Christopher pulled up beside me, rolling down the window.
“I don’t want reporters following me,” he said flatly. “Get in.”
I hesitated, glancing at the flashing lights behind me. The hungry swarm of journalists was still lingering, their cameras ready to capture any sign of weakness.
With no other choice, I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Only then did I realize—there was already a pool of blood between my legs.
Panic surged through me as I tried to cover the stain with my coat, but Christopher noticed immediately.
His brows furrowed and he glanced at me sideways. “Is the child okay?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could speak, his phone rang.
Lisa’s voice, soft and tinged with tears, filled the car.
“Christopher, my family is pressuring me to get married again… What should I do? Dad gave me a week to decide. You have to come up with a solution.”
There’s nothing more heartbreaking than a young woman’s sorrow—at least, that’s what Christopher seemed to believe.
He pulled the car over and sat in silence for a long moment before replying.
“One week is enough. Wait for me to propose to you.”
A few more murmured words of comfort and then he hung up.
The air between us turned suffocatingly silent.
Christopher finally turned to look at me. There was something in his eyes—an emotion I couldn’t decipher.
“It’s just an act for the child,” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. “Don’t take it to heart.”
I didn’t respond.
He restarted the car, his voice turning softer. “Where were we before?”
I stared blankly at the streets rushing past, my mind completely numb.
“We weren’t talking about anything,” I murmured. “I forgot.”
Christopher gave a slight nod, saying nothing more.
That was when the reality hit me.
My husband was going to propose to another woman.
And it just so happened to be on the day I left the Adam family.
How ridiculous.
Half an hour later, we arrived at the Anderson estate.
I stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of Christopher’s gaze lingering on my seat—no doubt staring at the bloodstain.
As if remembering the conversation we never finished, he suddenly strode forward and grabbed my wrist.
“Ariana, you don’t look well,” he said, his voice laced with something almost like concern. “Yesterday, at the venue… Are you okay?”
I pulled my coat tighter around me and turned away.
“I’m fine.”
I tried to shake off his grip, desperate to escape into the house, but before I could take another step—
Christopher suddenly exploded.
“Ariana Anderson! Do you know how infuriating you are?!”
His roar sent a shockwave through the cold night air.
“I’m your husband, yet you always treat me with this goddamn indifference! If you have a problem, say it! If you’re not satisfied, speak up! But this—this empty, emotionless act of yours—it drives me insane! Don’t you feel anything at all?!”
I froze.
For a moment, I simply stared at him, taken aback by the sheer intensity of his rage.
I had no idea where this outburst was coming from—why he even cared.
But I knew that if I didn’t respond, he wouldn’t let me go so easily tonight.
So I exhaled softly and said, “Christopher, you can do anything to me. But you shouldn’t drag the Anderson Family into this.”
His expression darkened instantly.
“Today, you threw me to the reporters,” I continued, my voice calm despite the turmoil inside me. “Tomorrow, my father’s name will be splashed across every headline. You and I both grew up in this world—we know exactly what that means. He helped you in every way he could. At the very least, he never turned his back on you.”
I thought I had chosen the safest, least personal topic to address his anger.
But Christopher’s face twisted into something raw and furious.
He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice shaking with rage.
“Ariana Anderson… You call that helping?” His laughter was bitter, almost unhinged. “That was taking advantage of someone’s misery! That was ruining not just my life—but Liz’s! Your father destroyed us and you… you had the audacity to stand by and watch!”
His voice rose, filled with years of suppressed hatred.
“For eight years—eight fucking years—do you know how Liz has suffered?! We loved each other. We belonged together! But you and your despicable father tore us apart!”
His voice cracked with venom.
“So I will make sure you suffer.”
His final words were a promise, laced with a deep, soul-crushing hatred.
And as I stood there, gripping my coat tightly around me, I realized something terrifying.
There was no longer any love between us.
Only a war that would never end.
