A Young Heart White as Frost

Among the wealthy elite, there was a saying: Any man in the world might cheat on his wife, but Yates Prescott never would. Reserved, disciplined, and unfailingly proper, he carried himself with an air of cool sophistication. He had eyes only for his wife, the girl he'd loved since high school and eventually married. Yet five years into their marriage, Yvette Chandler received word that Yates had been secretly keeping a mistress. The moment she received the photos, she froze. Chapter 1 What stunned Yvette wasn't just the affair. The woman Yates had been hiding wasn't some vibrant eighteen-year-old girl or an accomplished career woman. She was a divorced breakfast shop owner, ordinary in both looks and background, and three years older than Yates! Yet the way he looked at her was filled with a love and tenderness that seemed to run bone-deep. At nine that night, Yates came home looking as cool and unapproachable as ever, his suit immaculate and every hair in place. Yvette had been waiting on the couch in the dark. The moment he approached, she hurled the stack of photos at him, sending them scattering across the floor. "Explain yourself, Yates." He fell silent for a moment before bending down to collect the photos one by one. Yates had always been obsessive about cleanliness, yet now he gently brushed the dust from the woman's face in the pictures. When he finally looked up, his expression was perfectly calm. "There's nothing to explain. Yes, I'm in love with her." Yvette felt as though an invisible hand had closed around her throat. Her breath caught, and her mind went completely blank. "You're in love with her?" Her voice trembled with every word. "What about me? Yates, when you confessed your feelings to me at sixteen, you stood under the moon with your ears bright red and promised I'd be the only woman you'd ever love! You said you'd never even look at anyone else!" Her distress didn't move him. All she saw in his eyes was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. "I did say that," he admitted calmly. "But Yvette, loving you all these years has worn me out." He continued with a brutal assessment of their relationship, his voice never rising. "We dated for four years and have been married for five. I've loved you for nine years. Every time you got upset, whether you were right or wrong, wasn't I always the one who had to grovel until you forgave me? "When you wanted a limited-edition bag, I'd fly overseas overnight to get it for you. You got upset because another woman looked at me a little too long, so I immediately fired the secretary who'd worked for me for three years. "And when you craved dessert from the other side of town in the middle of the night, I'd drive halfway across the city to buy it, even if I had an important meeting the next morning..." One by one, he brought up memories Yvette had always treasured as proof of how much he loved her. Now he was using those same memories as evidence that she'd been unreasonable and demanding. "I've practically lost all my dignity and sense of self trying to make you happy. Yvette, I'm human, too. I get tired." He paused, his gaze drifting into the distance. "Three months ago, you got angry because I forgot to buy your favorite dessert. Nothing I did could make you forgive me. I spent the whole night outside your door, and the next morning, I was still thinking about going to that shop to get you some mango crepes. Then my stomach started hurting so badly that I passed out in front of Claire Wells's breakfast stand. "She gave me medicine, made me some warm oatmeal to settle my stomach, and gently massaged the cramps away with her slightly calloused hands." As he spoke, his voice softened into an almost yearning tenderness that Yvette had never heard before. "With her, I felt a warmth I'd never experienced with you. That was the first time in nine years I'd felt truly comfortable and relaxed. I could finally let go of all that exhaustion." Yvette was trembling so badly she could barely stand. Her head buzzed, and she struggled to get the words out. "So... because of one bowl of oatmeal, you're throwing away nine years together? That's all it took for you to fall in love with her?" Yates turned his attention back to her, his expression complicated. "Yvette, you're beautiful. In all these years, with all the different women I've met, I've never seen anyone prettier than you. You're incredibly talented, too. Your piano career is thriving, and you're a star in your own right. "That's exactly why I've always had to look up to you. I've had to watch every word, constantly soothe your temper, and treat you like something precious I could never afford to drop. "Claire is ordinary. She isn't particularly talented or beautiful, but she worries when my stomach hurts. She makes me hot oatmeal and massages me when I'm exhausted. With her, I've found a kind of peace and... a sense of belonging I've never known before." A sense of belonging. Those three words pierced Yvette's heart. Then what was the home they'd shared for nine years supposed to be? "Don't worry, though. I'm not divorcing you." His tone shifted, returning to the cool pragmatism of a businessman. "Prescott Group needs a beautiful, accomplished wife like you, someone who can represent the family. Besides, I promised at your parents' graves that I'd take care of you for the rest of your life. After everything we've shared, I won't be completely heartless." He looked straight at her, drawing a clear and merciless line between them. "From now on, though, I won't love you anymore. Not even a little. And I don't want you interfering in my relationship with Claire. "I'm sorry. I know I've broken my promise, but I can't control how I feel. For the sake of all those years I loved you, if you need someone to blame, blame me. Claire has nothing to do with it." Without another glance at Yvette's bloodless face, he turned and walked out of their home without hesitation. Yvette collapsed onto the floor. Watching him leave with such cold finality, she felt as though she'd been struck by lightning. Nine years ago, Yvette had been the most beautiful girl in school, bright and outspoken, while Yates was the aloof, refined heartthrob everyone admired. Everyone said they were made for each