Chapter 1

The rain was pouring down in sheets.

Bonnie Binder stood on the steps outside City Hall, her thin white dress soaked through and clinging to her body.

March in Morzinn was still bitterly cold, and her whole body trembled, unsure if it was the chill or something deeper.

The prenatal report in her hand was all crumpled from how tightly she'd been gripping it.

The tiny black dot on the ultrasound was the child she and Alfred had after three years of marriage.

"Bonnie?" Suddenly, a black umbrella was held over Bonnie's head.

She looked up and saw Violet Binder's delicate, fragile-looking face.

Violet was dressed in the latest Chanel suit, her high heels tapping on the wet steps, and even her hair looked perfectly styled.

She tilted her head, flashing Bonnie an innocent smile. "Alfred asked me to pick you up. He said... he was worried you might be too upset."

The words stung Bonnie.

Bonnie glanced down at the crumpled prenatal report, and for a moment, she almost laughed.

Three hours ago, she'd found out she was six weeks pregnant. All she wanted was to share the good news with Alfred.

She called him seventeen times and sent a ton of WhatsApp messages, but he never replied.

It wasn't until she saw Violet's post pop up on her Instagram.

Alfred was sitting in a fancy restaurant, his long fingers slicing into a steak. The warm yellow light made his profile look extra gentle.

The caption read: [Thanks for celebrating my birthday with me, Alfred. It feels so good to have you here every year.]

When Bonnie read it, she suddenly remembered that today was also her and Alfred's third wedding anniversary.

Violet gasped, pulling a tissue from her bag, "Bonnie, why are you crying? Don't be like this. Alfred will be heartbroken if he sees you..."

"He won't," Bonnie said, her voice so hoarse it barely sounded like her own.

Three years of marriage, and Alfred had never once looked at her. Whether she cried or laughed, he ignored her.

Violet blinked, lowering her voice. "How could you say that? Actually, Alfred said that if you sign the divorce papers, he'll give you a payout.

"That is 1.5 million dollars. That's more than enough to set you up for the rest of your life."

1.5 million dollars was the price for three years of Bonnie's youth, for a child that would never be born, for everything Bonnie had ever been.

Bonnie looked up and spotted the familiar black Maybach parked at the end of the street. In the pouring rain, its sharp lines looked as cold and unyielding as its owner.

Alfred sat in the back seat, the window halfway down, his handsome face as distant as ever. He didn't even look her way.

Violet sighed, her voice dripping with pity, "Bonnie, sign the papers. You know Alfred's heart has always belonged to me.

"If you hadn't pulled that stunt to get him to marry you..."

"I didn't," Bonnie whispered, her voice trembling.

Violet cooed at her, as if she were a child, "Alright, you didn't. But let's be real. During the three years of marriage, how many times has he even touched you?"

Bonnie's face went ghostly pale.

Violet leaned in close, her voice soft and poisonous, like a snake's hiss. "Here's the real deal.

"Every time Alfred comes home, he stops by to see me first. He says he can only really relax when he's with me."

With the rain pouring down, Bonnie felt her heart break into pieces.

She realized the truth.

It explained why every time Alfred came back from a trip, there was always a strange perfume lingering on him.

It explained why he'd rather crash in the guest room than even touch her. It explained that after three years of marriage, Alfred had only shared a bed with her for a few times.

"Mrs. Carr." A deep, icy voice suddenly broke through the sound of the rain.

Bonnie jerked her head up and saw Alfred standing at the bottom of the steps.

He was dressed in a black suit, holding a black umbrella, looking like he'd stepped straight out of a painting.

He was elegant, distant, and completely out of reach.

He glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her soaked dress. For a split second, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Sign it," he said.

He walked up the steps and handed her a document. The bold title "Divorce Agreement" felt like a knife to Bonnie's eyes, stinging sharply.

"Alfred, Bonnie..." Violet tried to speak, but was quickly interrupted.

Alfred cut her off, his tone gentler than before, "Get in the car. It's pouring. I don't want you to catch a cold."

The favoritism was painfully obvious.

Bonnie saw the tenderness he gave Violet. Compared to the icy indifference he showed her, she suddenly realized her three years of holding on were nothing but a cruel joke.

She took the divorce agreement, her hand trembling so much she could barely grip the pen.

Alfred said, his voice cool and businesslike, "Check the property split. The villa's yours, plus 1.5 million in cash. And you can keep using your credit cards. There is no limit."

His generosity was almost outrageous.

Bonnie looked up at the man she'd loved for five whole years.

Back when she was twenty-two, the Binder family brought her home. That was the first time she saw Alfred.

He was smoking in the garden, moonlight washing over his shoulders like a layer of silver. She fell for him at first sight and spent two years waiting for the marriage to be arranged.

