1

Flora was the most radiant and alluring wild rose in New York, yet she had stubbornly insisted on marrying Julian, the emotionally detached heir to the Yan empire.

No matter how she tried to entice him—whether by acting aloof and proud, or by playing the role of a charming, seductive wife—he remained completely unmoved.

Their monthly intimacy was scheduled down to the minute. If she clung to him for even a second longer, she would be thrown out of the room, bed and all.

He never kissed her, because he viewed the bodily fluids of others as the most disgusting thing on earth.

He forbade her from touching his body, as he despised the scent of anything that didn't belong to him.

She was like a puppet, stripped of her own movements and reactions, lying beneath him, waiting to be "favored."

Flora had thought Julian would remain this cold for a lifetime.

Until one day, a new intern appeared by his side.

A girl who bore a twelve-point resemblance to her own face.

Summer.

21 years old.

Young and beautiful.

She was as vibrant and fresh as a summer rose dripping with morning dew.

She would share the same ice cream cone with Julian, using her finger to wipe the cream from the corner of his mouth.

She openly clung to Julian’s arm, acting coy, dragging him to chaotic nightclubs to dance the night away.

They kissed in the surging crowds, lost in passion.

The number of times they checked into hotels together was beyond counting...

Flora’s hands trembled as she flipped through the photos taken by a private investigator, one by one.

Everything Julian detested, everything he claimed was impossible to do with her—he was now making exceptions for another woman.

Finally, her finger lingered for a long time on a close-up photo of Summer’s face.

In the photo, the girl had fiery red lips, wore a sexy black skirt, and smiled with such high spirits and unbridled, radiant charm that it seemed ready to burst through the screen.

She looked exactly like Flora at twenty.

Even her expressions were a perfect mirror image.

Flora rushed to the office and slammed the photos down in front of Julian.

As his wife, she should have been able to question him with righteous indignation.

But as soon as she opened her mouth, the tears began to fall.

She asked him, "Why?"

If this was the face he had liked all along, why couldn't it have been hers?

If he could be moved enough to break all his rules for such a burning, radiant sunshine, why had his coldness toward her remained unchanged for ten years?

Ten years.

She had discarded her former self, cast aside those behaviors he had once labeled "improper."

She had catered to his harsh standards, polishing herself into something perfect, proper, cold, and lifeless.

But in the end, was the person he fell in love with just another version of her, twenty years old and full of fire?

How ridiculous her last ten years had been.

Julian had a cigarette burning between his fingers, his side profile hidden in the swirling, indistinct smoke. He sighed.

"Flora, it is you who have changed."

"Don't you think our relationship has become nothing more than a stagnant pool of dead water?"

He stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray, rested his forehead on his hand, and pondered for two seconds.

"Actually, I think the way you used to be was quite nice, but it's a pity—" He shook his head.

"You’re old now. You’re not like you used to be."

Flora stiffened, as if standing in a blizzard, with a basin of icy water poured over her head, freezing her in place.

She turned blankly toward the floor-to-ceiling window, which was as clear as a mirror, and saw herself reflected within.

Her figure remained near-perfect, her face was still beautiful, but she could not hide the tension and exhaustion that permeated her entire being. The light that had once shone in her eyes had long since been extinguished.

Her skin had no wrinkles, yet it lacked that vibrant, healthy glow of vitality.

She stood there like a statue, an exquisite vase—beautiful, expensive, but without a soul.

Utterly dull and uninteresting.

She was only thirty, yet from her body to her heart, her entire state of being reeked of a gradual, encroaching decay.

Who was it that turned her into this?

She had once been radiant; she had once been so bold and unrestrained.

Who had turned her into this version of herself, a version that even she found repulsive?

It was him!

"Let's get a divorce," Flora heard her own trembling voice say.

From the moment she discovered Summer’s existence, she had already decided on a divorce.

Flora was not someone who could tolerate sand in her eyes.

She could endure her husband’s coldness toward her, and she could accept that she might never warm his heart in this life.

But she could not tolerate seeing him so easily ignited by another woman.

Only today did she truly, concretely understand that Julian didn't love her even a little bit.

Or rather, he was unwilling to love her.

Let it be this way. Ten years of entanglement—it was truly enough.

Flora lowered her head stiffly, took the divorce agreement out of her bag, and pushed it toward him.

Julian glanced at it, laughed, and the next moment, signed his name without the slightest hesitation.

Flora was slightly stunned, surprised by how smoothly it had gone.

While she felt a sense of relief, she couldn't help but feel a slight, tightening ache in her heart.

He must have been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Julian tossed the pen onto the desk and looked at her, dazed, sneering with total indifference.

"What, you didn't expect it?"

"Flora, playing the 'hard to get' card—don't you think that’s a bit too cliché? Just like you."

Flora took a step back, a chill running down her spine.

Never had she felt, as she did now, that the man in front of her was so utterly malicious.

He was like a bottomless black hole, sucking up all your light and heat, only to rush to find the next source of warmth, then turn back to mock your withered, dry husk.

"Can you bear to give up the benefits of the Yan family? Are you willing to destroy the advantages brought by the union of our two families? And most importantly—"

He leaned toward her, his gaze possessive, with even a hint of pity.

"You like me so much; you went to such great lengths to marry me. Are you really willing to divorce?"

Flora felt as if she had been struck by lightning; her mind went blank.

So, he had known all along that she liked him, that she loved him.

She hadn't married him solely for the sake of the family benefits.

He had looked down upon her love from above, watching from the sidelines, high and mighty, enjoying her one-sided devotion.

Watching her let go of her pride to please him, watching her every mood tethered to his every word and action, watching her change herself because of a single sentence—it was like watching a clown sell their soul for a performance, yet he was too stingy to even give a round of applause.

Flora’s tears could not be controlled; they fell.

She raised her hand and slapped him sharply across the face.

Julian held his stinging left cheek, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Julian, you really are a total bastard."

She cursed through gritted teeth, grabbed the divorce agreement, and walked away.

2

The moment Flora sat in the car, her entire body collapsed in a state of utter exhaustion, as if the last ounce of spirit had been drained from her.

She remained dazed for a long while before suddenly letting out a cold laugh. She raised her hand, examining the divorce agreement she held.

Beneath it lay another document: a property division agreement drafted by her lawyer.

Julian had never held her in high regard, so naturally, he hadn't bothered to read the details carefully.

She had managed to secure a full 60% of his assets—enough to keep her living in luxury for the rest of her life, while leaving the Yan Group severely crippled.

Flora closed her eyes and offered a self-deprecating smile.

She had once craved love—so much of it—but she had never received any.

Well then, having plenty of money was a decent consolation.

She was no saint, and she wasn't capable of achieving a "moral victory" by quietly walking away and letting that pair of scoundrels be happy together.

She drove straight to the Civil Affairs Bureau and the notary office.

The divorce registration was quick. After the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period, the divorce certificate would be issued.

The property division agreement was also notarized, officially entering the waiting period.

As she stepped out of the office, Flora noticed the date displayed on the giant billboard of a skyscraper across the street, and she suddenly remembered—today was her birthday.