His expression darkened instantly.

"Alicia, what exactly are you implying?"

I turned my head slightly, finally looking at him.

"Do you really not understand?" I asked coldly. "Or are you pretending not to?"

His jaw tightened.

"Are you accusing me of something?" His voice grew sharper, edged with irritation.

"What haven’t you done?" I asked, a faint, hollow smile on my lips. "Do you even remember our wedding anniversary?"

Alexander paused for a brief moment before answering, "September 25."

"Then tell me," I continued quietly, "why are you always so distant... so unhappy on that day?"

He didn’t respond.

I let out a soft laugh, though there was no trace of amusement in it. "I only just found out... September 25 is Lilian’s birthday." My voice trembled slightly. "You must care about her deeply, don’t you? Even our anniversary is tied to her."

The words felt like knives in my chest, tightening around my throat. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

"And every July," I went on, my voice steadier than I felt, "you disappear for weeks on so-called business trips. What are you really going for?"

The car fell into suffocating silence.

Even Jim seemed to hold his breath.

Alexander said nothing.

A bitter laugh slipped from my lips. "Why so quiet now?"

Still nothing.

He didn’t even try to deny it.

"Is it guilt?" I asked softly. "Or are you just afraid to admit the truth?"

My voice cracked despite my efforts to stay composed.

"If you loved her that much... why didn’t you wait for her?" I whispered. "Why did you agree to marry me in the first place?" My hands trembled in my lap. "Why humiliate me like this?"

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, sliding down my cheeks as my body shook faintly.

I hadn’t cried in front of anyone since my father died.

I was soft—too soft. Insecure. Sensitive.

But I had learned to bury all of that beneath a calm, unyielding exterior.

I was just an ordinary girl who, by chance, found herself in the Blackwood family.a place where every step had to be measured, every word carefully chosen. Most people there looked down on me.

Aside from Nana... and a few others... only Uncle Steve had ever shown me genuine warmth.

As for Alexander...

Before our marriage, he was distant.

After our marriage... I thought things had changed.

I thought he cared.

But now I understood.

It was never affection.

Just obligation.

There was a time I told myself that even if he didn’t love me, at least... he cared.

I was wrong.

Completely wrong.

If there had been even a trace of real feeling, he wouldn’t have treated me this way.

To him... I wasn’t worth more than a stranger.

No—

Not even that.

Because even with strangers, he maintained a polite distance.

With me, he had been colder. More ruthless.

He hid everything behind a perfect facade... and I—

I believed every bit of it.

Alexander’s POV

The car was so silent it felt as though no one else was inside.

I took a deep breath, my eyes fixed on her tear-streaked face. A sharp pang twisted in my chest, as though something inside me had been squeezed tight.

I had never felt like this, not even after the incident with Lilian.

Seeing Alicia cry... it unsettled me.

I stayed silent for a long time, trying to find the right words. In the end, I spoke.

"I’m sorry."

"Sorry. Again. No matter what happens, your answer is always the same—’sorry,’" she said, still trying to control her emotions.

"What else can you say besides ’sorry’? Alexander, I’ve realized your heart is made of stone!" she shouted, almost out of breath, wiping the tears from her face.

I didn’t know what to do.

"I’ll make it up to you."

She laughed—a laugh that sounded almost absurd.

"Make it up to me? How exactly do you plan to do that? By not divorcing me? Or by asking me to leave?" She shook her head. "You have nothing to offer me."

I fell silent again.

I knew there was little I could do for her right now.

She looked like she didn’t want to continue the conversation. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the storm of emotions inside her.

"I don’t want to talk to you right now," she said at last.

I remained quiet, my brows slightly furrowed.

By then, the car had already pulled into the garage. She got out, grabbed the shopping bags, and walked toward the house.

I followed behind, watching her quick, decisive steps. After a brief hesitation, I slowed my pace.

She went straight to the guest room.

I paused at the staircase for a moment, watching her, before turning toward the study to work.

But my focus was especially poor tonight.

I held a document in my hands for half an hour without getting through a single page. My mind kept drifting, as though something else occupied it.

Time passed quickly, and soon it was well past eleven.

I finally set the document down and returned to our room.

When I walked in and found it empty, an inexplicable emptiness settled in my chest. Perhaps it was because we had shared this space for two years—suddenly being apart felt... wrong.

My eyes landed on something on the table.

The card.

Exactly as it had been returned.

Beside it was a note with a single line:

Remember to pick up the divorce decree on Monday.

My throat tightened as I reached for the card, my fingers curling around it.

Did she really want a divorce?

Was she planning to find someone else?

But if she truly wanted a divorce, why had she been so angry today? Why had she questioned me so intensely?

What did I mean to her?

The question lingered in my mind.

Before I realized it, I found myself standing outside her door.

I raised my hand, hesitated, then knocked softly.