The officer cleared his throat, his tone a careful balance of authority and fatigue. "So, you've reviewed the details, right? You're clear on the situation...?"

Madeline interrupted without ceremony, her voice calm but incisive. "Can you confirm whether this constitutes intentional assault on Sebastian's part?"

The officer hesitated, then replied, "Technically speaking, it's mutual affray. The other party also threw punches."

Unyielding, Madeline pressed on. "And what about the charge of provoking public disorder?"

"...Provoking disorder requires intent. This incident was sparked by a misunderstanding, coupled with the fact that both parties were intoxicated and acting recklessly. Generally, we wouldn’t pursue it under that statute."

She tilted her head slightly, relentless. "Engaging in an affair during marriage—openly embracing another woman in public—doesn’t that go against public decency? Surely such behavior warrants a few days in detention? Five, perhaps? Ten?"

"..."

It was only then, as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence, that the realization dawned upon everyone present, including the police officer: Madeline wasn't here to bail him out. She was interrogating the system itself, industriously hunting for any charge that might see Sebastian kept behind bars.

A collective twitch tugged at the corners of everyone's mouths. What a pair. Truly—what a match made in... well, somewhere far from heaven.

Sebastian, meanwhile, shifted in his seat, easing back against the chair with a languid grace. With the adjustment, his figure stretched tall and lean, every movement deliberate yet nonchalant. He exhaled slowly, his voice gravelly and detached as he called her name, each syllable weighted with an unspoken edge.

"Madeline. Yeager."

No threat colored his words. And yet, they cut sharper than any overt warning.

In the end, practicality triumphed. Considering the Turner Group’s stock volatility and the respect she still held for Sebastian’s family, who had treated her decently over the years, Madeline reluctantly negotiated a settlement. Three thousand dollars out of pocket, and the matter was closed. She walked out with Sebastian in tow.

The drive home passed in unbroken silence.

When they reached the house, Madeline deliberately lingered over parking. By the time she stepped inside, Sebastian had already retreated to the master bathroom, his clothes in hand. She muttered under her breath but said nothing, heading instead to the guest room to splash water on her face and change into her own sleepwear.

The bed beckoned, and she fell into it with a weary exhale, drained. It had taken a minor miracle at work for her to dodge an emergency surgery tonight, gifting her what should’ve been a rare chance to sleep. But instead, she’d spent two hours in circles with police officers and lawyers, untangling this ridiculous mess. By the time she finally began to drift off, her alarm would be pulling her back to the grind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to salvage what remained of the night. But just as the edges of sleep began to blur her thoughts, something shifted. Her body tensed as she felt the hem of her skirt lifting, his fingers unapologetically skimming the bare skin of her thighs.

Madeline’s legs snapped together, her eyes flying open.

Sebastian sat there, perched at the edge of her bed, his damp hair falling messily against his forehead. His bathrobe hung loose, the lapels parting carelessly to reveal pale skin, faintly luminous under the bedroom light. The ridges of his chest and abdomen stood stark and unhidden, every inch a calculated temptation—and entirely deliberate.

He watched her stir with a predator’s calm, his expression unreadable yet unflinching. The brazenness of his hand burned against her body.

"Sebastian, stop—stop being insane!" she hissed, struggling against his grip.

His lips, always so deceptively soft in their curves, tugged into a lazy smirk. His eyes, those notorious, languid almond-shaped eyes that wore seduction like a second skin, flickered with something close to mockery.

"You know," he drawled, his tone light but poisoned with condescension, "I noticed something in the bathroom. While I’ve been away the past few months, have you been missing me? Did you think—" his hand brushed deliberately against her once more—"that your own hands could ever feel as good as mine?"

Her breath hitched at the implication. A flush that had nothing to do with attraction heated her skin as she registered his meaning. It must have been the panties she'd left soaking in a hurry—carelessly abandoned in her rush out the door earlier.

Mortified as she was, her hands pushed harder against his chest, her determination just as firm.

For all his brazen audacity, Sebastian had lines he didn’t cross—not because he was noble, but because power made patience easy. He found resistance tedious more than thrilling. Eventually, he sighed, releasing her with an air of exaggerated disinterest, as though her reluctance bored him beyond endurance.

Reaching for a wet wipe from the nightstand, he cleaned his hands methodically before tossing it to the trash. Madeline set her jaw, steeling herself against the indignation roiling behind her ribs. If it affected him at all, the corners of his mouth betrayed only the faintest uptick—amused, dimly entertained by her discomfort.

As she turned abruptly away, her peripheral vision caught an odd, glinting detail: the band of platinum still circling his finger. Their wedding ring, simple and unadorned.

She had assumed he’d discarded it long ago.

Her own hand was, of course, empty. She hadn’t seen her ring in ages; it was lost to time, misplaced somewhere along the rocky terrain of their two-year farce of a marriage.

He rose without ceremony, adjusting the robe tighter around his frame. When he slipped into bed once more, the distance between them felt insultingly small. His scent—clean, faintly woody—filled the room in his wake. Within moments, his breathing evened, signaling sleep.

Madeline lay there, wide awake.