She thought that if she tried hard enough, she could warm up Alfred, who was like a block of ice.

But she forgot that once the ice was warmed, it would turn to water. When the water evaporated, there would be nothing left to hold onto.

"I'm pregnant," Bonnie said.

The words were light as air.

Alfred froze, his hand halfway to turning away.

Violet, who had reached the car, whipped her head around at those words.

"What did you say?" Alfred's voice stayed calm, but Bonnie caught the way his pupils contracted for a split second.

Bonnie said, handing him the prenatal report, rain dripping from her hair, "I'm s\ix weeks along. Alfred, I'm pregnant."

The air went still for three long seconds.

Alfred took the report, glanced down at it, and then, he tore the paper in half.

He said, his voice icy, "Impossible. We always used protection."

Bonnie was stunned.

She said, her voice trembling, "Last month, on the fifteenth, you got drunk. You told me that you wanted a baby."

But that was a lie.

Alfred had been drunk that night, but he didn't say anything to her.

Bonnie made the first move when he was out of it. In three years, it was the only time he hadn't pushed her away.

She thought maybe, with a baby, their marriage would finally have a shot.

"Bonnie," Alfred said, tossing the shredded prenatal report into the trash, towering over her, his gaze icy and condescending.

He added, "This trick is so obvious."

He called it a trick.

He really thought Bonnie was making it up.

"I didn't..." Bonnie whispered, her voice barely audible and trembling.

Alfred said, pressing the pen into her hand, "Sign it. Don't let me repeat myself a third time."

Bonnie looked down at the pen, and suddenly, she laughed. As she laughed, tears fell, blurring with the rain so she couldn't tell which was which.

She said, lifting her head to meet his eyes, "Alfred, what if I told you I'd rather die than sign the divorce papers?"

Alfred's brow furrowed, a trace of impatience flashing in his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me if you have ever, even for a second in these three years, actually seen me as your wife?"

The rain kept coming down, relentless.

Alfred stared at her. She was shivering in the storm but still holding her head up, stubborn as ever.

Her face was ghostly pale, lips almost blue, but there was a fierce light in her eyes he couldn't read.

Out of nowhere, memories of their wedding night three years ago flashed in his mind.

She sat on the edge of the bed in that bright red wedding dress, so nervous she didn't know what to do with herself.

He'd had a few drinks. When he lifted her veil and saw hope and shyness in her eyes, all he felt was annoyance.

He told her, "Bonnie, we both know exactly how this marriage happened. I can give you the status of Mrs. Carr, but don't expect me to love you."

She said, "It's fine. I'll wait."

Then, she waited for three whole years.

Alfred said, his voice calm and cruel, "No.

"Not even once."

Bonnie closed her eyes.

She thought of all those countless days over the past three years. She'd learned to cook for him, burning her hands until they blistered.

She kept the house spotless, so exhausted her back would ache for days.

She went to every social event for him, enduring all the snide comments from those high-class wives.

She believed that if she was sincere enough, even a heart of stone would eventually give in.

But she'd forgotten that Alfred's heart was colder and harder than any stone.

"Alright," Bonnie said.

She opened her eyes, took the pen, and signed her name on the divorce papers. Every stroke was neat and deliberate, like she was performing some kind of ritual.

She signed her name.

That signature ended her three-year marriage, and put an end to twenty-two years of devotion.

She said, handing him the papers, her voice eerily calm, "I'll move out tomorrow. I don't want the villa, and I don't want the money.

"Alfred, I don't want anything from you, not even you."

Alfred took the papers, his eyes lingering on her elegant handwriting. Suddenly, it felt like a stab to his eyes.

He wanted to say something, but Violet called out from the car, "Alfred, I feel so dizzy..."

Alfred turned and walked away.

Bonnie stood there, watching his silhouette fade into the downpour, the Maybach speeding off and spraying water everywhere.

She looked down at her still-flat belly, where a tiny heartbeat was fluttering beneath the surface.

Bonnie whispered softly, "I'm sorry, baby. Mommy can't give you a whole family."

She turned and walked right into the pouring rain, no umbrella, no direction. She let the storm wash over her as she wandered with no purpose.

The rain kept getting heavier, blurring everything into a gray haze. As she passed a set of steps, her foot slipped and she fell hard onto the ground.

A sudden, intense cramp tore through her lower belly.

Bonnie curled up on the ground, feeling warm liquid run down her legs, mixing with the rain and staining her white dress red.

She reached out, hoping to grab onto something. anything. but all she caught was cold rainwater.

"Help..." Bonnie murmured, her voice so weak even she could barely hear it.

Right before everything went dark, a black umbrella stopped above her. A warm voice spoke. "Miss, are you alright?"

Then, the world faded to black.