Chapter 1

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.

Evelyn's room was hidden away in the most isolated corner of the Sterling estate.

There was no heater, no sunlight, just a tiny window where she could see the snow swirling outside.

Evelyn curled up under a thin blanket, reduced to skin and bones. Her face was paper-white, lips drained of all color, and every breath was a shallow, ragged gasp.

Three years ago, Richard brought her into the Sterling estate, not to cherish her, but to keep her caged.

It all started when Claire returned.

Claire was Richard's obsession from his youth, his muse, and the one he cherished above all else. She left without a word back then, but now she had returned in glory. Richard poured all his tenderness onto her and reserved nothing but cruelty for Evelyn.

Evelyn was the adopted daughter of the Shaw family. When the Shaw family had fallen from grace, she approached Richard herself, saying she was willing to do anything if he would help them.

Richard agreed, but only on one condition. She would stay by his side as a doormat for Claire and a punching bag for his anger.

"Evelyn, you're nothing but a castaway from the Shaw family. Staying by my side is a privilege you don't deserve," Richard would often say to her. Every word was like an ice pick, stabbing right into her heart.

Evelyn had loved Richard since she was fifteen, ever since he helped her up in the rain and stood up for her against her bullies.

She loved him for ten years, from a young and innocent girl to a hollowed-out woman.

The door was shoved open, letting in a gust of icy wind carrying snowflakes. Evelyn couldn't help but shiver as she looked up at the man in the doorway.

Richard stood tall and striking in his black coat, his expression icy and devoid of warmth. Behind him was Claire, delicate as ever, clinging to his arm, her eyes rimmed with red, looking like she had been hurt.

"Richard, I didn't mean to," Claire said, her voice sweet and trembling with tears as she gestured toward the old books strewn across the floor. "I just accidentally knocked over Evelyn's things."

Those books were Evelyn's only keepsake. They were gifts Richard had given her when she was young.

Richard's gaze was icy as it fixed on Evelyn. He asked, "Evelyn, how dare you push Claire?"

Evelyn struggled to sit up, her throat so dry it hurt. "I didn't..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You dare deny it?" Richard stormed over and seized her chin, his grip so fierce it felt like he might crush her bones. "Evelyn, listen up. Claire is the one who matters most to me. Touch her, and you'll pay for it."

A sharp pain shot through her chin. Tears spilled down Evelyn's cheeks, but she stubbornly refused to plead.

She stared at the man before her, who had once kept vigil at her sickbed and soothed her sorrow, yet now his eyes held nothing but loathing and ruthless cruelty.

"Richard, let her go. Don't get yourself worked up," Claire said, pretending to tug at his arm, her gaze flicking over Evelyn, full of smug triumph.

Richard let go of Evelyn, wiping his fingertips in disgust, as if he had touched something filthy.

"Clean this up, then head to the kitchen and make some food for Claire. If it's not perfect, you don't get dinner tonight," he said, pulling Claire close as he left. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room cold and empty.

Evelyn collapsed onto the bed, a clear red mark left on her chin. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

She clutched her chest, the pain so intense it was as if an invisible hand was crushing her heart, stealing her breath away.

Evelyn slowly crawled out of bed and gathered the old books from the floor, each one trampled and mangled, just like her love, crushed beyond recognition.

Tucked inside one of the books was a faded photo of her at fifteen and Richard at eighteen. He was smiling, messing up her hair, his gaze soft and full of warmth.

Evelyn pressed the faded photo to her chest, whispering, "Richard, when will you ever spare me a glance?"

No one answered her. Only the wind and snow outside howled, as if laughing at her hopeless longing.

Evelyn forced her weak body toward the kitchen, shuffling step by step. The firelight flickered against her pale face as she carefully stewed the soup, her movements awkward but sincere.

She had always been frail, born with a congenital heart condition. The doctors had warned her not to overexert herself or get too emotional, but at the Sterling estate, she was draining the life out of herself day after day.

By the time the soup was done, it was already deep into the night.

She carried the bowl into the living room, where Richard and Claire were sitting together on the couch, watching a movie, the room filled with warmth and comfort.

"Mr. Sterling, the soup is ready," Evelyn said softly.

Claire glanced at the bowl and wrinkled her nose. She said, "Richard, I don't want this. It smells weird. This is all Evelyn's fault; she totally ruined it."

Richard immediately turned to Evelyn, his eyes icy. He said, "You can't even get this right. What good are you to me?"

Richard swatted the bowl right out of Evelyn's hands.

The scalding soup splashed across her hands and arms, raising angry red blisters almost instantly.

The porcelain bowl splintered on the floor, its sharp crack echoing through the silent night.