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The day before my tumor operation, my husband, Taylor Knowles, who disappeared for six years, finally decided to show up. He carried the same icy arrogance, studying me with a mocking expression. He asked, "What's this? Learned to act pitiful now? "That lover of yours won't take care of you, so you came begging to me instead?" I held his dark, unfriendly gaze for a while before managing a small, quiet smile. "You're right, Taylor Knowles. So, can you lend me 100,000 dollars? I need it for the surgery." He swept his eyes over me with disdain, lips curling into a frigid smirk. "Money? Sure. Beg for it. Entertain me. If I'm in a good mood, maybe I'll consider it." My face drained of color, a bitter ache pricking at the corners of my eyes. He never knew that when his company was collapsing, I sacrificed my pride to save it.