Lorelei Anderson had a reputation for being dazzling, reckless, and impossible to tame.

She had watched lions yawn on the African savanna and danced until dawn in Berlin's underground clubs, and changed boyfriends as easily as changing outfits. If there was a wild thing to do, she had done it.

Yet, an arranged marriage tethered her to Horace Dunn—the living textbook of rigidity and order.

At their first meeting, Lorelei deliberately arrived five hours late to show him she wasn't someone who could be managed. Her father eventually sent people to drag her out of a bar and deliver her straight to the high-end tea house.

When she finally slouched in, Horace was sitting by the window, sipping his tea. The afternoon sun cast soft light and shadow across his sharp profile. He looked utterly unruffled, as if he had been waiting five minutes, not five hours.

Embarrassed, Randall pushed her forward. "My apologies, Hal. It took some time to... make her look presentable."

Horace's eyes swept over her and stopped at her reddened ankles, chafed by the heels she wasn't used to wearing.

He set down his teacup, stood, and retrieved a pair of brand-new soft-soled slippers. Under everyone's stunned silence, he knelt down on one knee.

Then, he removed the offending shoes, helped her into the comfortable slippers, and carefully applied a bandage to her blistered heel.

Only then did he rise and look at Randall, his voice clear and deep. "Mr. Anderson, my fiancée doesn't need to be made presentable."

He paused, turning to Lorelei, his dark eyes like a starry night sky. "She only needs to be herself."

In that moment, Lorelei felt her heart hammer violently against her ribs.

She knew she was doomed.

The most untamable wind had fallen for the seemingly most unyielding mountain.

After marriage, Lorelei came to understand true self-discipline.

Horace lived with clockwork precision, from his 7 a.m. wake-up and 11 p.m. bedtime to his minute-measured, fixed-portion meals and intimacy slated for the 15th and 30th. It was utterly maddening.

So, she started to pull out all the stops to challenge the very core of his controlled nature.

She became a troublemaker, getting her license suspended for speeding, driving up bids at auctions, and reducing the daughter of a business partner she disliked to tears.

Meanwhile, she made persistent attempts to seduce him, pacing around his study in the sexiest lingerie, settling into his lap during meetings to distract him, whispering salacious words into his ear, her warm, scented breath brushing his skin.

Yet no matter what she tried, the expression on Horace's handsome face never shifted, not even slightly.

Emotions that came naturally to others—joy, anger, even exasperation—seemed to be things he was born without.

That day, Lorelei set fire to a café she found hideous. Unsurprisingly, she ended up at the police station.

Bored, she yawned repeatedly as she sat on the bench, until steady footsteps echoed from the corridor.

With bodyguards clearing the way, Horace walked in, immaculate in a sleek, wrinkle-free black suit, exuding an untouchable, icy aura.

He strode directly to her and extended a hand. "It's handled. Come home with me."

But she remained seated, tilting her head up to look at him, her enchanting eyes holding a faint trace of hope. "Horace, why do you always wear that same expression when handling everything? Do you even know how to smile?"

"Do you find this funny?" He looked down at her.

"Well... I caused trouble again. Are you angry? Do you want to punish me?" She rose, took his hand, and guided it to her backside, winking seductively.

Yet he remained unshaken—his breathing didn't even hitch. "It's nothing. Punishment isn't necessary. No matter how much trouble you stir up, I can handle it."

Lorelei flared up instantly. "Aren't you going to ask why I burned that café? Fine, I'll tell you anyway! Some punk thought I was pretty and tried to harass me. He touched my hand! Aren't you jealous?"

Horace's gaze dropped to her hand for a second, his tone still devoid of inflection. "If something like that happens again, tell the bodyguards. They'll deal with it."

Lorelei gritted her teeth, frustration boiling over. "Horace, you old fossil! You have no sense of romance! You're so boring and rigid—the most stuffy man I've ever met!"

Horace replied matter-of-factly, "You're twenty-four. I'm five years older than you. It makes sense you think I'm old."

Fuming, Lorelei opened her mouth but found no words.

It was always like this. Every time she mustered all her strength to throw a punch, she only hit empty air, left with nothing but her own powerlessness.

She swatted away his hand and marched into the waiting Cullinan.

Horace soon followed. "Back to the mansion," he instructed the driver.

But just as the driver was about to start the car, Lorelei cut in, "Wait. Find somewhere and stay there for a while. Come back later."

The driver glanced at Horace in the rearview mirror.

After a slight nod from him, the driver stepped out, looking relieved, and hurried off.

"What are you trying to do?" Horace asked, turning to Lorelei.

She leaned in, her slender fingers moving to his waist, unbuckling his expensive belt. A bewitching smile played on her lips. "Mr. Dunn, have you been so buried in work that you forgot what day it is? Let me remind you—it's the 15th. Our day together. A rule you set yourself."

Horace glanced outside at the bustling street, his voice still steady. "In the car?"

"Problem?" She met his gaze, tracing circles over his tensed abdomen, her eyes full of provocation. "What's the harm in giving an old machine like you a little jolt?"

In silence, Horace watched her for a few seconds, his gaze deepening.

Then, without a word, he cupped the nape of her neck, lowered his head, and kissed her.

His kiss carried his signature scent—cold and commanding.

Lorelei responded eagerly, trying to ignite his desire. She scraped her nails down his back and let out provocative moans near his ear, using every seductive trick she knew.

But no matter how she tried, he remained like a disciplined musician following a score—even his breathing never wavered.

Just as she was about to give up, his phone chimed.

He paused and answered.

Lorelei didn't catch what the caller said, but she distinctly saw a subtle shift in his expression. For the first time ever, a crack appeared in his perpetual calm. Though it was only a faint frown and a slight intensification in his gaze, to her, it was staggering.

He gently pulled away from her and straightened his slightly disheveled suit.

"Lori, I have to deal with something. You head home first."

Lorelei's eyes widened in disbelief. "Horace, I haven't even—"

"Be good," he interrupted, his tone softer but still distant. "I'll make it up to you later."

