After three years of relentless pursuit, Kimberly Kidman married the man infamous for his chronic procrastination—Wilford Vanbrugh.
First year of marriage, when she collapsed with acute appendicitis and needed to be rushed into surgery, he sat in front of the television, his eyes fixed on a baseball game. “Hold on a sec ,this round’s almost over.”
Second year of marriage, when she was kidnapped, and the ransom deadline was only five minutes away, he was still in the shower.
When he finally picked up the phone, his tone was lazy and even mocking.
“If you can’t wait,” he said, “go ahead and kill her. I don't mind.”
Third year of marriage, when Kimberly fell from a height and began to miscarry, she needed a family member’s signature for emergency surgery.
Once again, Wilford didn’t lift his gaze from his game console.
“We can always make children,” he murmured. “But I can't lose this game.”
Desperation gave Kimberly strength. Trembling, she dragged herself upright and signed the consent form herself.
As she lay on the table, feeling the stillborn child being completely taken from her body, the last fragile thread of love she had for Wilford quietly broke.
When the anesthesia wore off, she went straight to the Vanbrugh Ventures’ building. She stormed into his office and smashed everything in it..
She looked half-crazed, her voice hoarse from rage and heartbreak as she roared, “Work is more important than me! Meetings are more important than I! Even your damn games are more important than me!”
“God damn it, Wilford! Do you even remember that I’m your wife?!” she snapped.
Glass fragments glittered across the floor like ice. She stood in the wreckage, her hospital gown stained red.
But Wilford, as always, didn’t even look up. His pen moved briskly across the page as he spoke in that same detached tone.
“I still have work to finish, you see. You’ll probably have to wait one more hour.”
Cold, selfish, arrogant—that was Wilford.
What kind of blindness had made her love a douchebag like him in the very first place? She no longer had an idea.
Suddenly, from outside the office, there came the sharp sound of porcelain shattering—a teacup.
For the first time, Wilford’s expression cracked.
“Khloe!”
He shot up from his chair and rushed out the door. Outside, his secretary, Khloe Jolie, stood frozen beside the spilled tea. He grabbed her hand, his face full of panic.
“Are you all right? Did it burn you? Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital!”
From the moment the cup broke to the instant he scooped her into his arms and hurried downstairs, not even a minute had passed.
No one would ever guess this man supposedly suffered from procrastination.
Around them, whispers rippled through the hall.
“Whoa, Sir Wilford really dotes on Ms. Jolie, huh?”
“Yeah. In fact, he never lets her do dirty or anything tiring, and when she needs help, he’s always the first to come running.”
“I heard she’s actually his first love. No wonder he’s so attentive to her.”
“Shh! His wife’s still here…”
Those words cut into Kimberly’s heart like a poisoned blade—slow, merciless, and deep.
Back then, when the Vanbrughs went bankrupt and everyone avoided Wilford as if he carried the plague, only Kimberly dared to step forward. She had loved him for three years.
She loved him so much that she carried one hundred fifty million dollars in her hands, stood before him and proposed, “Marry me, and this over two hundred million is all yours.”
Wilford agreed. From that moment on, he treated her with devoted tenderness.
Kimberly loved flowers, so he filled their courtyard with roses.
Her palate was delicate and hard to please, so he spent three months in the kitchen, mastering every dish she liked.
She was born with anemia, so every month, he drew about a quart of blood just to keep a supply ready for her.
Over time, Kimberly truly believed they would be happy for the rest of their lives.
But when the Vanbrughs bounced back to power, Wilford drove the Kidmans to bankruptcy, and soon after, scandal after scandal linked his name with Khloe’s.
Only then did Kimberly finally realize—Wilford actually hated her deep down…
He hated her for buying his dignity with one hundred fifty million dollars.
He hated her for tearing him away from his beloved Khloe.
Just as Kimberly’s heart began to crumble, the doors burst open. A group of bodyguards stormed in, grabbed her roughly, and dragged her out.
They shoved her into a car, speeding toward the hospital.
Moments later, they forced her to her knees before Wilford and Khloe.
Kimberly’s heart pounded violently as she bit back her anger, “Wilford! What exactly do you want?!”
His gaze was sharp enough to slice through glass. The next second, he struck her across the face hard!
“If you hadn’t caused a scene, would Khloe have been hurt? How bold of you to still have the nerve to yell here, huh?!”
The metallic tang of blood filled Kimberly’s mouth, and she looked at him with eyes wide in disbelief.
He’d never once raised his hand to her—and now it was for the sake of another woman!
Before Kimberly could even recover from the shock, Wilford’s voice came again, colder than ice.
“Listen, Kimberly. People must pay for their mistakes!”
“Since you’re the reason Khloe’s skin got burned by hot water, then you’ll have to give her yours!”
In an instant, terror surged through Kimberly’s veins. Her whole body trembled, and she shook her head violently, protesting, “No! No!”
But how could her fragile strength compare to the force of armed men?
Within seconds, she was dragged into the operating room.
Rough ropes pinned her to the cold metal table. A filthy rag was shoved into her mouth, muffling her screams.
Then came the chill of the scalpel… and the searing agony that followed.
The pain tore through her entire body, wave after wave.
Tears streamed down her face as she watched, powerless, while chunks of her skin were cut away from her arms.
At the edge of consciousness, a memory surfaced—her wedding night with Wilford.
He made a promise then. “Honey, I’ll make sure you’re happy for the rest of your life.”
But reality was cruel.
Not long ago, the baby she was carrying had died in agony.
Now, her own life was slipping away drop by drop.
Was this the happiness he promised?
Two hours later, the torture finally ended.
When the doctors were done, Kimberly was little more than a ruin of blood and bruises.
Wilford looked at her with a warning. “Remember this. Don’t ever make trouble to hurt Khloe again.”
Just like that, he turned and walked away without looking back.
As she watched his retreating figure, rage, grief, and hatred surged like a tidal wave inside her chest.
With trembling hands, she reached for her phone and dialed a familiar number—the one belonging to Wilford’s greatest enemy.
She began, “You once said, that I should leave Wilford and marry you.I agree!”
“From now on, we’ve got the same enemy!”
