They used to say we were a match made in heaven. The scenery remains, but the people have changed beyond recognition.
Amelia ignored the murmurs, her gaze fixing coldly on the guest who'd dared whisper "golden couple."
"Golden couple?" She scoffed, swirling her wine. "He's nothing but a pretty face living off my charity. There's nothing golden about a man who needs a woman to survive."
Her words hit the room like a grenade. The silence that followed was deafening.
I stood nearby, gripping my glass. I'd braced myself for her disdain, yet the sting of public humiliation still pierced deep.
"Nonsense!"
A cane cracked against the marble floor. Peter glared at his granddaughter.
"Amelia, you're drunk," the old man barked. "Watch your tongue."
One sentence—and her cruelty became nothing more than alcohol-induced rambling. A convenient excuse to save face.
I didn't demand justice. Didn't ask Peter to defend my honor. I simply lowered my gaze and stepped back into the shadows.
My silence confused the guests. They expected the "soft rice king" to grovel or argue. They didn't understand—not until the banquet ended and Peter slid a thick folder across his mahogany desk.
"Amelia was out of line," he said gruffly. "Consider this compensation. Repayment for your sacrifice ten years ago."
I looked down. A transfer contract. Assets worth billions.
Ten years ago, the Gilberts had been on the brink of ruin. As the sole heir to Matthews Corp, I'd brought a massive dowry and married in to save them.
My reward? On our wedding night, I was kidnapped by Amelia's enemies.
For three days, I lived in hell. When they released me, they dumped my broken body on the busiest street in the city. My lower body had suffered catastrophic injuries. I was alive—but no longer whole.
I remembered Amelia kneeling before me in the hospital, her forehead bloody from kowtowing on the hard floor.
"I will avenge you," she'd sworn, tears streaming. "I'll wipe away this humiliation. My life is yours, Samuel."
But promises are cheap. She couldn't die for me, and eventually, she stopped living for me too.
In the beginning, she was fueled by rage. She used my capital to rebuild her empire, sent my tormentors to prison, scrubbed those humiliating photos from the internet. She forbade anyone in the city from speaking of that night. To disobey was to make an enemy of the entire Gilbert family.
But time erodes gratitude.
I don't know when the rumors started again—whispers through the elite circles, mocking her to her face. Asking if she was satisfied with a husband who was... incomplete.
Whatever protective fire she once held had long since burned out.
Just recently, I'd received news from a specialist—a slim chance of sperm extraction that could allow us to conceive. I'd rushed home, eager to share the news. She'd wanted a child for years.
I reached for her office door when I heard her voice inside.
"A useless man is a useless man. Why pretend otherwise?"
She didn't defend me. Didn't deny the insult. She sounded annoyed, as if my existence was a stain on her perfect reputation.
The blood drained from my face. Darkness swam across my vision. I collapsed right there in the hallway.
When I woke, I was in a hospital bed. Amelia stood nearby, speaking to the attending physician.
Damien Blackwood.
The moment he saw Amelia, he gasped, covering his mouth. "Senior Amelia? Is that really you?"
His eyes reddened instantly—a masterclass in performance. "I need to apologize. My sister was the one who hurt your family back then. She paid with prison, but the guilt still haunts me."
I looked at Amelia, expecting her to recoil. The Blackwoods were connected to the people who'd destroyed my life.
Instead, she smiled.
"It's fine, Damien. That's all in the past. You were just a child then. It has nothing to do with you."
Cold dread settled in my stomach. Before I could speak, Amelia ushered me into the examination room.
The checkup was routine—or so I thought. I'd just finished dressing behind the curtain when I heard Damien's voice, low and troubled.
"Amelia... this is difficult to say."
"What is it?"
"Your husband." He sighed, dripping faux sympathy. "Severe genital warts. And based on initial tests—likely a dozen other venereal diseases."
A pause.
"Impossible," Amelia said, though her voice wavered. "We've been married ten years. He's... docile. He's never been with anyone but me."
"That's not necessarily true, Senior," Damien whispered, poison in every word. "Men have their ways. Unless you installed surveillance on him twenty-four hours a day—how can you be sure he hasn't been seeking comfort elsewhere?"