other. Yates had fallen for her at first sight and pursued her with a passion that was impossible to ignore. For Yvette, though, love was harder to accept. Her parents' fractured relationship and years of constant fighting had left her instinctively wary of love and intimacy. Yates had been determined to win her over. He brought her breakfast every morning without fail, climbed over the school wall and skipped class to buy medicine whenever she was sick, and was always the first to step in front of her whenever someone bullied her. With endless patience and devotion, he'd gradually broken through the defenses she'd built around her heart. Even after they started dating, he continued to shower her with affection. Still, her troubled childhood had left Yvette fiercely independent, accustomed to shouldering every problem alone. Whenever she saw another girl asking for his number, jealousy would twist painfully inside her, but she'd simply walk away without questioning him. Then, during the summer after their college entrance exams, a sudden car accident claimed both her parents' lives. The grief nearly destroyed her, yet she told no one. Somehow, she forced herself to handle every arrangement, including the funeral, entirely on her own. Yates was overseas on his graduation trip at the time. Somehow, he'd gotten wind of what happened and rushed home in a panic. Still exhausted from the journey, he burst into the funeral hall and found Yvette dressed in black, so thin and pale she looked like a sheet of paper. His eyes immediately filled with tears. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and pulled her cold, trembling body tightly against him. "Yvette Chandler! Look at me! I'm Yates Prescott! I'm the most important person in your life! "You can cry in front of me! You can scream, you can let your guard down completely! If you're jealous, question me! If you want to throw a fit, take it out on me! "There will never be any walls between us! I'll always come to you, and I'll always be there to comfort you! Do you hear me?!" Something inside Yvette finally broke. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably, pouring out all the grief, helplessness, and hurt she'd been holding inside. Yates was the one who'd coaxed her out of the hardened shell she'd built around herself and encouraged her to live with the carefree openness of a child. Because of him, she'd spent the next nine years learning to express her feelings, to make demands, to ask him for things and let herself get upset over little matters, just like any girl who knew she was deeply loved. She'd done it all because she believed his promise. "I'll always come to you, and I'll always be there to comfort you." Now, nine years later, he was telling her he was tired. Tears streamed down Yvette's face as she sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by a pain she could barely endure. The man who'd once been beside himself whenever she shed even a single tear, who would tenderly kiss her tears away, was gone. He was the one who'd told her he loved her first. Why did he have to be the one to stop loving her, too? Yvette couldn't accept it. She stubbornly clung to the belief that Yates had simply lost his way and would eventually come to his senses. The next day, she carefully applied her makeup and went to Claire's breakfast shop. Claire was busy working when Yvette arrived. She was an unremarkable woman, so ordinary she looked almost dowdy. Yvette took one look at her before sliding a check across the counter, an enormous sum already written on it. "Ms. Wells, leave Yates Prescott. This is enough for you and your child to live comfortably for the rest of your lives." Claire stared at the check in surprise. Her eyes reddened, but she made no move to take it. "Mrs. Prescott... I'll leave. Please... don't make things difficult for Mr. Prescott." She hurriedly turned away and began packing her things, not even daring to meet Yvette's eyes. Yvette watched her go, but instead of relief, she felt only a suffocating tightness in her chest. That evening, she received the news. Claire had been in a car accident while leaving. The doctors had managed to save her life, but she'd lost the baby she was carrying. Yates's baby. Chapter 2 Yvette stood frozen, stunned by the news. She couldn't tell which shocked her more, the sudden accident or the revelation that Claire had been pregnant with Yates's child. Throughout their five years of marriage, Yvette and Yates had always used birth control. They'd never had a child. Yet how long had he even been with Claire? How could she already have been pregnant? A week later, Yates came home. He didn't question Yvette or raise his voice. In fact, he said nothing at all, merely studying her for a long time with a dark, inscrutable gaze she couldn't begin to understand. Then, without warning, he seized her and began roughly tearing at her clothes. "Yates! What are you doing?" Yvette cried, struggling in terror. He ignored her protests and forced her down onto the bed, his movements driven by a desperate, almost frenzied intensity. For the next month, Yates behaved like a completely different man. He stopped going to work, paid no attention to Claire, and spent his days and nights demanding sex from Yvette instead. He took her several times a day, barely allowing her any rest, with a relentlessness that seemed almost self-destructive and punitive. The physical strain was nearly more than Yvette could bear, and the humiliation cut even deeper. Yet despite everything, a small, desperate hope began to grow inside her. Perhaps Yates was simply overwhelmed by grief. Perhaps he'd finally come to his senses and was trying to forget Claire. Could this be his way of returning to her, of making things the way they used to be? Clinging to that possibility, Yvette endured his demands in silence, sometimes even willingly going along with him. Then one day, she suffered a violent bout of vomiting. Uneasy, she secretly went to the hospital for an examination, only to discover that she was pregnant. As Yvette rested a hand on her still-flat stomach, she felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this baby could save their marriage. She never imagined what would happen when she told Yates. Instead of the overwhelming joy