Chapter 1:

When Ethan brought a woman home for the fourth time overnight, I finally couldn't help but slap her.

She was wearing a deep V-neck, jacquard short skirt, her cleavage was impressive. She cried pitifully, covering her face and accusing me with her buttocks sticking out.

Distracted, Ethan pushed her aside, asking me, "Olivia, didn't you say you wouldn't care?"

I held my head, feeling a headache from anger.

Ethan and I had a cold war for a month. He accused me of being indifferent and unemotional, trying different ways to find a sense of presence in this marriage that's all but dead.

If it weren't for the ten thousand dollars he wired to my card each month, I'd definitely slap him too and sign the divorce papers without looking back!

...

Ethan and I have known each other since the time we wore crotchless trousers. We were childhood brothers who fought all the time.

In a fit of temper, we would grope and grab, never treating each other as the opposite gender.

As we grew up, our elders quietly arranged a betrothal for us without telling us.

I cried and made a fuss, putting out harsh words: "Even if Ethan were the last man on earth, I wouldn't hook up with him!"

It turns out you shouldn't make flags too early.

Ethan has always liked to contradict me. The less happy I am, the happier he is.

Maybe my words hurt his poor male pride, he swore in front of the whole family that he'd marry no one but me.

In truth, he just wants to ruin my life, that man's got a cruel heart!

My grandpa heavily favored boys over girls, and my mom backed my desire for freedom in love—until he reached for a stick and beat me, calling my mom a long-haired, short-sighted village woman.

Mom married up, didn't give birth to a son, and could never raise her head in the Woods Family, living like a transparent person.

That old man is wicked, I won't follow his will!

Before I could cause trouble and break off the engagement, my mom got sick and urgently needed money, and the family business coincidentally faced issues.

This gave Ethan the perfect chance to take advantage, he came strutting in with huge dowry claiming to be the savior.

"Bumpkin, are you playing dominant CEO falling in love with me?"

Ethan arrogantly badgered me, hands in his pockets, body slanted, "Getting to marry such an excellent man like me, you should secretly be happy!"

I hated his arrogant expression, just like the old man.

My mom's humble marriage life has always been a shadow over me.

I'm an opponent of marriage, if it weren't for marrying Ethan, I'd be single for life.

But marrying him is no different than being widowed.

After I slapped Emily, Ethan quieted down for a few days, at least no longer drunkenly burst into our room at midnight to annoy me.

"I've cut ties with them, actually I didn't even—"

I said casually while holding knitting needles, "And that's my problem why?"

Ethan's face turned unhappy, swallowing his grievance, reluctantly changed the subject, "The scarf is for me?"

"Twenty thousand dollars per piece."

A sweet female voice came from the phone: "Payment of twenty thousand dollars received."

I opened and checked, the corner of my mouth began to rise wildly.

As bad as Ethan is, he has one redeeming quality—generosity.

He delights in his wife's lavish spending.

Not like my dad, a miserly penny-pincher who could scold my mom for two hours after a ten-minute shopping trip.

Such bad luck.

Ethan leaned close to me, quietly watching me crochet, a constant smile on his lips.

"Make it look nice, embroider my name, Ethan, here."

I jabbed his deceitful lips with the knitting needle, "That's a separate charge."

Back in school, DIY crafts were trendy; getting a handmade gift was impressive.

I secretly adored the class leader, so I spent a while learning to knit, practicing until my arms ached.

Ethan mocked me for being full and bored, saying such a shabby gift couldn't be presented.

I asked him to deliver the scarf for me, he refused until I agreed to write his homework for a week, then reluctantly ran the errand.

That whole winter, the class leader wore a scarf around his neck.

But it was a Balenciaga, Ethan said a girl from the neighboring class had given it.

And my scarf disappeared after it was given out, Ethan said the class leader might've been embarrassed by it.

Looking at his eager gaze now, I snapped, "Oh, so Young Master Grant doesn't mind being devalued anymore?"

Ethan laughed out loud, poking my face.

"Olivia, how can you be so petty, still holding grudges? A twenty-thousand-dollar scarf isn't more prestigious than any Balenciaga?"

I snorted twice without saying anything.

Ethan's temper has been good these days, often staying home, constantly wanting to stick close to me.

Two years into marriage, the number of times we've shared a bed can be counted on one hand.

But after all, he's a vigorous man, not a celibate monk.

When I'm stubborn, he's not gentle, prefers force.

He enjoys himself fully, while I lie half-dead in bed.

In desperation, I cursed harshly, "What the hell, you die if you don't screw around? Go play outside if you want to screw me to death!"