With that, he pushed her car door open and motioned for her to step out.

Trembling with rage, she glared at him as he swiftly moved into the driver's seat and started the engine. The black luxury car sped off like an arrow, leaving her alone on the roadside outside the police station.

"Horace, you jerk! Are you allergic to romance or what?" she shouted, stomping her foot.

Resentment and overwhelming curiosity surged within her.

What could possibly make him walk away from her, the seductive siren, in the middle of their intimacy? Some billion-dollar deal?

Without another thought, she hailed a cab and recited his license plate number. "Follow that Cullinan up ahead!"

The taxi sped through the streets and eventually stopped outside a bar named "Fantasy".

Lorelei was stunned.

She knew Horace never drank—his self-control was terrifyingly absolute. What business could he have here?

She paid the fare, got out, and quietly trailed him.

Just as she reached the entrance, she saw a young woman in a white dress being harassed by a group of drunk thugs. The woman kept backing away, her face pale with fear.

And then, Lorelei witnessed something she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Horace—always calm, composed, and self-restrained—charged forward without hesitation and kicked the leader of the thugs hard in the stomach.

What followed was a storm of punches and kicks. Stripped of his usual elegance and coolness, he beat the men with a near-brutal intensity, his eyes filled with a terrifying malice Lorelei had never seen before.

Soon, the thugs fled, howling in pain.

Horace didn't pursue them. Instead, he turned immediately to the young woman, looking her over carefully from head to toe. "Are you hurt?"

The woman lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed, and glared at him. "Horace, didn't you say you wouldn't care about me anymore? What are you doing here?"

Without a word, he opened his arms and pulled her tightly into an embrace.

She was still angry. Struggling, she lowered her head and bit his neck.

Lorelei clearly saw him frown in pain, yet his arms around the woman's slender waist didn't loosen in the slightest.

Instead, he gazed down at her, his eyes a mixture of pain, sorrow, helplessness, and profound affection—a look Lorelei had never seen on him before.

She stood frozen in place, a chill running down her spine, rooting her to the spot.

In just a few minutes, she had witnessed every emotion she had ever longed to evoke in him—anxiety, fury, nervousness, distress, sadness, love, deep affection—all pouring freely from the man she had tried so hard to move, yet never could.

Every feeling she had prayed to stir in him was now written across his face, all because of the woman in his arms.

To everyone, he had always been an unfeeling iceberg. But now, for another woman, he had become the opposite—a volcano of emotions she never knew he possessed.

What did that make her?

She didn't know how long she stood there amid the blaring music and dizzying lights. It was only when Horace carefully shielded the woman and left the bar that she jolted awake, as if from a nightmare.

With trembling hands, she took out her phone and texted her most well-connected childhood friend, attaching a photo she had snapped in panic.

"Find out who she is and her relationship to Horace."

By the time she returned home dejectedly, her friend had already sent the woman's information.

She sat on the sofa and read each line carefully, her heart sinking deeper with every word, tearing slowly into pieces.

The woman's name was Cassandra Kemp.

She was Horace's junior at university, two years below him.

Back then, she was the one who pursued him, going to unimaginable lengths to finally melt his heart.

After they got together, he became a completely different person. He would skip crucial meetings to drive across half the city just to buy her a cake she'd casually mentioned, rent out an entire amusement park for her birthday just for her, carry her on his back down tree-shaded paths when she acted cute...

Everyone around him said that with Cassandra, he finally seemed human—vibrant, alive, lit with sunlight.

At the peak of their love, when the Dunn family opposed their relationship due to Cassandra's ordinary background, Horace gave up his inheritance and eloped with her.

They kissed beneath the golden, snow-capped peaks, watched sunrises from their Lake Tahoe cabin with fingers entwined, wandered freely through the vast deserts of the Southwest... He joined her in every rebellious, romantic, and wild endeavor, and their passionate love almost became a secret legend in their circle.

But in the end, the Dunn family dragged him back.

They threatened Cassandra's safety, forcing him to choose between a marriage of status and her death.

He yielded.

That was why he waited for Lorelei for five hours at the café.

That was why he knelt on one knee, helped her into the slippers, and said, "My fiancée only needs to be herself."

Nothing he ever did for Lorelei was because he thought she was special. From beginning to end, his goal was singular and clear—to fulfill the arranged marriage quickly, secure his family's standing, and, ultimately, protect the woman he truly loved.

An icy despair seized Lorelei, as though she had been stripped bare and thrown into the snow. A bone-deep chill and hopelessness spread through her veins to every part of her being.

She could have accepted a Horace who was eternally cold and detached. She would have been willing to patiently melt that ice.

But she could not accept that he had given all his warmth and emotion to another woman. She could not accept being used as a mere tool to protect his true love!

She was the daughter of the Anderson family, who had lived all her twenty-four years freely and boldly. Why should she become a sacrifice so he could save his beloved?

Her love was never that cheap.

That night, Horace did not return.

The next morning, at 9 o'clock, Lorelei gazed at the brightened sky, then walked into the bathroom. Facing the mirror, she carefully applied her brightest, most flawless makeup, put on a striking red dress, and drove to the Anderson's mansion for the monthly family gathering.

When she entered alone, her father, Randall, frowned instantly. "Where's Hal? Why are you alone? Did you do something to upset him again?"

He pointed at her, his tone thick with fury and disappointment. "You let me down, Lorelei. You have such a perfect husband. Why can't you be grateful? Hal is capable, handsome, and treats you so well. If I'd known you'd be this ungrateful, I should've let Celeste marry him instead. What a waste of a good match."

Lorelei's gaze swept across the living room. She saw her mother, Maxine Anderson, sitting beside her sister, Celeste Anderson, asking softly if Celeste was tired from recently joining the family business, gently placing food on Celeste's plate.

That natural tenderness was something she hadn't felt in years.

She let out a cold laugh and cut off Randall's scolding, her voice clear and sharp, "What a coincidence."

All eyes turned to her.

