Chapter 3

Starting from that day, every noon, the bodyguards would show up to shove pills down Rosalie's throat and make sure she stayed locked inside the villa.

After a week on those meds, Rosalie felt herself slipping; her spirit was drained, and she spent more and more time just zoning out.

That afternoon, the door swung open and Jason walked in. When he saw Rosalie huddled in the corner of the bed, zoned out, his heart skipped a beat.

Jason instinctively reached for a cigarette, but froze for a second, then shoved it back into his pocket.

Rosalie said quietly, "You're not smoking?"

"Lucia doesn't like me smoking, so I gave it up," Jason replied.

She thought she had grown numb to all of it, yet the ache returned, dull and insistent.

Rosalie had a respiratory condition; every time she smelled smoke, she'd start coughing and feel miserable. She'd tried asking Jason to quit, but it never worked.

And now, just because Lucia said she didn't like it, he gave it up without hesitation.

Rosalie turned her head aside and said softly, "Jason, let's get a divorce."

But as soon as she spoke, it hit her that they were never even married. The one she truly tied the knot with was nothing but a dog.

Jason let out a cold laugh, his voice as frosty as ever. "Rosalie, don't act out. You messed up. Now you have to face the consequences. Lucia finally cracked a smile today, so from now on, no one's going to shove pills down your throat or watch your every move. As long as you leave Lucia alone, you can still be that woman everyone envies."

He paused, fingers trailing across her cheek, voice turning razor-sharp. "I've told you before; if you're going to die, it'll be with me."

Of course, that was just like him—Jason never gave her a choice.

She'd always known Jason was a beast to his core—obsessive, ruthless, refusing to ever let go. Even if he didn't want her, once she became his prey, escaping was never an option.

Rosalie secretly sneered in her heart, forcing the words out. "Where are Yvonne's ashes? I've done what you wanted. Can you give her back to me now?"

"There are still things that aren't settled yet. Just wait," Jason said after a brief pause.

Rosalie closed her eyes in utter despair and didn't say another word.

Jason stared at her, suddenly feeling like something about Rosalie had changed.

Soon, the door shut behind him. Rosalie opened her eyes; she needed to step out for a bit, but first, there was still something she had to deal with.

The next day, she drove herself over to the photo studio.

As she waited, the TV mounted on the wall was blaring the latest celebrity gossip.

The report said Jason, CEO of Foster Group, had gone all out trying to win his wife's smile—making it rain cash from the rooftop of the city's tallest skyscraper.

Down below, crowds went wild, fighting tooth and nail for the bills, while Lucia stood at the very top just grinning, watching the crazy scene and letting out a laugh.

A girl sitting nearby let out an envious sigh. "Mr. Foster and his wife are serious couple goals. If I could marry someone like that, I could just drop dead with no regrets,"

'See that, Jason? Mrs. Foster is not me,' Rosalie thought mockingly.

Back when they were supposedly madly in love, Jason never once introduced her as his wife. But in just a year, others had believed Lucia was his wife.

"Ms. Weller, are you absolutely sure you want all these photos gone?" The photo studio owner just couldn't hide the regret in his voice.

He held up the thick stack of prints, shaking his head.

They were all the photos Rosalie had painstakingly picked out and printed before the wedding—literally hundreds, every single one was of her and Jason.

The first photo was taken at the time she twisted her ankle; Jason had carried her on his back up an entire snowy mountain just to get it.

The second captured their first kiss, up high on the Ferris wheel.

Then there were the third, the fourth, and so on, right up to number seven hundred.

Ten years together, compressed into seven hundred snapshots of memory.

Tears streamed down Rosalie's face as she said softly but with unwavering resolve, "Yes, I don't want them anymore."

She picked up the stack of photos and tossed them into the fireplace one by one, watching as the flames slowly consumed each memory. The firelight danced across her pale cheeks, making her seem cold and merciless, but she just watched in silence.

She had made up her mind—she was done with Jason, done with the ten years she had given him.

Rosalie would never love Jason again. Not ever—not in this lifetime.

'Never again,' she vowed in her heart.