Chapter 1

My partner and his alleged "sibling" were apprehended during an anti-prostitution operation at a local inn.

Upon arriving to secure his release, I noticed his neck was covered in love bites, and he was consoling her as she wept.

"Her residence was unsecured, and she felt unsafe, so I kept her company," he explained.

Previously, I would have become enraged and demanded explanations.

This time, however, I chose not to play the role of the jealous, irrational girlfriend.

I quietly completed the release documents without uttering a word.

A colleague from the task force inquired, "Relatives?"

I shook my head and replied, "Just neighbors."

Then I glanced down and messaged my mother.

[Regarding that prearranged marriage you mentioned? I agree to it. Allow me three days, and I'll return home.]

——

As we exited the police station, Gwyneth Averill, still teary-eyed, settled into the front seat of my vehicle.

Lacking the energy to protest, I started the engine. Just as I grasped the steering wheel, she clutched my arm.

However, her gaze was directed at my boyfriend Gerard Morgenthal instead.

"I'm anxious. I dislike riding in unfamiliar vehicles," she whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears and her nose reddened. She embodied vulnerability.

I removed her hand from my arm. "Then exit the car."

The atmosphere inside the vehicle instantly chilled until Gwyneth's tears began to flow freely.

From the back seat, Gerard's voice rang out sharply.

"Yvaine, must you always be so callous? You're aware of her distress due to her brother's predicament. Can't you show some empathy?" he chided. "Get out. I'll take the wheel."

Before I could respond, he exited, forcefully opened my door causing it to shake, and allowed the frigid air to rush in.

I shivered but remained motionless, simply staring at him.

The typically composed Gerard was suddenly rough and impatient. He actually unfastened my seatbelt and pulled me out of the car.

I stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to regain my balance.

Without acknowledging me, he slid into the driver's seat and gently stroked Gwyneth's hair. "There, there. I'll take you home first."

"Oh, Gerard, you're so kind!" Gwyneth exclaimed, flashing me a triumphant look.

Before departing, Gerard left me with these words: "You're a grown woman. Find your own way home. I'll return after I've dropped her off."

I stood there, immobilized, as their vehicle sped away. Before they turned the corner, I witnessed that woman lean over and kiss his cheek.

At that moment, my phone vibrated, and I answered with stiff fingers.

"Darling, have you seen Glenn's picture?"

Glenn London—the man my mother wanted me to wed.

Tall and handsome.

On the other end, my mother sounded relieved.

"Oh, sweetie, you're finally maturing. Your father is getting older. Over the years, he's been furious about your leaving home. It's good that you're coming back."

I gazed up at the insects swarming around the streetlight, my thoughts scattered.

I had run away all those years ago to avoid this kind of life.

Then I met Gerard, and for a while, I believed I had struck gold.

Seven years. I supported him through thick and thin.

But whenever I broached the subject of our future, he'd respond, "It's too early." I had quietly terminated pregnancies because of that. Multiple times.

I was so foolish, believing his love would suffice.

But now, I've reached my limit.

Eventually, I took a taxi home.

Gerard must have felt remorseful because he arrived shortly after.

He entered just as I was packing my belongings. Clothes were strewn about—most already stuffed into bags.

"Why are you packing your clothes?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"Spring cleaning," I replied monotonously, hoping he'd just take a shower.

The overpowering scent of perfume on him made me feel sick.

He paused for a moment, oblivious to anything amiss, and continued talking to himself.