Chapter 3

Then, the driver deliberately muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "Seriously? A homewrecker wanting her own personal driver? Pathetic."

With no other options, Phoebe asked a bodyguard for his phone so she could call Xander.

Ever since Xander caught her trying to escape a year ago, she'd lost all access to a phone.

It wasn't until her sixth attempt that someone finally answered, taking their sweet time.

"What is it?" It was Alena. In the background, everyone was celebrating—cheers and fireworks going off.

Phoebe pulled her thin jacket tighter around herself in the cold wind, licking her dry lips.

"The driver won't let me in. Can you have Xander tell him to let me in?" she asked.

"He just proposed to me. It's not a good time. Just wait," Alena replied.

Then, without a second thought, she hung up.

Phoebe froze. Back when he loved her to the extreme, he never even gave her a proper wedding.

But now, he was going all out, proposing to Alena in front of everyone. Her dead heart felt like it was being stabbed with needles, sending waves of pain through her.

Phoebe glanced at the sky as it grew darker, gritted her teeth, and stepped into the freezing wind.

The wound on her leg still hadn't healed, and every step made it throb with pain.

The driver, with two bodyguards in the car, just cruised slowly behind her, making no effort to help.

Phoebe was at her limit—cold, hungry, and utterly exhausted.

Phoebe asked, "Why do they get to ride while I have to walk?"

"Because they're Mr. Sampson's real bodyguards. And you? What are you, the official homewrecker?" the driver snorted.

Everyone burst out laughing at his words. Phoebe shot a glare at the bodyguards inside the car.

"Can you tell him to stop? I need to get in," Phoebe said.

The bodyguards looked uncomfortable.

"Miss Hamilton, we're just here to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't get hurt. The rest isn't our problem," one of them said flatly.

Phoebe clenched her fists. She suddenly threw herself in front of the moving car.

There was a dull thud, and with a muffled groan, Phoebe was sent sprawling across the ground.

When Phoebe woke up, she found herself lying in the guest room at the Sampson family. Xander was leaning over, feeling her forehead to check if she was alright.

Their eyes met, and he withdrew his hand, his expression calm.

"I've already taken care of the driver and those two bodyguards," he said. "But that car was Alena's favorite. You scuffed it, so you need to apologize to her."

Phoebe stared blankly at the ceiling—not crying, not making a scene, not even bothering to say anything more to him.

She just answered calmly, "Okay."

Xander was stunned. He'd expected Phoebe to break down, cry, or even storm out like she used to.

But now, that single "okay" left all his excuses stuck in his throat.

Xander stared at Phoebe's pale face, a burning rage simmering in his chest, threatening to consume him.

He could lose everything else, but he couldn't lose Phoebe.

As if deliberately trying to rile her up, Xander spoke in an icy, sharp tone. "Alena hasn't eaten yet. She likes your chicken soup. Go cook it for her."

He watched her face closely, but there wasn't a trace of resentment, anger, or even grievance on her face.

She just got up obediently, limped to the kitchen, started the stove, and put in the chicken—mechanically, without hesitation.

Half an hour later, Phoebe set a bowl of chicken soup in front of Alena, her face blank as she apologized.

Alena casually told someone to pour Phoebe's soup into the dog bowl, watching Phoebe with narrowed eyes, full of disdain.

"Come on, it's pointless for a person to argue with a dog, especially a rabid one, don't you think?" Alena said.

Xander stepped protectively in front of Phoebe, his voice frosty. "You should leave."

Alena's voice turned sugary sweet as she spread her arms wide. "Won't you see me off?"

Xander shot Phoebe a helpless look and then got up with a sigh.

She wanted him to carry her, so he did—lifting her up and carrying her out without a word.

Before he left, Xander told Phoebe the oatmeal he made was on the table. She should eat it while it was hot.

When Phoebe finally came back to herself, she saw the same dog that had just slurped up her chicken soup, now with its front paws planted on the table.

It was greedily digging into her oatmeal, tongue deep in the bowl.

Phoebe had been starving all day, walked nearly six miles, and suffered Alena's humiliation. All her exhaustion and humiliation boiled over in that instant.

She lunged for the dog, but it darted away, knocking the bowl over and dumping the oatmeal all over her.

Phoebe sat on the icy floor, lost and numb, staring at everything in front of her as if she couldn't process what had just happened.

There was a mirror right across from her, and when her eyes finally met those of the unfamiliar woman reflected back, she couldn't hold it together anymore. She broke down, crying her heart out.

"Phoebe," she whispered to herself, "'you've finally become the version of yourself you always despised."

She thought Xander would disappear for good, just like all those other times.

So when the mattress dipped and a pair of arms slipped around her from behind, every cell in her body started to tremble.

"Phoebe, it's me." Xander's voice came softly from behind her.