Chapter 1

"Please, just divorce me, okay?"

I pushed the divorce agreement toward him, my fingertips trembling.

But Evan didn't even glance at them. Right in front of me, he tore the papers in half, the shredded pieces hitting my face.

"Sophia, you owe Clara a life. Don't even think about getting away from it for the rest of your life."

He turned and pulled Clara into his arms. His voice was unbearably tender.

"Clara's body is fragile. Go clear out the master bedroom for her."

I stood there, didn't cry, didn't argue.

Three months ago, I was diagnosed with stage two stomach cancer.

Yesterday, I found out I was four weeks pregnant.

Today, to give Clara a blood transfusion, he drew 400cc of blood from me.

The baby was gone. The moment they strapped me to that donation chair, it was already gone.

"Fine, I'll clear it out."

I bent down, picked up the paper scraps from the floor, and pieced them together one by one.

Evan, this time, I truly don't want you anymore.

Sophia's POV

"Sophia, your biopsy results are in. Stage two stomach cancer. If we intervene immediately, there's an excellent chance of recovery, but you absolutely cannot overwork yourself anymore."

I took the thin diagnostic report, my fingertips trembling slightly, my face turning even paler than the paper.

"Thank you, Dr. Smith." I folded the report carefully and tucked it into my bag, then pulled out a divorce agreement I'd drafted long ago.

Today was the third anniversary of my secret marriage to Evan, and the tenth year I'd harbored feelings for this man.

Ten years. I'd gone from a girl who silently followed him around to New York's youngest surgical expert, and became his wife in name only. His on-call personal physician.

When Evan's grandfather fell gravely ill, I used my medical skills to save his life. In gratitude, his grandfather forced Evan to marry me.

From that moment on, in Evan's eyes, I became a scheming woman who'd used manipulation and tricks to marry him.

Some things can't be earned through effort. Like Evan's heart.

I walked out of the hospital. The sky hung heavy and dark, wild wind carrying cold rain that lashed against my face, bone-chillingly cold.

I returned to the empty hillside villa and placed the divorce papers neatly on the coffee table in the living room, waiting quietly.

At eight o'clock that evening, the villa's front door was pushed open from outside.

Evan was back. He wore an impeccably tailored black designer suit, his features cold and stern, unreachable as always. Except this time, a frail, pale woman rested in the crook of his arm.

Clara.

Evan's first love from years ago, the woman he'd waited for even if it meant defying his family, had finally returned from abroad.

"Get the medical kit." Evan didn't glance at the divorce papers on the table. He carried Clara straight to the sofa and sat down, his voice cold and commanding, as if ordering a servant.

I stood frozen. A stabbing pain seized my stomach, making my breath catch for a moment.

"Didn't you hear me?" Evan raised his eyes, his gaze slicing toward me like a blade, carrying an authority that permitted no resistance.

I lowered my lashes, forcefully swallowing the metallic taste rising in my throat, then turned to retrieve the medical kit from the storage cabinet.

When I got closer, I could finally see Clara's hand.

A shallow scratch marked the back of it, the blood barely dried.

For this tiny wound, he'd specifically summoned me, a chief surgical physician, to act as his nurse.

"Clara scraped her hand on her luggage when she got off the plane. Treat it for her. Be gentle. She's sensitive to pain." Evan's tone carried a nervousness and extreme tenderness he himself hadn't even noticed.

A tenderness I'd never possessed in ten years.

I silently crouched down and took out the iodine and cotton swabs.

Perhaps the stomach pain was affecting my nerves, or maybe it was the high fever I'd been running for days, but my hand trembled uncontrollably.

The cotton swab lightly brushed the edge of Clara's wound.

"Ah!" Clara flinched, her eyes instantly reddening as she looked pitifully at Evan. "Evan, it hurts."

The next second, Evan violently knocked my hand away.

The force was so great that my already weakened body fell backward, landing hard on the floor. My palm scraped heavily against the edge of the marble table, leaving a long, bloody gash.

"Can't you even do basic bandaging anymore?" Evan looked down at me from above, his eyes utterly cold. "Or are you taking issue with Clara and deliberately hurting her?"

I stared at my bleeding palm and suddenly laughed. The smile didn't reach my eyes. Only desolation remained.

"Evan, I'm a surgeon, not your personal maid." I braced myself against the cold floor and stood up, my voice hoarse from fever. "Since she's so afraid of pain, why don't you just put her in a sterile chamber?"

"Sophia!" Evan's expression darkened instantly, a terrifying fury rising in his eyes.

After all, in Evan's mind, I'd always been that docile, rational, even somewhat boring woman. I was like a convenient tool, never resisting any of his decisions.

But today, I'd dared to talk back.

Clara tugged at Evan's sleeve at just the right moment, choking out considerately, "Evan, don't blame Miss Sophia. Maybe my sudden return disturbed you both. I should leave. I don't want to affect your marriage..."

"This is my home. You're staying here." Evan gently clasped Clara's hand, his icy gaze piercing toward me. "Since you don't want to help, go back to your room and reflect."

I didn't argue, didn't spare them another glance.

I hid my bleeding hand in my sleeve, my gaze sweeping over the table. The divorce papers had already been knocked to the floor by Evan, now stained with mud from Clara's shoe, filthy beyond recognition.

"Fine, I'll leave."

I dropped those words quietly and turned toward the stairs.

The moment I closed the bedroom door, I leaned against it and slid to the floor, strength draining from my body. Violent pain surged through my stomach.

I bit down hard on my hand, swallowing every agonized whimper back into my belly, unwilling to make a single sound.

Ten years of devotion and delusion. It was finally time to wake up.