Lifting her chin, she flashed a confident, graceful smile—clinging to her last shred of pride, even as her heart bled. "I came today to tell you—I'm getting a divorce. Tell the Dunn family to finalize the proceedings as soon as possible."

The living room plunged into a heavy silence.

Maxine and Randall exchanged a glance, both looking shocked.

"What did you say?"

"I said," Lorelei enunciated each syllable clearly, "I am divorcing Horace."

Randall slammed his hand on the table, his temper flaring. "Nonsense! You're becoming more and more willful. What could you possibly be dissatisfied with? The Dunn family's status? Or how perfect Hal is?"

Maxine chimed in, listing all of Horace's merits one by one.

Lorelei listened, her face an emotionless mask.

Her stubbornness only fueled Randall's fury. He snatched up a teacup and hurled it to the floor.

"You've grown too arrogant! If I don't teach you a lesson now, who knows what outrageous thing you'll do next? Someone! Drag her up to the attic and beat her until she comes to her senses!"

Two servants stepped forward and seized Lorelei by the arms.

In the attic, the cold rod struck her back and legs again and again, each blow sending waves of searing pain through her body.

She clenched her teeth, cold sweat soaking through her makeup. Her bright red dress slowly darkened with blood.

"Still insisting on divorce?" Randall demanded sternly.

"Yes." Her voice trembled from the pain, yet it was unmistakably clear.

Another strike landed.

"What about now?"

"Yes!"

***

Lorelei had lost count of how many times she'd been hit. Her vision blurred repeatedly, and she was on the verge of collapse. Still, she forced the words through gritted teeth. "Divorce..."

Furious, Randall trembled from head to toe. "You damned girl! Give me one good reason! What has Hal done to you? Why are you so determined to leave him?"

She jerked her head up. Against her face—stained with sweat, blood, and grime—her eyes shone with startling intensity. "Because he doesn't love me. He loves someone else! Is that reason enough for you? I have my pride. I won't stand being humiliated like this!"

She expected to see shock or rage on her parents' faces.

However, after a brief silence, they looked ... guilty.

Maxine sighed softly, "So... you knew?"

In that moment, Lorelei felt as if a bullet had pierced straight through her heart. The sharp, suffocating pain was unbearable.

Maxine and Randall had known all along.

They knew Horace loved someone else.

That was why they had let her—their long-neglected daughter—marry him. All this time, they had reminded her what a great favor it was that she, and not Celeste, had been given this marriage—that she ought to be forever grateful to Celeste.

Suddenly, a low laugh escaped her. It grew louder, tinged with boundless bitterness and scorn.

Once, when she was just a little girl, she had been the center of her parents' world.

Later, they asked if she wanted a younger sibling. Innocently, she had asked, "Mommy, Daddy, will you still love me as much if you have another child?"

They had replied, "Of course, Lori. You'll always be our sweetest baby."

But everything changed after Celeste was born.

"Lori, you're the older sister. Let Cece have it," they had always said.

Over time, her toys, her room, and even her parents' attention and affection were slowly divided—until there was nothing left for her.

That was why she began acting out—willful, arrogant, constantly stirring up trouble. All she wanted was for them to look at her again, to scold her,or even todiscipline her just once, the way they cared about Celeste.

But now, it seemed all her hopes had been nothing but a cruel joke.

"What are you laughing at?" Randall snapped, exasperated.

Just as Lorelei was about to speak, a timid voice drifted from the staircase. "Dad, Mom... Please don't pressure Lorelei anymore."

It was Celeste.

Dressed in a pristine white dress, she walked up slowly—delicate, fragile, the picture of innocence.

"Cece? What are you doing here? Go back to your room and rest. You needn't be involved," Maxine said at once, her eyes full of concern.

Celeste shook her head, approached Randall and Maxine, and said gently, "Dad, Mom, if Lorelei wants a divorce, why not let her? Actually... I have feelings for Mr. Dunn. I support their divorce."

Hearing this, Randall and Maxine exchanged a look, their expressions shifting to hesitation and contemplation.

To Lorelei, it felt like another stab to the heart, and the pain was almost too much to bear.

She had endured a hundred strikes, yet her parents still refused to agree. But one sentence from Celeste, and their minds seemed changed in an instant.

Celeste looked at Lorelei with clear, guileless eyes, yet her tone carried a subtle undercurrent of ambition. "Maybe Lorelei isn't suited to Mr. Dunn and can't win his affection. Perhaps ... I can make a difference. After the divorce, I'll try ... to make him see me."

The attic fell into a prolonged silence.

Finally, Randall sighed, breaking the stillness, "Fine. Lorelei, if this is what you want, we won't stop you. We'll go to the Dunn's mansion to discuss the divorce."

He waved a hand, signaling the servants to untie her. "Go back and wait for news. Don't stay here, upsetting us any further."

The sheer absurdity of it all made Lorelei want to laugh.

Bracing herself against the overwhelming pain, she struggled to her feet. She looked at her so-called family and laughed—a laugh filled with utter mockery and despair.

"Don't worry. I will never come back here."

Maxine and Randall were taken aback.

"What do you mean?" Randall barked.

"Literally." She straightened her spine, which felt ready to shatter, and spoke, each word clearer than the last, "I can live without a husband, without parents, and without a sister.

"The divorce is the last thing I will ever discuss with you.

"From now on, don't ever think of me again. Consider me ... dead."

After saying this, Lorelei turned and staggered away, dragging her blood-stained body without a single backward glance.

Summoning the last of her strength, she drove herself to the hospital.

She lay in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness for days.

On the day of her discharge, she received a call from Horace.

"There's a business dinner tonight. I need you to attend with me."

Just as she was about to refuse, he added, as if anticipating her reaction, "You must be there. I have something to say to you."

Holding the phone, she fell silent for a few seconds before a cold smile curved her lips. "Fine."

She would hear what he had to say.

The party was held in a luxurious hotel ballroom, a scene of elegant dresses, shimmering figures, and the constant clinking of glasses.

Lorelei, wearing a sapphire blue, backless evening gown and delicate makeup, made her entrance—her beauty was breathtaking.