she'd expected, he remained remarkably calm as he studied the test results. After a moment, he glanced at his bodyguards and delivered an order, enunciating every word. "Throw her off the fifth floor." Yvette stared at him in disbelief. "Yates, what... what did you just say? Don't you realize I'm carrying your child?" There was no trace of the love or tenderness that had once filled his eyes. Instead, his gaze trembled with hatred and grief. "Do you realize Claire was carrying my child, too? You destroyed the baby we conceived out of love! So I made sure you'd get pregnant to repay her for what she lost!" Yvette felt as though she'd been struck by lightning. Suddenly, everything he'd done over the past month made horrifying sense. Claire had lost her baby, so Yates had deliberately gotten Yvette pregnant just to make her miscarry, too. He intended to use the loss of their child to make up for Claire's. To think he loved Claire so much that he was willing to do something like this! Yvette opened her mouth, desperate to question him, to scream at him, to say anything at all. Yet her throat seemed to have been filled with cement, leaving her unable to utter a single sound. Before she could recover, two towering bodyguards approached with expressionless faces and seized her by the arms. "No! Yates, you can't do this!" she screamed, struggling desperately against their grip. Yates merely turned his back on her, refusing to look at her again. The bodyguards showed no mercy as they dragged her up to the fifth floor and shoved her over the edge. "Ahhh!" When Yvette hit the ground, the impact sent agony tearing through her body. It felt as though every bone had shattered. Warm blood spread beneath her, staining her dress red. It hurt so much. Just before she lost consciousness, Yvette remembered Yates confessing his love to her when they were sixteen. Standing beneath the moonlight with his ears flushed red, he'd promised, "Yvette Chandler, I'll love you for the rest of my life." A single cold tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she finally accepted the devastating truth. Yates Prescott, the man who had loved her for nine whole years, really didn't love her anymore. When Yvette regained consciousness, she was lying in a hospital bed. Her stomach was flat again, and she knew the baby was gone. She didn't cry or make a scene. It felt as though someone had hollowed out her chest, leaving nothing behind but cold, empty numbness. Reaching for her phone, she called one of the maids at the mansion. Her voice was perfectly calm, without the slightest trace of emotion. "There's a sandalwood box in my study drawer. Bring it to me." The maid arrived with the box shortly afterward. Inside was a blank sheet of paper bearing Yates's signature. He'd given it to her on her eighteenth birthday, promising that whatever she wanted in the future, all she had to do was write it down, and he would give it to her. Yvette had treasured that piece of paper for years, unwilling to use it because she couldn't bear to waste her one chance to ask him for anything. Now, she knew exactly what she wanted. She would use that promise to put an end to the love she'd devoted nine years of her life to. She still had enough self-respect to know she didn't need Yates. Losing her baby had finally destroyed the last of her hopes and forced her to face reality. In exchange for that devastating loss, she would reclaim the person she'd been before she ever met him. The independent, clear-headed Yvette Chandler who had once known how to stand on her own two feet. Chapter 3 Yvette signed her name on the paper, then called her lawyer. "Draw up a divorce agreement." Her voice was frighteningly calm. The lawyer nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Prescott. Once the papers are ready, there will be a mandatory thirty-day waiting period. After that, provided neither party objects, the civil registry will notify you when your divorce papers are ready to be collected." "I understand." Yvette's expression didn't change. "Get it done as soon as possible." After the lawyer left, Yvette was alone in her hospital room again. She closed her eyes, but no tears came. Her heart felt so empty that she couldn't even summon the energy to grieve. The door opened quietly a moment later. Thinking her lawyer had returned, Yvette opened her eyes, only to find herself looking at the last person she wanted to see. Claire Wells. She hadn't expected Claire to come looking for her. "What do you want?" Yvette asked hoarsely. "Mrs. Prescott..." Claire wore the same gentle, timid expression as always, an insulated container in her hand. "I know what Yates did to you. I only wish I'd been there. I would have done everything I could to stop him..." Yvette regarded her coldly, unwilling to listen to another word of her insincere concern. Claire continued anyway, her voice thick with tears. "Still, you have to understand what he was going through. When we lost our baby, Yates was absolutely devastated. He held me and cried like a little boy, saying our baby was the proof of our love. He stayed beside my hospital bed for days and nights without eating or drinking anything..." Every word was another poisoned knife twisting deeper into Yvette's already battered heart. "If that's all you came to tell me," Yvette interrupted, her voice cold and raspy, "you can leave. You're not welcome here." Claire flinched as though frightened. Then she quickly raised the container in her hand. "I... I won't say anything else. Mrs. Prescott, I made you some soup to help you recover. You've just had a miscarriage, and your body is still weak. You need something nourishing to build your strength back up..." "I don't want it. Take it away." Yvette turned her face aside in disgust. The timidity vanished from Claire's expression, replaced by a cold, stubborn determination. "I'm afraid you don't get to decide that." Before Yvette could react, Claire lunged forward and seized her jaw with startling strength. With her other hand, she lifted the container and began forcing the soup into Yvette's mouth. "Let go of me! Claire! What are you doing?" Still weak from her injuries, Yvette struggled helplessly against the woman's grip. By the time Claire finally released her, Yvette was doubled over the edge