One year had passed since they'd last shared a bed, though legally, he continued to occupy the title of “husband.” Yet now, as she stared at his sleeping form, she wished he’d never returned at all.

Quietly, she slid out of bed and moved to the guest room.

As she settled into the unfamiliar sheets, a singular thought flared sharp and bitter. This marriage—dragging into its second interminable year—was useless. Utterly, profanely useless.

*****

The next morning, Madeline dressed and descended the stairs to find Sebastian already sitting at the breakfast table. Gone was any trace of the previous night’s chaos; he was polished, composed to the last detail. A tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders, his tie impeccable, his cufflinks gleaming discreetly under the early sunlight. Thin, gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, lending understated sharpness to his expression—perfectly fitted to his role as the golden scion of Notadel City’s most illustrious dynasty.

Madeline approached. He neither looked up nor acknowledged her presence, maintaining his focus on the phone in his hand. Whatever thoughts might have lingered from the guest room or the awkward silence post-station, he left unaddressed, so much as mentioning why she'd chosen to sleep elsewhere.

Even seated, he exuded an air of authority, his wrist anchored on the table as he glanced once at his watch—a quiet marvel of design in deep indigo tones. Expensive. Elegantly sinister. Much like the man who wore it.

The housekeeper, Stella, approached with practiced efficiency, setting down Madeline’s breakfast. "Ma’am."

Madeline offered a polite nod before reaching into her pocket for her phone. She tapped a few times and then set the screen in front of Sebastian without preamble—a QR code for payment displayed prominently.

"I covered your settlement last night—thirty thousand dollars. Pay me back," she said matter-of-factly.

He finally looked up, his gaze cool as winter through the faint sheen of his glasses. "Do I owe you money?"

Her tone remained level as she responded, "You’re welcome to check my account records. Two years of marriage, and I’ve never spent a cent of yours."

The Turner family might have ruled the city, and the Smith name wasn’t without weight, either, but Madeline prided herself on self-sufficiency. She couldn’t care less for his wealth.

Sebastian didn’t waste words arguing. He picked up his phone, tapped the screen, and transferred her exactly thirty thousand dollars. Not a penny more.

She glanced at the notification and allowed herself a humorless smile. It was perfectly in character. Always just enough—and never anything extra.

The two of them finished breakfast almost simultaneously. Just as Sebastian's secretary arrived to pick him up for work, he stood and made to leave.

Madeline set her spoon down, her tone abrupt and without preamble. “Sebastian, since you’re back, let’s talk about the divorce.”

Sebastian halted mid-step. Turning back to her, he raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. “What did you just say?”

Madeline remained calm, her voice steady. “Let’s not even mention the woman who’s been living on Cloverfield Lane all this time. Just last night, I saw it on the surveillance footage—you had another woman with you. I don’t want to stand in your way, so let’s call it quits.”

Stella, the housemaid, and the secretary exchanged glances, wisely excusing themselves from the dining room to give the couple privacy.

Sebastian’s gaze swept over Madeline with an indifferent, almost clinical precision before he settled back into his chair. Crossing one leg over the other, he leaned back casually.

“Fine. Let’s talk about the terms of the divorce.”

Madeline shook her head. “There’s nothing to discuss. Since the day we got married, aside from sharing a bed, we’ve barely intersected in any real way. After the divorce, your assets will remain yours, and mine will remain mine. We’ll sign the papers, and I’ll move out. Simple as that.”

It didn’t even cross her mind to lay claim to his wealth.

Sebastian Turner, the crowned prince of high society. His name alone commanded attention, embodying both elegance and audacity. Polished on the surface but merciless beneath, he was notorious for playing by no one’s rules but his own.

When he’d first entered the business world, her father-in-law, Mr. Xu, handed him the reins of a failing entertainment company under the Turner Group, a company mired in financial losses year after year.

Sebastian had fired those who needed to be fired, restructured teams without regard for anyone’s good graces, and summarily dismissed even the most venerable “founding fathers” of the company. He carved it up and rebuilt it piece by piece. At the time, people thought he’d lost his mind.

But his tri-pronged strategy across film, television, and variety shows turned the tide, injecting a new wave of talent into the entertainment industry. The once-crippled company began raking in massive profits, transforming from a blemish on Turner Group’s books to a star performer. The turnaround was spectacular.

Today, that entertainment company was a behemoth in the industry, evolving from an unremarkable “side project” into a cornerstone of the group’s influence. Several of the biggest names dominating the industry today owed their break to him.

Sebastian Turner was not just the charming libertine the outside world saw; he was a predator, honed and calculating. Madeline had no desire to provoke his ire. All she wanted now was to escape this gilded cage as quickly as possible.

Sebastian’s smile was gentle, his voice smooth and tempered. “That won’t do. After all this time, shouldn’t there be some form of compensation?”

For a second, she thought he was offering her compensation. Momentarily startled by his sudden bout of civility, she glanced up at him. “That’s not necessary. If you have no objections, I’ll inform the lawyers today—”

“I’m talking about the compensation you owe me.”

“…?”

Sebastian’s lips curled into a lazy, bemused smile, though his eyes remained cool, devoid of warmth. “Have you already forgotten, Mrs. Turner? You still owe me a child.”