The moment she appeared, she drew admiring gazes from countless men.

But she didn't so much as glance their way, as she was long accustomed to such attention.

Just then, a suit jacket, carrying the clean scent of cedarwood, was draped over her bare shoulders.

Horace had come to her side at some point. "You've never been one for gowns and high heels. What's changed today?

"I've told you before, you can just be yourself around me. Even if you showed up in pajamas and slippers, no one would dare to say a word."

Lorelei's body stiffened slightly.

Horace's words instantly dragged her back to the café where they had first met. The memory of the man kneeling to help her with her slippers was still vivid... A moment that had once made her heart flutter now felt like the cruelest irony.

She brushed the expensive jacket onto the floor and raised her chin, flashing a provocative, self-mocking smile. "Mr. Dunn, you amuse me. Why would I hide this killer body in pajamas?

"Haven't you noticed the way those men look at me? They're captivated. You know what? I'm in a generous mood today. They can look all they want."

If any other man heard his wife speak like this in public, he would be burning with jealousy.

But Horace remained expressionless. He picked up the jacket, draped it over his arm, and looked at her, abruptly changing the subject. "You sent Mr. Anderson to my family to discuss divorce?

"Is this another one of your tantrums? Because I left you unsatisfied in the car that day?"

His sharp words felt like a blade plunged deep into her heart.

She sneered, "A tantrum? Horace, stop flattering yourself. What if I genuinely want a divorce?"

He looked at her calmly, his deep-set eyes seeming to see right through her.

Then he said, his tone flat yet firm, "That's not possible.

"You love me. You won't divorce me."

Lorelei's pupils constricted violently.

Her heart shattered into pieces, the pain so searing she could barely stand.

He knew.

He had always known she loved him.

All these years, she had been the one feeling everything—laughing, crying, loving, hating, struggling, clinging... It had always been her own one-woman show, a war she fought alone.

And Horace? He had watched coldly from the sidelines as she struggled pointlessly within the circle he had drawn for her, utterly unmoved, like the coldest of spectators.

The humiliation and heartache chilled her to the bone. She had to dig her nails deeply into her palms to maintain her composure.

Just as she was about to say, "Try me", she keenly noticed his gaze had suddenly been captured by a certain corner of the ballroom.

Following his line of sight, she looked over, and her heart sank to the bottom.

It was Cassandra.

Dressed in a pristine white chiffon dress, she exuded an ethereal beauty, chatting happily with a young man in a casual suit who had a refined demeanor.

Horace's gaze was locked tightly on Cassandra, his aura turning dark and oppressive, chilling the very air around him.

For the rest of the party, Cassandra remained with that young man.

They danced, whispered to each other, and he said something that made her laugh softly. Then she stood on her toes and pecked his cheek.

The next second, a sharp crack shattered the air.

Lorelei turned to see Horace crushing his champagne glass in his hand.

Shards cut into his palm, and blood, mixed with champagne, dripped onto the floor. But he seemed not to notice. His eyes remained fixed on Cassandra, filled with a terrifying, murderous intensity, surging with a jealousy and fury Lorelei had never seen before.

In the very next second, he slammed the broken stem onto a table, grabbed Lorelei's wrist, and dragged her out of the ballroom.

"What are you doing, Horace? Let me go!" She stumbled. The sharp pain in her wrist made her grimace, and she struggled against him.

But Horace acted as if he hadn't heard her at all. His expression was terrifyingly dark as he pulled her onto a balcony connected to the ballroom.

"Are you crazy, Horace? What the hell do you want?" Pressed against the cold railing, she was both frightened and furious.

Horace remained silent, his eyes bloodshot. It was as if he had become a completely different person.

Then he lifted her gown, tore off her underwear, and entered her in a single, ruthless thrust.

The sudden invasion tore a cry of pain from Lorelei's lips, her eyes wide with utter disbelief. "You bastard! Let me go! Someone could come out here any second!"

But it was as if Horace had lost his mind completely. His hand clamped around her waist, each thrust deep and violent, his voice rough. "Don't move. I'm making it up to you for leaving you unsatisfied in the car that day."

Under his assault, Lorelei struggled for breath. Her body felt like it was being ripped apart, and her heart along with it.

Horace's anguish seemed to sear into her very bones, merging with the physical violation.

Just then, the handle of the balcony's glass door turned from the outside.

Then, the door was pushed open a crack.

The faint light from within fell upon Cassandra's shocked, pale face.

She stared at the entangled couple on the balcony, her gaze fixing on Lorelei, pinned beneath Horace with her gown in disarray. Then, she covered her mouth and fled, her eyes instantly reddening as if dealt a devastating blow.

Horace did not stop. But as he moved, he stared intently in the direction Cassandra had run, his eyes filled with agony, resentment, and a complex emotion Lorelei could not decipher.

In that moment, a profound chill swept through Lorelei.

She understood.

She understood everything now.

Seeing Cassandra kiss another man had driven Horace into a jealous frenzy, shattering his self-control. This was his retaliation—using her body to make Cassandra jealous, venting his fury upon her.

Was this still the same Horace, always calm, composed, and self-possessed?

What did he take her for? A tool to provoke his beloved? An object for him to humiliate publicly whenever he wished?

What did he think she was? A prostitute?!

Instantly, Lorelei was engulfed by a wave of immense fury and humiliation.

With all her strength, she shoved Horace away and slapped him hard across the face.

The force of the blow snapped his head to the side, a vivid handprint blooming on his cheek.

It seemed to jolt him back to some semblance of clarity. The madness in his eyes receded, replaced by a vacant confusion.

Trembling uncontrollably, Lorelei yanked her gown back into place, her legs still weak. Bracing herself against a body that threatened to collapse at any moment, she stumbled away from the balcony.

Just as she stepped out of the ballroom and reached the hotel entrance to hail a cab, someone blocked her path.

It was Cassandra.

The shock and sorrow from before were gone from her face, replaced by a cold, arrogant resentment.