of the bed, coughing violently as her stomach churned. Claire watched her struggle, leisurely wiping her hands. A tearful smile spread across her face. "Well? Does it taste good?" Yvette jerked her head up as a terrible sense of dread swept over her. "That's not soup to help me recover... What is it? What did you put in it?!" Claire's eyes reddened, and tears spilled down her cheeks almost on command. Yet beneath those tears, her gaze was as cold as a snake's. She spoke slowly, making sure Yvette heard every word. "Can't you tell? There's something from the baby you lost in there... the one that never even had a chance to fully develop." Yvette's mind went completely blank. For a moment, she could barely comprehend what she'd heard. Then the full horror of it hit her, and a wave of nausea so overwhelming that she could hardly breathe swept through her body. She bent over the side of the bed and frantically shoved her fingers down her throat, desperate to vomit. She gagged so violently that her entire body convulsed, wishing she could empty every last thing from her stomach. "Ugh... Ugh!" Claire stood watching, tears streaming down her face as she savored Yvette's suffering. "Does it hurt? That's how much pain I was in when I miscarried. No, mine was even worse! If you hadn't forced me to leave, would I have gotten into that accident? Would I have lost my baby? Yates doesn't even love you anymore, so what gives you the right to act like you're better than me just because you're his wife? What right did you have to drive me away?" She moved closer, her eyes burning with hatred. "Everyone gets what's coming to them eventually! And that baby of yours? That was your punishment! That's what you get for killing my child!" "AHHH!" Yvette couldn't take another second of it. All the anger, humiliation, and grief she'd been holding back for so long finally erupted. Summoning every last ounce of strength she had, she raised her hand and slapped Claire hard across the face. At that exact moment, the hospital room door flew open. Chapter 4 Yates stood in the doorway, having arrived just in time to see Yvette slap Claire. His face darkened, and he stormed into the room, shoving Yvette aside with such force that she stumbled backward. Still terribly weak, she couldn't keep her balance. Her back slammed against the cold wall, drawing a muffled cry of pain from her throat. "Yvette Chandler! What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, shielding Claire behind him. The look in his eyes was so vicious that he seemed ready to tear Yvette apart. Claire immediately nestled against his chest, tears streaming down her face as she twisted the truth. "Yates... please don't blame Mrs. Prescott. It's my fault... I shouldn't have come..." The sight of the distinct handprint on Claire's cheek broke Yates's heart. When he turned back to Yvette, his anger had only intensified. "Yvette, I never imagined you could be this cruel! Claire came here out of kindness, and you actually hit her?" Furious, he turned toward the bodyguards stationed outside the room and issued a cold command. "Get in here and slap her. Slap her one hundred times! I want her to pay tenfold for what she did to Claire!" "No, Yates!" Claire protested, pretending to intervene. "Mrs. Prescott just had a miscarriage. She's still too weak. She won't be able to take it..." Yates pulled her tightly against him, his voice filled with tenderness and anger. "You're too kind for your own good! That's why she keeps bullying you! She needs to be taught a lesson. Do it!" At his command, the bodyguards approached Yvette, their towering figures casting dark shadows over her. She stared at the man she'd loved for nine years, utterly stunned. He was holding another woman so carefully, protecting her with such tenderness, yet for that same woman's sake, he could treat Yvette with unimaginable cruelty. He used to protect her like that, too. Just as the bodyguard was about to strike, Yvette summoned the last of her strength and cried out, her voice hoarse with all the pain and resentment she'd been holding inside. "Yates Prescott! Do you remember what you said when you knelt before my parents' graves? You promised you'd always protect me! You swore you'd never let anyone hurt me or make me suffer! You said I meant more to you than life itself! Have you forgotten all of that?" Yates went rigid, his arm tightening slightly around Claire. For a moment, something seemed to stir violently in his eyes, but whatever he felt was quickly overshadowed by his concern for Claire. When he turned back to Yvette, his gaze was cold and weary, carrying an unmistakable sense of finality. "I remember." He paused, and his next words struck Yvette like a series of hammer blows. "Yvette, I meant it when I said I loved you. And I mean it now when I say I don't love you anymore. "Claire is the woman I love most now. You hurt her, and you're going to pay for it!" With that, he drew Claire protectively into his arms and led her out of the hospital room, ignoring the hollow despair in Yvette's eyes. The heavy door closed behind them, shutting Yates out of her sight and extinguishing the last glimmer of light in Yvette's life. Slap! The first blow landed hard across her face, leaving her cheek burning. Then came the second, the third, and countless more. Yvette neither struggled nor demanded answers. Like a broken doll, she simply endured the humiliating punishment. One hundred slaps. By the time it was over, the love she'd carried for nine years lay in ruins, along with every hope she'd clung to and the last of her faith in love. Yvette collapsed onto the floor and suddenly coughed up a mouthful of dark red blood. Staring at the bright, sickening stain, she began to laugh softly, the sound bitter and desolate. Oh, Yates Prescott. May every ounce of love you betrayed turn to broken glass and tear you apart from the inside. Chapter 5 Yvette remained in the hospital for another week, going through the motions like a puppet with no soul. She ate her meals, took her medication, and submitted to treatment on schedule, never crying or protesting and barely speaking at all. Whenever a nurse came to change her dressings, she lay still and cooperated. When the maids brought her food, she mechanically spooned it into her