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Northbridge's winters were always shrouded in relentless cold. Evelyn Shaw died on a snowy winter night, died at the hands of Richard Sterling, the man she had loved for ten years. When the news reached Richard, he was at a private club with his new flame, Claire Winters. With champagne splashing onto his designer suit, he merely frowned, as if he had heard a meaningless joke. "Mr. Sterling, Ms. Shaw didn't make it. The hospital declared her dead, heart failure, worsened by years of malnutrition and depression," the assistant said, his voice trembled, not daring to meet Richard's cold eyes. Richard scoffed, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the back of Claire's hand. He said nonchalantly, full of his usual mockery, "Evelyn? Is she pulling another stunt? Looking for pity? Tell her I'm not interested in her tragic act." He knew Evelyn all too well. She loved him to the point of losing herself, enduring every bit of his neglect and cruelty in silence, always hoping he'd finally come back to her. How dare she die? How dare she leave him? At that moment, Richard was a billionaire, the undisputed ruler of Northbridge, able to call the shots at his will. His heart was cold as iron, and the only person in his eyes was Claire, his once-lost, now-returned muse. He never understood that some things, once exhausted, were gone for good. He had no idea that the blaze he ignited would eventually leave him all alone, forever restless in the ashes, never to find peace.