Ethan's face turned black with rage then, clasping my chin, applied even more force beneath him.

"Olivia, are you really dim-witted or brain sick, do you get happy from me cheating? If you love wearing a green hat so much, tomorrow I'll buy a hundred for the wardrobe!"

Because of my harsh words, Ethan began bringing different women home every few days.

I turned a blind eye, too lazy to deal with his childish behavior.

My dad, however, praised me as clever, handling things well, knowing how to give a man a way out.

As his father, I can only say without fifty years of brain clotting, he couldn't say such mean words.

Isn't he just afraid of losing Ethan's wealth if we divorce, making connections harder?

I truly think he could write a book named "The Art of Freeloading."

Ethan's playboy reputation is well-known, would he really restrain himself for me after marriage?

I'd never believe it even if killed.

As long as it doesn't affect my living expenses, he can play however he likes.

It's understandable Ethan says I don't love him.

I don't care about him, but he always keeps an eye on me, using eight hundred schemes can't satisfy him.

Recently, Owen Shaw, the class leader, joined the company I work at, and on his first day, the team leader arranged for me to show him around.

To show gratitude, he offered to treat me to dinner after work.

We set up at a nearby restaurant, the atmosphere was somewhat awkward.

After high school graduation, we'd lost contact, and whatever youthful feelings long faded in time.

We talked about some work-related matters, his personality was still as cheerful as ever, talking endlessly on topics.

Suddenly, Owen's face changed, seemingly choked by the food.

I followed his surprised gaze and turned back, I too got stuck.

Ethan, dressed in a black coat, wearing a pink scarf, walked over with a smug face, "approachable" demeanor.

I suddenly had a bad premonition.

Ethan sat next to me, affectionately stroked my face.

His fingers were cold, bringing the outdoor chill, freezing me shivering.

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell me you're going out for dinner? I made you a loving meal."

After speaking, gave a glance at the awkward Owen Shaw, feigned confusion, "Who might this be?"

"Hello, I'm Owen Shaw, Olivia's high school classmate."

"We were in the same class before, you may not remember me, you're Ethan Grant, right? Nice to meet you."

Ethan placed the thermos box on the table, adjusted his scarf, with a bit of pride.

"Honey, the scarf you knitted for me is so warm and comfortable."

I looked at the pig-head pattern that peeked out from the bottom of the scarf, with the name Ethan Grant embroidered beside it, and sank into deep thought.

Owen Shaw's outstretched hand lingered awkwardly in the air. After all, he was someone I used to like, and I couldn't bear it for a moment, so I reached out my hand.

Ethan Grant subtly took my hand and used his other hand to shake Owen Shaw's.

"Hello, I'm Olivia Woods' husband, Ethan Grant."

Annoying, he holds so tightly, I can't pull my hand out.

"It's freezing; am I your personal hand warmer?"

"You're my dearest warm baby."

I got goosebumps, "Can you talk like a normal person? How can I eat with you holding my hand?"

"I'll feed you."

Ethan Grant smiled gently and considerately brought the food from the lunchbox to my mouth.

Owen Shaw remarked jealously, "Haha, you two have such a great relationship."

Ethan Grant blatantly lied, "It's okay; she's very clingy. If she doesn't see me for half a day, she throws a fit."

Me: "Haha, should I give you an award? The love big shot."

Owen Shaw: "..."

Throughout the meal, Owen Shaw and I were so awkward we almost built two magic castles out of sheer discomfort.

After paying the bill and leaving the restaurant, Owen Shaw and I waved goodbye.

His tall silhouette disappeared around the corner of the restaurant, and the wind and snow on the street grew heavier.

I turned my head and saw Ethan Grant looking displeased.

I walked towards the Maybach by the roadside, "Open the door."

He wore a sullen face without saying a word, and I stood there for more than half a minute, then took out my phone to start ordering a cab, "What's with the attitude? If you're not driving me, I'll just call a cab myself."

He opened the car door, snatched my phone, and tossed it onto the passenger seat, then practically threw me in.

I asked in confusion, "You hold a grudge against Owen Shaw?"

Ethan turned up the car's temperature and questioned, "Olivia, having dinner with your secret crush makes you this happy? I saw your face was about to freeze in a smile."

"Why do you care if I'm happy or not? What's your problem, trying to make me uncomfortable, huh?"

Recalling his behavior in the restaurant, a nameless anger rose in my heart.

Ethan Grant coldly laughed, "Why would I care? You are my wife, what are you embarrassed about? Are you blaming me for ruining your good moment?"

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, staring into his angry eyes, "Why is it that even having a meal with a colleague could hurt your fragile heart? Ethan Grant, are you jealous?"