"You must be Lorelei, Horace's wife, right? Let me introduce myself. I'm Cassandra, his ... first love."

Lorelei was filled with nothing but exhaustion and fury, her eyes bloodshot. Each cell in her body screamed to ask Cassandra to piss off. "Move."

But Cassandra smiled, "Why the rush, Ms. Anderson? This is our first meeting. I'd like to give you a gift."

Before Lorelei could react, she suddenly produced a beer bottle from behind her back and smashed it hard against Lorelei's head.

A dull thud split the air.

A sharp, agonizing pain exploded at Lorelei's temple. Warm liquid instantly blurred her vision, streaming down her cheek.

The pain was excruciating. Her vision went black, and she collapsed onto the cold ground.

Lorelei awoke to a splitting headache.

She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids, and then she saw the two figures standing by the door of the room.

"Hal, I didn't mean to... I had too much to drink. Seeing you with her on the balcony, I was so jealous... I just lost my mind..."

"Jealous? Haven't you already gotten involved with someone else? You were chatting with him so happily, and you even ... kissed him."

"It was all just an act for you!" Cassandra eagerly explained, grabbing Horace's sleeve. "I just wanted you to look at me, even just once. You married Lorelei. She's famously beautiful and stunning. And she comes from a powerful family... She's the whole package. I was afraid you'd fallen for her and forgotten all about me..."

Horace was silent for a moment. Then, he let out an almost imperceptible sigh, a sound laden with profound helplessness.

"No matter how perfect she is... She's different from you."

His words were like a blunt knife, twisting repeatedly in Lorelei's heart.

Different?

Of course. He had been forced to marry her—a tool. On the contrary, Cassandra was the one entrenched in his heart. She and Cassandra were, without a doubt, completely different.

Cassandra seemed somewhat placated by Horace's words. She began to cry in muffled sobs, stammering, "B-But I hurt Lorelei. She's so fiery... She won't let this go. What should I do..."

"Don't worry," Horace said, his voice steady. "I'll handle it."

With that, he pushed open the hospital room door.

In the very next second, he met Lorelei's gaze directly.

He walked to the bedside and stated flatly, "Cassie had too much to drink last night, so she mistook you for a harasser and acted in self-defense. She didn't mean it. It was a misunderstanding. We attended university together and are ... friends. For my sake, let this matter rest."

His blatant lie felt like a shard of glass piercing Lorelei's heart, the pain sharp and overwhelming.

"A misunderstanding? Horace, do you honestly expect me to believe that? Or do you simply see me as a fool?"

Horace frowned slightly.

Lorelei continued, her voice laced with mockery, "If this can't be resolved, I'll call the police. I know the Dunn family is influential, but my family isn't to be trifled with, either. I'll keep pressing charges. Go ahead and protect her. Let's see who caves first."

Horace closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his slender fingers. "What do you want?"

She stared at him intently for a few seconds before pulling out her phone and making a call.

Shortly after, a bodyguard entered the room carrying a small cooler box. When he opened it, over a dozen bottles of strong liquor were revealed.

Pointing at the box, Lorelei looked at Cassandra. "Drink them all."

Cassandra's face paled instantly. "I-I can't."

"Oh, really?" Lorelei arched an eyebrow, letting out a cold laugh. "Then what was that drunken scene last night? Did you conveniently get drunk the moment you saw me? Should I fetch a couple of hooligans to help jog your memory and get you into the right state?"

Cassandra's expression shifted dramatically, her embarrassment plain.

Staring at the pile of liquor, she gritted her teeth and picked up a bottle with a trembling hand. Just as she was about to unscrew it, an elegantly sculpted hand snatched the bottle away.

Horace looked at Lorelei expressionlessly. "I'll drink for her."

"No, Hal! You're allergic to alcohol!" Cassandra exclaimed, trying to stop him.

But he only glanced at her and said calmly, "Be good, Cassie. Stand over there."

As Lorelei watched him gulp down one bottle after another, a heartache so violent it threatened to tear her apart made her tremble uncontrollably.

She clutched the bedsheets so tightly her nails dug into her palms, barely holding herself together.

Horace clearly couldn't handle liquor. Soon, his allergic reaction set in. Red hives bloomed across his neck and cheeks, and his breathing grew labored.

Yet he didn't stop. It wasn't until he finished the last bottle that he set it down. His body swayed, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from collapsing.

After barely steadying himself, he pulled out his usual anti-allergy medication from his suit's inner pocket and dry-swallowed a few pills.

Though his cheeks were flushed and his breath heavy, his gaze when it fell upon Lorelei remained as composed as ever.

"Are you satisfied now?"

Just then, a nurse pushed the door open. "Ms. Anderson, time for your head CT scan."

Enduring the throbbing pain in her temple and the immense ache in her heart, Lorelei stumbled out of bed.

As she passed Cassandra, before anyone could react, she swiftly snatched two bottles and smashed them violently against Cassandra's head.

Two dull thuds echoed, followed immediately by Cassandra's piercing wail and the sound of shattering glass.

"No," Lorelei said and tossed the broken bottlenecks away, her gaze as cold as ice. "I'm always the vindictive type. And I always make sure those who hurt me pay double."

With that, she followed the stunned nurse out of the room, not sparing another glance for Horace or Cassandra.

"Lorelei Anderson!"

Behind her, she heard Horace shout her full name for the first time, his voice laced with panic. Then came the sounds of chaos—him urgently gathering the screaming Cassandra into his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs for doctors.

Lorelei didn't look back.

During her scan, she clearly overheard the hushed whispers of nurses in the hallway.

"Gosh, the woman Mr. Dunn brought in is badly hurt!"

"Mr. Dunn is freaking out. He's carrying her through the hospital, mobilizing all resources for her blood supply and specialists..."

"I've never seen him like this. He's always so controlled."

"He must love her so much..."

Lying inside the cold scanning machine, Lorelei bit her lip hard, her eyes burning. No matter how she tried to hold them back, scalding tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair at her temples.

For the next few days, she recovered in the hospital alone.

