Chapter 2

Henry hadn't always been like this.

Though our marriage had been arranged, he was fit, handsome, and for a long time, there had only been me in his orbit.

We had once shared a time when we loved each other.

When I was three months pregnant, I learned he had a first love who had just returned from abroad.

Her very first stop was downstairs at my building.

She produced a medical record and begged Henry to give her a child.

Back then, Henry had her expelled without even meeting her.

When I was five months along, she showed up no fewer than thirty times.

Henry still refused, but each time they talked for a long while.

That day, I asked him, "If you have feelings for Isla, tell me. I'll terminate this pregnancy."

I loved him, yes.

But I would not let my child grow up with a father who didn't love her.

Henry told me I was imagining things. He swore again and again that he would never abandon us.

But he broke his promise.

Three days before I gave birth, Isla came for the ninety‑ninth time.

She said she didn't have long to live and begged Henry for a child so that a part of her would remain in this world.

Henry said nothing; he looked at me instead.

In that instant, I knew he had already made his choice.

After the baby was born, Henry saw our daughter only once.

He never came again.

I went to him often after that. Most of the time, I went for our daughter.

I wanted her to have, in the store of her childhood memories, a father figure to keep.

The silence was broke with a phone call.

Henry finally rose, turned his back to me, and answered.

His voice softened as he comforted the caller; he even sang a lullaby at the end.

When he hung up, our daughter spoke up suddenly. "Mom, Daddy didn't even recognize me. I don't want to call him Daddy anymore."

The hand holding the phone went rigid.

Henry turned, eyes reddened, and forced a smile. "Yvette, I was just playing a game with you."

He thought a three‑year‑old was easy to fool.

He thought a lie would fix it.

But when your appearances in a child's life can be counted on one hand, who would believe you?

Still, he was the child's biological father. I couldn't let him be remembered so poorly.

I asked the maid to take our daughter upstairs first.

Once our daughter was out of sight, Henry's face froze cold.

"Ava, do you always badmouth me in front of her? Is that why she acts like this toward me?" he said.

His accusation struck me like another blow. My heart, already numb from pain, stirred again.

I dug my nails into my palm, but my voice stayed calm. "Henry, do you even remember how long it's been since you came home?

"How many times have you seen our daughter since she was born? She notices everything you've done."

He moved his lips, as if searching for an excuse.

After a long moment, he muttered, "If I don't come back, can't you just bring her to see me?"

In an instant, I strode up to him and slapped his unthinking mouth hard.

Henry seemed stunned, his eyes clearing a little.

I pointed at his forehead and scolded, "Henry, are you even a dad? If you don't know how to talk, don't open your mouth.

"Oh, I forgot—you and Isla have been shameless for a long time."

Henry hadn't expected me to hit him.

I'd once cried seeing him suffer even a tiny scratch he caused.

He froze for a long while, then slowly touched his tingling lips.

He didn't get angry; instead, he just stared into my eyes and asked, "Ava, have you fallen in love with someone else?"

That day, I had beaten Henry right out the door.

I never imagined I'd one day push the husband I had longed for away from our home.

When I closed the door, tears filled my eyes, but I felt little pain inside.

I knew that the loneliness and resentment of the past three years could no longer trap me.

From that day on, Henry came back more often than he had in all the years combined.

I didn't know what had gotten into him.

That day, the newly hired chef had just come for an interview and happened to run into him.

Henry's eyes went completely red, as if struck by some madness.

He went straight up and beat the man up.

Then, teeth clenched, he glared at me, radiating cold fury. "Ava, is this the reason you want a divorce? If you're going to cheat, at least find someone decent."

Back then, I might have thought his jealousy was charming.

I might have even felt a tiny thrill inside.

But now I just wanted to vomit everything straight onto his face.

I pointed at the fifty-year-old chef, nose bleeding from Henry's punch, and glared fiercely.

I snapped, "Henry, do you think everyone is as shameless as you? We're not divorced yet, and you've already acted like someone else's husband.

"This is my new chef. You haven't forgotten that a few days ago you called our old chef away to take care of your precious first crush, have you?"

Henry opened his mouth to argue, "Then why didn't you tell me first? Am I still a member of this family?"

I sneered, "You called the chef away and left me and our daughter eating takeout without so much as a heads-up."

Henry's face darkened. He angrily pulled a wad of cash from his bag and threw it to the floor.

I said coldly, "Pick it up and apologize."

Henry shot me a glance, frowning, clearly unwilling—but in the end, he bent down.

Some people were born thinking they were superior.

Getting this pampered heir to say sorry was already pushing his limits.

I thought that after humiliating him, he definitely wouldn't come back.

But that very night, Henry showed up with a suitcase, announcing he was moving back in.