mouth, unable to taste a thing. The gaping hole in her chest seemed to have filled with a cold numbness that left her incapable of feeling anything. On the day of her discharge, the sky was dark and overcast, with heavy clouds hanging so low they seemed to suffocate everything beneath them. Yvette had completed the discharge paperwork herself and was standing outside the hospital, about to call a cab, when a familiar black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of her. The window rolled down, revealing Yates's cool, aristocratic profile. Claire sat beside him in the passenger seat. Yvette stopped dead, her blood seeming to freeze in her veins. Yates glanced at her pale, gaunt face, his brows drawing together almost imperceptibly before his expression returned to its usual indifference. Instinctively, he reached over and pulled Claire closer in an unmistakably protective gesture. "Get in." His voice held no more warmth than the bleak weather outside. Yvette didn't move. Her nails dug deep into her palms. "Mrs. Prescott, please get in. It's windy out here." Claire spoke in her usual soft, timid voice. "I'm the one who begged Yates to come pick you up. I know there have been a lot of misunderstandings between us... I hope you won't hold any of this against him." Yates gave Claire a look, his expression softening slightly. When he turned back to Yvette, however, his voice hardened into that familiar, uncompromising tone. "If Claire hadn't insisted, I wouldn't have come. Yvette, you know how well she's treated you, and you know how you've treated her in return. I've already told you she's the one person I won't let you hurt. Just be a good Mrs. Prescott and stop trying to hurt her." Just be a good Mrs. Prescott? A bitter laugh escaped Yvette. She had nothing left to say to him and wanted nothing more to do with him. Without a word, she walked around the front of the car, intending to leave. "Yvette Chandler!" Yates threw open his door and got out, catching her by the wrist with enough force to make her wince. "Are you done throwing a tantrum? Get in the car!" His impatience made it clear that he regarded her refusal as yet another unreasonable fit. Yvette tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight. Still weak from her injuries and fresh out of the hospital, she had no strength to fight him. In the end, he forced her into the back seat. As the car drove on, Yvette turned toward the window and watched the streets rush past, deliberately ignoring the painful intimacy unfolding in the front seat. Claire was speaking softly to Yates, her sweet voice full of dependence. "Yates, I think I caught a chill last night. I've been feeling a little dizzy." He immediately reached over to feel her forehead, his voice taking on a tenderness Yvette hadn't heard directed at herself in a long time. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'll have the family doctor check you over when we get back." "It's nothing. I probably just didn't sleep well." Claire took the opportunity to rest her head against his arm. Rather than moving away, Yates adjusted his position to make her more comfortable. Watching them, Yvette felt as though countless tiny needles were piercing her heart over and over, the pain so sharp she could barely keep herself from curling up. There had been a time when even a single cough from her would send Yates into a panic. He'd stay up all night watching over her and personally give her medicine. Now, every ounce of that concern and tenderness belonged to another woman. Suddenly, Claire let out a small gasp as she looked out the window. "Oh, why is it raining all of a sudden? Yates, I left some laundry drying on the balcony this morning! My favorite pajamas are out there..." Raindrops began pelting the windows, quickly growing into a heavy downpour. Without a moment's hesitation, Yates switched on his turn signal and pulled over on the elevated highway. He turned to look at Yvette, who sat pale and silent in the back seat. "Call yourself a cab home. I'm taking Claire back to get her laundry." Yvette's head shot up. Was he serious? They were on an elevated highway, in the middle of a downpour, and he expected her to find her own way home? Yates apparently saw nothing wrong with his decision. When she made no move to get out, he frowned. "Did you hear me?" Claire turned around, too, wearing an apologetic smile that couldn't quite conceal the faint satisfaction in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Prescott. Oh, and tomorrow's my birthday. Yates has made a reservation at Yarrow House. Just the three of us, for a simple dinner. We can put what happened last time behind us and make peace. You have to come!" Yvette didn't answer. She got out and slammed the door. The black Rolls-Royce pulled away without the slightest hesitation, merging into traffic before disappearing behind the curtain of rain. Left standing high above the ground on the elevated highway, Yvette could barely see through the water streaming down her face. She tried waving down passing cars, but not a single one stopped. The freezing rain soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. With no other choice, she began making her way home on foot, stumbling along the side of the highway one painful step at a time. By the time she finally reached the mansion, she was drenched from head to toe, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. That night, she developed a raging fever and drifted in and out of consciousness. Chapter 6 The maid, Helen Parker, was beside herself with worry, calling Yates over and over, but he never answered. Yvette struggled to open her heavy eyelids. "Stop calling... He won't pick up." She managed a smile that looked more painful than crying. "He's with Claire... celebrating her birthday." Helen sighed but said nothing more. Instead, she fetched some fever medication and carefully helped Yvette take it. The medicine soon sent Yvette into a fitful sleep. She didn't wake until that evening, when the sound of the bedroom door being thrown open startled her. Yates stormed in, bringing with him the smell of alcohol and a chill from outside. His expression was thunderous. "Yvette Chandler!" He strode to the bed and seized her wrist so tightly she thought her bones might break. "Why