Selena felt utterly humiliated. “Zavier, this is a hospital!”

“I’m well aware,” Zavier replied, utterly unfazed.

He pressed in close, his lean frame unyielding against hers, his angular, imposing face mere inches from her ear. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Do you know who he is?”

Selena didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. She could read Zavier’s veiled insinuation.

As the CEO of Larson Group, a man of stature and power, Zavier would never allow his wife to get too close to another man, not even a fleeting suggestion of impropriety.

Selena gave him a bitter smile.

“Zavier, unlike you, I don’t wallow in sordid thoughts, nor do I have the energy for it. Rest assured, until the divorce is finalized, I won’t so much as consider another man.”

With that, she pushed him away and strode into the hospital room.

Zavier followed her in without hesitation.

He paused right inside the door, his expression darkening. It wasn’t a private room—sharing a space felt beneath him.

Samantha quickly fetched a chair for him, her tone soft and accommodating. “Please, have a seat! Selena, cut up some fruit for Zavier. Don’t just stand there! And tonight, you’re heading home with him. Your father has me to look after him.”

Zavier sat down and engaged Dominic in conversation.

Though typically cold toward Selena, Zavier played the doting son-in-law with seamless charm. Years of navigating high-stakes boardrooms had honed his ability to win favor when needed; his charisma was impossible to refuse.

Dominic liked him. He always had.

But when Zavier suggested transferring Dominic to a more exclusive hospital, the older man waved it off with a cheerful chuckle. “There’s no need. I’m fine here! Dr. Harrison is excellent—very attentive.”

Zavier relented with practiced grace. “Of course, Dad. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Selena returned with a sliced apple and handed it to him. Zavier took it but set it aside without a glance before catching her delicate wrist in his hand.

He rose smoothly to his feet and addressed Dominic and Samantha with calm finality. “I’ll take Selena home now. Dad, take care of yourself.”

Dominic gave a small nod, watching them leave.

Once they were gone, Samantha busied herself tidying up, but Dominic’s voice cut through the silence. “There’s trouble between them, isn’t there?”

Her hand trembled, and for a moment, she froze before plastering on a smile. “Don’t be silly! Selena and Zavier are fine.”

Dominic sighed, his voice heavy with quiet wisdom. “You underestimate my eyes. I saw the way Selena looked at him. It’s different now. There used to be light in her eyes when she looked at Zavier. Now, there’s none.”

Samantha said nothing, stunned into stillness. Finally, she murmured, “You should talk to her.”

Dominic leaned back against the headboard, lost in thought. After a long silence, he muttered, “I won’t. If she doesn’t bring it up, I won’t force her. The Sullivans were never free; I won’t let Lena live without freedom too.”

Samantha parted her lips as if to say something, but no words came.

...

By the time Zavier and Selena reached the car, the setting sun cast an amber blaze over the black Bentley, its sleek surface catching the light like molten fire.

Zavier guided her into the car, firm but composed. When she tried to get out, his hand clamped around her wrist, holding her in place without betraying the effort in his impassive expression. Though outwardly calm, his grip left no doubt about the physical disparity between them; she couldn’t move an inch until she relented.

Once she slumped back against the seat, conceding defeat, he let go.

The faint flicker of triumph faded as he sat in the driver’s seat, rolling down the window, lighting a cigarette. The silence stretched between them, tense, suffocating. Smoke curled around him, shrouding his profile in shadow. In the dim light, his sharply defined features seemed almost sculpturesque, a reminder of all that had once ensnared her.

Selena stared at him, her chest tightening with a bitter pang of clarity. Once, she had fallen for this face. Eyes wide open, she had let herself be consumed by a love so painfully one-sided, it had taken years to unravel.

Zavier turned slightly, his gaze grazing hers. He rarely concerned himself with Selena’s emotions, even less with her opinions. She was useful to him; that was all. Men like him didn’t trade stability simply for affection.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small velvet case. Flipping it open, he revealed the diamond ring that had once graced her finger—the very same ring she had pawned on a desperate night just days ago.

Her breath hitched. He had bought it back?