Ethan's expression stiffened, and he awkwardly averted his gaze.

Just when I thought the argument was about to end, Ethan unexpectedly said, "If I admit I am, would you consider being with me seriously?"

The words hadn't yet sunk in when knocking on the glass came from Ethan's left side.

Outside the window, Emily Kerr's charming face appeared, bowed, her deep cleavage unmistakable even in the cold winter.

Her starry eyes peered inside, eager to climb into the car.

"Ethan, Ethan, is that you? What a coincidence running into you here! I'm Emily!"

I thought to myself, "And I'm little Timmy."

Ethan ignored her, but I sarcastically said, "Emily is looking for you, Brother Ethan. Hurry and open the door for her. Don't let your sweetheart get cold."

Ethan snorted coldly, nodding through gritted teeth, as if saying I was something else.

In the car, among four people, I felt like I was the outsider.

Emily and her best friend Sophia Reed hadn't taken their eyes off the driver's seat since getting in, chattering incessantly about snow, the moon, and philosophy of life.

Ethan actually indulged them, answering every question; the three chatted and laughed merrily.

Anger simmered in my throat, making my head buzz, and my phone was out of battery.

"Mr. Grant is really down-to-earth, not putting on airs at all; no wonder Emily often says she's happy being with you."

Emily blushed and shyly pushed Sophia.

"Thanks to Ethan's recommendation for the Morning Star audition; if it hadn't been for him that day, I might not have made it to the second round."

Ethan gave an effortless smile, clearly not taking it to heart, "You're talented; I didn't help much."

Emily leaned over, hand resting on the seat, concernedly asking, "It seems like Olivia also signed up, right? Why didn't I see you at the event?"

Of course you didn't see me; I got eliminated in the first round.

The Morning Star is a local music talent show aimed at forming a new generation idol group.

I've always dreamed of being a singer since childhood, got a whim, and signed up.

Actually, my singing isn't bad, but not up to professional standards.

The reason Ethan invested in the show was because I participated.

When I got eliminated, I squatted backstage sobbing uncontrollably.

Ethan wiped my tears while soothing me, laughing, "It's okay, it's about participation; participation is key. My wife sings the best. They're the ones who don't appreciate it."

Afterward, he set my singing as his alarm and ringtone in a loop!

I coldly chuckled, "Were you happy when you saw me?"

Emily paused for a few seconds, her smile frozen on her face, long eyelashes fluttering.

"Of course, I am happy. Olivia is my senior; I have a lot to learn from her."

"I have a bad temper. You might not be happy encountering me."

She's seen my fierce side before and seemed a bit scared, her eyes instantly brimming with tears.

Her tearful look would make any man surrender.

Sophia glared at me, "Olivia, don't take your bad mood out on others, okay? Emily was just politely asking."

I waited to see how Ethan would support her, but unexpectedly, he cluelessly asked, "Is your keratitis acting up?"

Emily: "..."

Sophia: "It's Olivia being too fierce, scaring Emily."

Emily said aggrievedly, "Stop it, Sophia, Olivia will get upset."

Just as I was about to explode, the car suddenly stopped.

Ethan finally turned around, his mouth curving into a mocking smile.

"You two are interesting, sitting in my wife's car while complaining about her attitude. If her attitude is bad, could you two even be in my car?"

I was a bit surprised, Ethan was actually standing up for me.

At home, he often critiqued my bad temper, stubborn nature like an ancient turtle, impossible to calm.

Though it didn't sound nice, it was indeed his original words.

Sophia was all twisted with anger but didn't dare to say a word.

Emily hurriedly explained, "No, no, I wasn't saying anything bad about Olivia. It's just that Sophia and I aren't good with words, Olivia, don't mind…"

I pointed to Emily's hand clawing over and sternly said, "Don't touch me!"

Ethan shot a cold glance at Emily, who quickly retracted her hand, awkwardly fumbling her fingers.

"Get out."

Emily and Sophia reluctantly got off the car, resentful.

I glanced at the rear-view mirror, seeing the two women standing alone in the snowy road, stomping their feet in fury.

Their furious look was especially pleasing.

Ethan resumed the earlier topic, "Olivia, what do you think?"

Me: "Think about what?"

He enunciated, "Do you want to be with me seriously?"

Being pushed to this point, I might as well let it all out.

"When you were having scandals with those women and slapping my face, why didn't you think about being serious, when you were making out and sleeping with Emily Kerr, why didn't you think about being serious? Stop with the phony devoted persona, isn't it disgusting!"

"I didn't sleep with them! I've only ever slept with you!"