didn't you come? Claire waited for you all night! She cried so much her eyes are swollen! I can't even bear to see her shed a single tear, and you deliberately made her miserable!" He shook her so hard that her head spun. The numbness that had settled over her heart seemed to crack under his words, letting a sharp, familiar pain seep through. There had been a time when he couldn't bear to see her cry, either. Yvette slowly lifted her heavy eyelids and studied his face. Once, she'd loved him with every fiber of her being. Now, he seemed like a complete stranger, and the absurdity of it all was almost laughable. "So what?" Her voice was hoarse from the fever, yet unnervingly calm, as though there were nothing left inside her. "Are you going to kill me?" Yates gave a cold laugh. "No. Since you made her cry, I'm going to make sure you cry your heart out." He took out his phone and made a call. "Get Yvette's best friend, her coworkers, her cousin, and everyone else connected to her over here. Whoever can make her cry gets a hundred million." Within half an hour, the mansion was packed with people. The first to approach Yvette was her best friend, Wendy Lawson. They'd spent countless afternoons shopping together, shared their deepest secrets, and comforted each other through their hardest times. "Yvette, just cry," Wendy pleaded, her voice trembling. "A hundred million. That's enough money to last me several lifetimes." When Yvette showed no reaction, Wendy suddenly slapped her across the face. "Who do you think you're fooling with that high-and-mighty act? You think you're still the untouchable Mrs. Prescott?" Yvette's cheek burned, but she didn't shed a tear. Next came her coworkers, distant relatives, and even the nanny who'd cared for her since childhood. "Mr. Prescott doesn't want you anymore. Why are you still shamelessly hanging around?" "Claire is so much sweeter than you. No wonder Mr. Prescott fell for someone else." "I heard you lost your baby. Maybe that's karma for all the terrible things you've done." They crowded around Yvette, hurling insults, shoving her, and even hitting and kicking her. She endured it all like a broken doll, biting her lower lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Still, she stubbornly refused to let a single tear fall. Her heart was already dead. What good would crying do? Yates sat on the couch, watching everything unfold with cold indifference. Yet the longer he stared at Yvette's hollow but stubborn eyes, the more his irritation grew. Why wouldn't she cry? What gave her the right to refuse? He was nearing the end of his patience when Yvette's cousin, Lily Chandler, noticed an elegant picture frame on the display shelf in the living room. It held the only family photograph Yvette had with her late parents. Lily rushed over, snatched up the frame, and pulled a lighter from her pocket. "Yvette Chandler! If you don't cry, I'm going to burn this!" For the first time, Yvette's numb expression cracked. Her head shot up, and she cried out hoarsely. "No! Lily, please! That's the only picture I have with Mom and Dad! Please don't!" "Then cry! Start crying, and I'll give it back!" Lily held the lighter to the edge of the frame, letting the flames begin to catch. "Please... don't..." Yvette begged, her composure crumbling. "We're family, Lily. Please, don't be so cruel to me..." Tears swam in her eyes, but she still fought to keep them from falling. Something clenched painfully in Yates's chest as he watched her beg so desperately for that photograph. He remembered how much she treasured it. "Burn it." The words came out in a voice so cold and merciless that even he failed to recognize the cruelty behind them. With his permission, Lily stopped hesitating and hurled the burning frame onto the floor. "NO!" Yvette let out an agonized scream and threw herself to the ground, desperately beating at the flames with her bare hands, trying to save the photograph before it turned to ash. But it was too late. The photograph curled in the flames, its edges blackening as her parents' gentle, smiling faces slowly disappeared before her eyes. Within moments, all that remained was a small pile of ashes. Yvette reached for the photograph, but all she managed to scoop up was a handful of scorching ash. The heat burned her skin, sending searing pain through her fingers. The tears she'd fought so hard to contain finally broke free. She sobbed uncontrollably, her cries so raw and grief-stricken that it seemed she might empty herself of every tear she had left to shed in this lifetime. Yates watched her curled up on the floor, her entire body shaking with sobs. He'd finally gotten what he wanted, yet he felt no satisfaction whatsoever. Instead, an oppressive tightness settled in his chest, leaving him strangely restless and uneasy. His gaze fell on her fingers, red and blistered from trying to put out the flames with her bare hands. Instinctively, he wanted to go to her, but his feet remained rooted to the spot. In the end, overwhelmed by the unbearable combination of grief and physical pain, Yvette lost consciousness. Chapter 7 Still running a high fever, Yvette was too weak to withstand everything she'd been put through. Once she lost consciousness, she didn't come around again. Through the haze, she vaguely heard Yates shouting, "Get a doctor in here!" Then came Claire's gentle voice. Yvette had no idea when she'd arrived. "Yates, there's no need for a doctor. My family has an old home remedy that'll wake her right up. Trust me. I just need everyone to leave the room." Yvette could faintly sense the others filing out of the hospital room. A moment later, a sharp pain tore through her back, forcing her to struggle against her heavy eyelids. When she finally managed to open her eyes, she discovered that Claire was scraping her back with a razor blade! "Ahhh!" Yvette cried, thrashing in agony. Claire pinned her down with all her strength. "Stop moving! This is a traditional scraping treatment from my hometown. If you want to get better, you'll have to bear with it." "What kind of... scraping treatment... uses a razor blade?" Cold sweat poured down Yvette's body as she struggled even harder. This wasn't some home remedy. Claire was practically skinning her alive! Summoning the last of her strength, Yvette