Horace, apparently furious over her brutal retaliation against Cassandra, did not visit once.

But she didn't care. Once her injury had stabilized somewhat, she discharged herself.

Immediately, she called her wildest friend and headed straight for the most exclusive private club in town.

Swaying to the music, her bestie leaned close, shouting into her ear, "Lori, are you really divorcing Horace? But you love him so much, don't you?"

Lorelei gulped down a large mouthful of liquor. The burning liquid seared her throat, but she smiled flamboyantly, "What kind of person do you think I am?"

After a moment's thought, her bestie replied, "You're gorgeous, free-spirited, unbound by convention ... and unattached."

"Precisely." Lorelei curved her lips into a bright smile, though a hint of sadness tinged its edges. "I love him, but I'm not attached to him. I can walk away anytime I want."

Her bestie stared at her for a long moment.

She arched an eyebrow. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," her bestie sighed. "It's just such a shame Horace didn't cherish you. You're so decisive, and you never look back. If he ever regrets it, there'll be nothing he can do to get you back—not even if he kills himself."

She laughed, the sound mixed with self-mockery. "Kills himself? I doubt that would happen even on doomsday."

After a pause, she changed the subject, saying, "Anyway, enough of this buzzkill. Go order some cute guys. I'm so going to have fun tonight!"

Her bestie nodded with a smile. Soon, a line of tall, well-built, and handsome male escorts filed into the room, their chests bare, their toned abs eye-catching under the dim lights.

Lorelei reached out her hand. The moment before her fingertips could touch one of those sculpted torsos, a hand with distinct knuckles shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Lorelei turned her head in shock, meeting Horace's eyes, cold and icy as frost.

How could he be here?!

Before she could react, Horace had already yanked her up from the sofa, scooping her into his arms without a word and slinging her over his shoulder.

"Horace! What are you doing! Let me go!"

Horace ignored her, carrying her out as he spoke in a voice so cold it could freeze, "Didn't I say, whatever you do, I'll go along with you, but you're not allowed to come to places like this and hire male models!"

"What right do you have to control me?! Who do you think you are!" Lorelei snapped, unable to control her anger.

"I'm your husband."

"Husband?" Lorelei sounded as if she'd just heard the most ridiculous joke. "A husband who drinks with other women?!"

Horace paused, silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice, "I told you, she didn't do it on purpose. Besides, you've already smashed two bottles over her head, and she's injured. What more do you want?"

He didn't give her a chance to argue, shoving her straight into the waiting Rolls-Royce by the roadside.

Lorelei, furious, tried to open the other door to jump out, but Horace pulled her back, his strong arms pinning her in place. His voice carried a barely noticeable weariness: "Stop it, okay? Be good."

The car had already started moving. Lorelei knew struggling was pointless, so she simply turned her head to look out the window, refusing to look at him.

Horace really did seem exhausted, leaning back in his seat, and before long, he actually fell asleep.

His head tilted unconsciously, coming to rest on Lorelei's shoulder.

Lorelei's body stiffened, and just as she was about to push him away, the driver in the front seat spoke up cautiously, "Mrs. Dunn, please don't be angry with Mr. Dunn. He's barely slept these past few days because of that international acquisition case. He just finished an all-night meeting, and when he heard you were here, he rushed over without even taking a sip of water... He's just worried you'll have too much fun and Mr. Anderson will find out and scold you again..."

Listening to the driver's words, Lorelei felt a bitter chill spread through her heart.

What was this supposed to be?

He cared about someone else, yet still worried that this tool of his might get scolded by her own family?

At that moment, Horace, still leaning on her shoulder, unconsciously tightened his arm around her in his sleep, holding her closer. His thin lips moved slightly, and a faint, muddled murmur escaped:

"Cassie... don't go..."

Boom—!

That sentence struck Lorelei like a bolt of lightning, shattering her last shred of ridiculous hope in an instant!

A sharp pain stabbed through her heart. She couldn't take it anymore and suddenly shoved him away with all her strength!

Horace woke up from her push, rubbing his brow as his eyes cleared. He didn't look at her, just picked up the tablet beside him and continued working through the pile of financial reports.

Inside the car, only a suffocating silence remained.

Back in that cold marital home, the two of them still didn't say a word.

Lorelei didn't want to sleep. She went straight to the study, turned on her computer, and prepared to edit some photos she'd taken but hadn't had time to publish yet.

However, she had barely sat down when Horace followed her in, closed her laptop without a word, and once again scooped her up in his arms.

"It's late. Go to bed."

Lorelei was utterly exhausted and tired of endless arguments. She didn't resist anymore, letting him carry her back to the bedroom.

The next morning, Lorelei woke up and habitually picked up her phone to check the news.

A trending topic suddenly caught her eye.

"Rising photographer Cassandra's solo exhibition opens today. Her works are full of spirit and have received rave reviews!"

Below were several photos from the exhibition, along with enlarged images of the so-called Cassandra's works.

Lorelei's pupils contracted sharply, and she shot up from the bed!

Those photos... they were clearly hers! The private works she'd hidden on her USB drive, not yet published! Cassandra actually had the nerve to steal her photos and hold an exhibition?!

A surge of fury rushed to her head. She immediately got out of bed, changed her clothes in a rage, and was about to confront Cassandra!

But just as she reached the top of the stairs, she was blocked by Horace, who had been waiting there without her noticing.

He looked at her angry face and spoke calmly, "Don't go looking for trouble with Cassie."

Lorelei stopped in her tracks, staring at him in disbelief, her voice trembling with shock: "...You knew about this all along?"

Suddenly, she remembered: last night, just as she was about to edit her photos, he came in and took her USB drive, telling her to go to bed early...

A wave of icy cold swept through her entire body!

"You put her up to this?" Her voice was hoarse with despair.

Horace didn't deny it. "Cassie has been preparing for this exhibition for a long time, but all her previous photos were lost due to a storage device failure. The exhibition date was already set, and invitations had been sent out. If it couldn't go ahead as planned, it would be a huge blow to her. She'd seen your previous photography collections and really liked your style, so she asked me... to borrow them for a bit."