His eyes never left her as he watched her reaction, dissecting each fleeting expression to the last detail, as though baring her soul would yield more answers than her words ever could.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, cold and decisive. “Give me your hand. Put the ring back on. Then come home with me. Whatever happened before, I’m willing to forget. You are still Mrs. Larson.”

He was offering her reprieve—a rare indulgence. But Selena didn’t want it.

She curled her fingers inward, her refusal quiet but unmistakable.

Zavier’s patience thinned. “Selena,” he demanded, “what do you want?”

Her answer came like a whisper on the wind: “Divorce. I want a divorce.”

His jaw set in anger, yet before he could respond, their attention was drawn elsewhere. Across the parking lot, by the white BMW, a man—Joseph—was speaking to a nurse. The sight made Zavier’s blood boil. His tongue pressed hard against his teeth as he struggled to tamp down his rising irritation.

The sharp trill of his phone pulled him back. It was Sarah. When he answered, his tone was clipped. “What is it?”

Sarah's voice bordered on tentative. “Ms. Brooks had a fall. Possibly nerve damage to her leg. She’s in poor spirits. She would be thrilled if you visited her at Hillcrest. Should I make arrangements?”

Zavier hesitated, caught between Sarah’s voice over the phone and Selena at his side, her expression steeled in resolute indifference. Her eyes betrayed nothing, but her faint, mirthless smile spoke volumes.

Without a word, Selena opened the door and stepped out of the car. She didn’t look back.

The night breeze sent a chill through her as she walked away, leaving behind his luxury, his wealth, his suffocating grip. For the first time, she felt the weight of her freedom. It was cold, unfamiliar, but hers.

And she thought, Thank God I didn’t falter when he brought out that ring. Thank God I didn’t fall back into that gilded cage.

Her steps carried her further and further, while Zavier remained seated, staring after her retreating figure. His phone still pressed to his ear, he spoke to Sarah, his voice flat. “Get her the best doctor.”

Sarah hesitated. “But won’t you go to Hillcrest to see her?”

He ended the call.

Flipping through his contacts, Zavier tried Selena’s number. It didn’t connect. His call to her WeChat wouldn’t go through either.

She had blocked him, everywhere.

Anger erupted in him, sharp and volatile. He flung his phone onto the seat beside him. Then, after a moment, he picked up the diamond ring again, its cold brilliance mocking him.

For the first time, he realized she truly meant it. She wanted out. But Zavier Larson wasn’t a man who yielded easily. As far as he was concerned, she would remain Mrs. Larson—whether she wanted to or not.

...

Three days later, inside Larson Group’s executive office atop its glass tower, Zavier stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, phone in hand. He was speaking with Grandma Larson, who was complaining about missing Selena and insisting he bring her back for a visit.

Zavier humored her absently. Halfway through the call, a knock sounded at his door. Sarah stepped in, a sealed envelope in her hands.

“Mr. Larson, this came for you—a special delivery.”

Zavier’s brow arched, already guessing its contents. He gestured for her to place it on the desk.

Once alone with the envelope, he opened it. Sure enough, it was what he expected: divorce papers.

Selena had requested nothing. No assets, no spousal support. She intended to leave with exactly what she brought—nothing.

He scanned the document, his expression darkening. Then, voice low, he asked Sarah, “What’s she been up to?”

“Selling her house,” Sarah responded promptly. “It’s been shown to a number of buyers, but no one's made a final offer yet. Also... she’s job hunting. She won awards back in college, so there’s a respectable firm interested. The position comes with good compensation.”

Zavier leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the papers. After a beat, he lifted them, studying them as if the secret to controlling her lay within the neat lines of legal jargon.

Finally, his voice turned ice-cold. “Find someone to buy her house. Push the price to the lowest possible point and lock it in.”

He paused to scoff, his laughter brittle. “As for the job? She’s not cut out for it.”

Sarah faltered, caught off-guard. For a man as ruthless as Zavier Larson, his refusal to ruin her outright was... unexpected.

Didn’t he loathe Selena?

She hesitated too long. His keen eyes snapped to hers, his reprimand sharp. “What are you still standing there for? Get out.”

Sarah muttered a quick apology and left, closing the door softly behind her.

In the corridor, she clutched her phone, hesitating for only a brief moment before dialing a number. Her voice dropped to a whisper as the line connected...