"Borrow?" Lorelei felt a rush of blood surge to her head. "So you helped her steal my negatives?! Horace, those are the result of my hard work!"

"Don't make it sound so ugly," Horace frowned slightly. "It's just a few sets of photos. If you want compensation, I can..."

Lorelei was shaking with anger, cutting him off. "Ugly? I can say much worse! I'm going to find her right now! Let everyone see what kind of person this so-called brilliant new photographer really is!"

Horace grabbed her wrist with such force that she couldn't break free: "Lori! Stop it!"

"Let go of me!"

The two of them struggled at the top of the stairs. Lorelei yanked hard, twisted her ankle, cried out in surprise, and lost her balance, tumbling down the stairs!

"Lori!" Horace's face changed instantly. He rushed down the stairs and scooped her up in his arms, his voice tinged with a nervousness even he didn't notice: "Are you okay? Where did you get hurt?"

The servants rushed over at the sound, asking anxiously, "Mr. Dunn, should we call an ambulance?"

Horace checked Lorelei's condition. Aside from a swollen, sprained ankle, there didn't seem to be any more serious injuries.

He hesitated for a moment and said, "No need for an ambulance. Call the private doctor to come over."

He carried Lorelei back to the living room sofa and added, "Keep an eye on Mrs. Dunn. Recently... don't let her go out."

Lorelei's heart instantly sank to the bottom, the pain almost numbing her.

Just to stop her from confronting Cassandra, he actually... planned to confine her?

Soon, the private doctor arrived and treated Lorelei's sprained ankle.

During the bone-setting, the intense pain made Lorelei gasp involuntarily, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead.

Horace stood by, watching her in pain. He silently offered his arm to her lips, his voice hoarse: "If it hurts, bite me."

Lorelei was filled with overwhelming anger and grievance. Without thinking, she opened her mouth and bit down hard!

She used all her strength, as if to vent all her hatred.

Her teeth sank deep into his flesh, blood instantly welling up, staining his shirt cuff and arm red.

But Horace didn't even frown. He just looked at her quietly, letting her vent.

The private doctor finished treating the wound, left some ointment, and departed.

Horace stared at the clear, still-bleeding bite mark on his arm, momentarily lost in thought.

Lorelei let go of him, looking at him coldly. "What? Regret it now?"

Horace shook his head, looked up at her, his gaze complicated. "No. I was just thinking, everyone in the circle says you're a little wildcat with claws. Seems your reputation is well-deserved."

He paused, then took a black card from his wallet. "I know you're angry about the photos. This card has no spending limit—consider it compensation."

Lorelei looked at the black card, a symbol of immense wealth, and felt nothing but irony. "Horace, do you really think that just because she stole my photos, everything will be fine? Do you know the one thing she should never have used was my photos?"

Horace frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

At that moment, his assistant hurried in with a tablet. "Mr. Dunn, something's wrong! There's a huge wave of online criticism accusing Ms. Kemp's photography exhibition of plagiarizing Ms. Anderson's style and composition! The trending topic has exploded, and Ms. Kemp's reputation is taking a major hit!"

Horace took the tablet and quickly browsed the trending topics, his expression growing darker and darker.

He looked up, his gaze sharp as he stared at Lorelei. "Was it you who leaked this?"

Lorelei met his gaze without a trace of fear, even curling her lips in a mocking smile. "Didn't you see the netizens' analysis? She was just stupid enough to walk right into it. She could have stolen anyone's work, but she should never have stolen mine."

"My photography style is unique. The light, the composition, the mood—all have my distinct signature. Anyone in the industry can recognize it at a glance."

The assistant quietly added from the side, with a hint of admiration, "...It's true, Mrs. Dunn's work is highly recognizable. It's easy to spot..."

Horace shot the assistant a cold look. The assistant immediately fell silent and lowered his head.

Horace handed the tablet back to the assistant, then picked up her phone and held it out to Lorelei.

"Use your account to immediately retweet the accusation of plagiarism on Twitter, and clarify that you have nothing to do with it, that all those works were independently created by Cassie."

Lorelei stared at him in disbelief. "Why should I?"

"Because I don't want this to escalate any further and affect Cassie," Horace said coldly. "Do it now."

"I won't!"

Seeing her stubbornness, Horace's eyes turned completely cold.

He said no more, and directly ordered the servant beside him, "Take Mrs. Dunn to the confinement room. She can come out when she's willing to post it."

The confinement room...

Lorelei felt as if she had been struck by lightning, her blood freezing in an instant!

She was most afraid of the dark.

When she was a child, her parents once took Celeste on a trip and locked her alone at home. That night, there was a massive power outage in the villa district. She cried and screamed in endless darkness and fear all night, until a servant found her the next morning. Ever since then, she had developed an extreme fear of enclosed dark spaces.

She had only ever told Horace about this.

Once, when the villa had a temporary power outage for electrical maintenance, she was trembling with fear. He held her in his arms and comforted her softly by her ear: "Don't be afraid, I'm here. You never have to be scared again."

But now, he was using her deepest fear to force her to bow to the woman who hurt her and stole her life's work?

Lorelei was half-coaxed, half-forced by the servants into the windowless confinement room.

The moment the door closed, boundless darkness and fear engulfed her like a tidal wave.

She trembled all over, curling up in the cold corner, her teeth biting hard into her lip to keep herself from making a single sound of pleading.

Overwhelmed by terror, she couldn't help but dig her nails fiercely into her own arm, leaving bloody scratches behind, as if only the pain of the flesh could slightly ease the torment within her heart.

She had no idea how much time had passed—perhaps a day, perhaps longer—before the door to the confinement room was finally opened.

Horace stood in the doorway, backlit, looking at Lorelei curled up in the corner. A fleeting trace of pain flashed in his deep eyes, but it was quickly replaced by even more complex emotions.

He walked over, bent down, and lifted her into his arms.

Back in the bedroom, he took out the first aid kit and gently applied medicine to the wounds on her arm.

"Now, are you willing to post it?" he asked in a low voice, his tone carrying a barely noticeable hoarseness.

Lorelei looked up at his handsome face so close to hers, and suddenly smiled—a smile that was broken and desolate: "What if I still refuse?"

Horace's hand paused as he was applying the medicine. He looked up at her, his gaze as deep as the sea. He said nothing, but the silent pressure was more suffocating than any words.

In that silence, Lorelei's heart died completely.

"Fine." She heard her own voice, eerily calm. "I'll post it."

Horace seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He handed his phone to her again: "I'll watch you post it."

Lorelei took the phone, her fingers trembling as she opened Twitter.

Just as she was about to type, the assistant hurriedly knocked and entered again: "Mr. Dunn, Ms. Kemp saw the comments online at home, broke down emotionally, and fainted while crying!"

Horace's expression changed instantly. He stood up at once, tossing a sentence to Lorelei: "I'll go check on Cassie first. Remember to clarify things."

With that, he left quickly with the assistant, not looking back.

Lorelei watched his resolute figure disappear, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

At that moment, her phone rang. It was a call from Randall.

"The divorce procedures are all done. The Dunn family was very straightforward. You know, losing such a good husband like Horace—you'll regret it in the future! Our Anderson family's reputation is just..."

Lorelei listened expressionlessly. Without waiting for him to finish, she hung up directly, then swiftly blocked and deleted all contact information for her parents and sister.

She walked into the walk-in closet, took out a suitcase, and began silently packing her things.

After packing, she dragged her suitcase to the kitchen, turned on the gas stove, and then threw a burning piece of paper onto the expensive wool carpet in the living room.

Orange flames leapt up instantly, spreading rapidly.

Now that the divorce was done, there was no reason for this so-called marital home to exist anymore.

She dragged her suitcase and walked out of the villa without looking back, hailed a taxi, and headed straight for the airport.

"Airport, please."

Meanwhile, Horace stayed with Cassandra for several hours before finally coaxing her to sleep.

The assistant, anxiously watching the time, finally couldn't help but remind him: "Mr. Dunn, the meeting for that $100,000,000 acquisition project really can't be delayed any longer. The executives and overseas branches have been waiting for a long time. You've already spent too much time today on Ms. Kemp's matter..."

Horace rubbed his brow, glanced at the time, and finally stood up: "Let's go. To the company."

In the five-hundred-seat conference room, the atmosphere was solemn and dignified.

A newly hired project manager whispered to the veteran employee beside him, "It's my first time attending a meeting chaired by Mr. Dunn. I'm so nervous. I heard Mr. Dunn is extremely strict..."

The veteran patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. Mr. Dunn may have high standards, but he's disciplined and exceptionally calm. We've worked with him for years and never seen him lose control. As long as you're well-prepared and report honestly, you'll be fine."

As soon as he finished speaking, the doors to the conference room were pushed open, and Horace entered, surrounded by a group of senior executives.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his features stern, exuding a powerful sense of oppression. The entire meeting room instantly fell silent.

The meeting began, and the heads of each department reported on their project progress one by one. Horace sat at the head of the table, listening calmly.

At that moment, his private phone started vibrating. He glanced at the caller ID—it was the landline from the villa.

He raised his hand to signal a pause in the reports and answered the call.

The panicked voice of a servant came through: "Mr. Dunn! Something terrible has happened! Mrs. Dunn, Mrs. Dunn set a fire and burned down the entire villa!"

Horace listened, his brows not even twitching. "It's fine. If it's burned, it's burned. We'll just move to another villa when the time comes."

He hung up the phone and signaled for the meeting to continue.

Just as the report reached a critical point, a second call came in. It was the director of a top auction house, his tone respectful yet slightly nervous: "Mr. Dunn, sorry to disturb you. Ms. Anderson has commissioned us to publicly auction all the jewelry, accessories, and luxury bags you gifted her. Since the amount involved is enormous, we wanted to confirm with you..."

Horace's expression remained unchanged. "Let her do as she pleases."

He hung up again and signaled for the meeting to continue.

Immediately after, a third call rang—it was Cassandra, her voice trembling with tears: "Hal, Lorelei just exposed me on Twitter, and now even more people online are attacking me. What should I do..."

Horace's tone was calm: "What did she post?... Don't cry yet, let me take a look. No matter what she posted, I'll handle it."

He hung up the phone and opened Twitter. Sure enough, he saw Lorelei's latest post.

The content was not the clarification he had requested, but a direct repost of the plagiarism accusation, accompanied by a single sentence that completely exposed Cassandra's theft of her work.

"@Cassandra Let's congratulate this little thief who stole my photos—she's finally famous!"

Horace stared at the tweet, his eyes darkening.

He had expected Lorelei wouldn't obediently comply, but he hadn't anticipated she would be so decisive and ruthless, leaving no room for mercy.

Never mind, everything was within his expectations.

He was about to instruct his assistant to handle the PR crisis when a fourth call rang urgently.

It was from a close friend of his.

"Damn! Hal! How could you let a wild and stunning beauty like Lorelei go? If you don't want her, I'm making my move!"

Horace's fingers tightened slightly around his phone. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know yet?" His friend sounded even more surprised. "Check Instagram! Lorelei posted it!"

Horace immediately switched from the call interface and opened Instagram.

The first post that refreshed was, unsurprisingly, Lorelei's update.

Two photos.

One was an open divorce certificate.

The other was a selfie of Lorelei in the airport lounge. She wore sunglasses, her red lips curved in a smile, and behind her was a massive flight information board.

Above the photos was a bold caption:

"Happy single life! If you want to be my boyfriend, get in line and sign up."

And the comment section of this Instagram post had completely exploded!

From top to bottom, the comments were packed and endless—hundreds of replies from heirs, young talents, and even some famous male celebrities... all lining up in perfect order:

"Sign up +1"

"Lori, look at me! I'm first in line!"

"Ms. Anderson, give me a chance!"

"I've sent my resume via DM, please pick me!"