shoved Claire away. Caught off guard, Claire cried out and fell to the floor. At that very moment, Yates burst into the room. "Yvette Chandler!" He hurried over to help Claire up, his expression full of concern. When he turned to Yvette, however, his eyes blazed with anger. "You were the one who hurt Claire in the first place! She was willing to put everything behind her and help you get better, and this is how you repay her? You're completely unreasonable!" Yvette was in too much pain to speak. All she could do was glare at him. Claire nestled against Yates's chest, her eyes swimming with tears. "Forget it, Yates. Mrs. Prescott is probably just in too much pain. I don't blame her..." "Well, I do!" Yates snapped, his heart aching for Claire. "She owes you an apology!" He turned toward Yvette. "Apologize to Claire. Now!" Yvette gritted her teeth and stubbornly turned her face away. Her refusal only made him angrier. He glanced at the bodyguards stationed by the door and ordered coldly, "Make her apologize." The bodyguards immediately stepped forward. One of them kicked Yvette hard behind the knees, sending her crashing to the floor with a cry of pain. Before she could recover, the other seized the back of her neck and brutally forced her head down toward Claire's feet. Her forehead struck the floor with a sickening thud. "No!" Claire cried. "Yates, this is too much!" Even Yates seemed taken aback by how far his bodyguards had gone. For a moment, an unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes, but the sight of Claire's distress quickly pushed it aside. He pressed his lips together, his voice hardening. "She's always been too proud. This is the only way she'll learn her lesson and stop bullying you." Then he turned to Claire. "Come on. Leave her alone. There are doctors here to look after her. You should go home and rest." Claire shook her head, looking every bit the kind, considerate woman she pretended to be. "Mrs. Prescott is in this condition partly because of me. I'd feel terrible leaving her like this. I really should stay and look after her." Yates sighed helplessly. "Then go rest in the lounge. I'll get you some of your favorite pastries." Wrapping an arm around Claire, he led her out of the room without sparing another glance at Yvette, who remained on the floor with her forehead swollen and red. Yvette lay there, her forehead and arms throbbing with pain. Yet neither came close to the agony of having her heart completely broken. She watched them walk away together, and for a moment, the sight of Yates overlapped with her memory of the sixteen-year-old boy who'd sworn to protect her forever. Then the memory shattered. There was no going back. Not now. Not ever. A doctor came shortly afterward to treat Yvette's wounds. Exhausted by the pain and her lingering fever, she soon drifted into another restless sleep. By evening, darkness had fallen. Yvette was still half-asleep when thick smoke suddenly filled her lungs, jolting her awake. Beyond her door came the frantic sounds of screaming and running footsteps. "Fire! The hospital's on fire! Everybody get out!" Panic surged through her. Fighting against the pain and weakness in her body, she dragged herself out of bed and opened the door. The corridor was choked with smoke, flames raging all around as terrified patients and staff rushed toward the stairwell. Yvette stumbled after them, struggling to keep up. Just as she reached the stairs, she ran into Claire, who was also trying to escape. In the chaos, Claire tripped over something. Instinctively, she grabbed Yvette's arm, throwing them both off balance. Screaming, they tumbled down the stairs together. Agony shot through Yvette's body, and her vision went black for a moment. She almost passed out again. When she finally managed to lift her head, she realized they'd landed on a partially enclosed landing around a corner. Burning debris had fallen across the only exit, trapping them inside. The smoke was growing thicker by the second, and the flames were spreading. Claire appeared to have injured her foot in the fall and was sitting nearby, sobbing quietly. Yvette tried to push the debris out of the way, but she was far too weak to move it. Every breath of smoke sent her into another violent coughing fit, and her consciousness was beginning to fade. Just as she began to believe she was going to die there, she faintly heard voices outside. One belonged to a rescue worker. The other was a frantic male voice she would have recognized anywhere. "Sir, the fire's too intense! It's too dangerous! You can't go in there!" "Get off me! The woman I love is still inside!" Yates! A moment later, Yvette saw him charging through the smoke and flames, heedless of the danger. His eyes searched the area frantically until they landed on Claire. Without hesitation, he rushed over and swept her into his arms. "Claire! Don't be scared. I'm here!" His voice shook with relief and lingering terror, as though he'd just been spared the unbearable prospect of losing her. Not once did he glance at Yvette, who lay barely alive only a short distance from Claire. With Claire in his arms, Yates turned to leave. Yvette watched him walk away, a boundless coldness spreading through her as the last of her hope gave way to despair. He had barely taken two steps, however, when Claire weakly whispered something in his ear. Chapter 8 Yates stopped in his tracks. After a moment's hesitation, he actually turned back. For one absurd, fleeting moment, Yvette felt a spark of hope. Then she watched him hurry past without so much as looking at her. He crouched where Claire had fallen and searched the floor until he found a small good-luck charm, one corner blackened by the flames. It was the charm Claire always wore close to her body. So that was why he'd come back. Yvette began to laugh. The sound grew louder until tears streamed down her face, mingling with the smoke and heat surrounding her. There had been a time when Yates would panic over the smallest cut on her finger, worrying so much that he'd scoop her into his arms and rush her all the way to the hospital. Now she was barely alive, trapped in a burning building, and he'd come back only for another woman and the little charm she wore. Once he'd retrieved it, Yates gathered Claire into his arms again and rushed out through the flames without looking back. The moment they disappeared, a burning ceiling beam came crashing down toward Yvette with a deafening roar. She closed her eyes, and everything went black. When Yvette regained consciousness, she was back at the mansion. Yates stood beside her bed, looking as though he wanted to explain himself. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a distant, almost rehearsed formality. "Everything was so chaotic during the fire last night. I didn't realize you were trapped in there, too. If I'd known, I would've..." "What would you have done?" Yvette finished the question silently in her heart, the faintest trace of a bitter smile touching her lips. "Would you have left Claire behind to save me first? "Of course not. "When I was the only woman you cared about, you were always there the moment I needed you. "Now that Claire is the only woman you can see, how could you possibly notice me?" she thought bitterly. She was exhausted, too tired to exchange even another word with him. Without a sound, she turned onto her side, giving him her back, and closed her eyes. Her lifeless indifference made Yates frown. He seemed about to say something, but in the end, he merely rubbed his forehead and placed a glass of water and several pills on her nightstand. "Take your medicine." Over the next few days, Yates surprised her by staying at the mansion. He spent most of his time there, even handling company business from his study. Yvette, however, refused to acknowledge him. Her complete, icy indifference became a constant irritation, like a tiny thorn lodged in his heart. It wasn't enough to seriously hurt him, but it bothered him more with every passing day. By the evening of the fifth day, he'd had enough. Setting aside his tablet, Yates approached her bed. "Yvette," he began, his voice tight with barely restrained impatience, "what exactly are you so upset about?" She continued gazing out the window without responding. His patience finally snapped. He grabbed her shoulders and forcibly turned her to face him. "Look at me! I've already told you that Claire is the woman I love now. Of course I was going to put her safety first in a situation that dangerous! Why are you still throwing a tantrum over it?" Only then did Yvette slowly raise her eyes to meet his. There was no anger in them. No accusation. Just an unsettling calm. For some reason, that calm sent a strange jolt through Yates's chest. His frustration intensified, yet there was nothing for him to direct it against. It was like trying to land a punch on a pillow. He studied her for a long moment before finally releasing his grip. Apparently tired of arguing with someone who refused to engage, he wearily rubbed his forehead. "Well, since you're fine now, there's no reason for me to keep wasting my time here. I have plenty of important business to deal with at the office." With that, he turned and walked out of the bedroom without a backward glance. Only after the door had closed did Yvette whisper, so softly that her words were barely audible, "Yates, I'm not angry. "I've given up on you. "I don't expect anything from you anymore. I don't even resent you." True to his word, Yates didn't return over the following days. Without him, Yvette's world suddenly seemed peaceful again. She spent her days quietly recovering, eating her meals, and watching the clouds drift past her window. Occasionally, she picked up her phone and inevitably came across Claire's social media posts. They were filled with pictures of her romantic dates with Yates. What struck Yvette was that every place they visited was somewhere he'd once taken her. There was the restaurant at the top of the mountain where Yates had promised to love Yvette for the rest of his life. There was the beach where they'd once left their footprints together. They even visited the wishing tree where Yvette and Yates had hung a love lock all those years ago. Yates had cut off their old lock and replaced it with a new one bearing his and Claire's names. And just like that, Yates took his new "love" from one place to another, calmly and methodically erasing every trace of the nine years he'd shared with Yvette. It was as easy as wiping chalk from a blackboard. He hadn't hesitated for a second. Chapter 9 One day, Yates brought Claire to live at the mansion. "Yvette, everything that happened before is in the past. Claire still needs time to recover, and I'm not comfortable with her living somewhere else. From today on, she'll be staying here. I hope you can... learn to get along with her." From that day forward, the home Yvette had once shared with Yates became a love nest for him and Claire. Yvette had no choice but to listen to their uninhibited laughter and watch Yates shower Claire with affection. They kissed on the living room couch, made love on the dining room table, and even had sex in front of the piano Yvette used to play. The servants kept their heads down and hurried past, not daring to look or listen. Then, late one night, Yvette was awakened by hurried footsteps and frantic shouting. Opening her bedroom door, she caught sight of Yates rushing down the stairs, his clothes disheveled and his face contorted with a panic she'd never seen before. He was carrying Claire in his arms. Her clothes were just as disheveled, blood was streaming from between her legs, and she was moaning in agony. Looking almost frantic, Yates raced downstairs and out of the mansion. A short while later, the housekeeper, Evelyn Whitmore, came upstairs, wearing a complicated expression. "Mrs. Prescott, Mr. Prescott has ordered me to take you to the hospital." Yvette asked no questions and silently followed her to the car. It wasn't until they arrived at the hospital that she learned what had happened. Yates and Claire had been having sex so roughly that Claire had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum. When she was rushed to the emergency room, the doctors discovered that she was also pregnant. She was hemorrhaging severely, and her condition was critical. She urgently needed a large blood transfusion, but Claire had the rare Rh-negative blood type, and the hospital was running dangerously low. Yvette happened to have Rh-negative blood, too. Ignoring her refusal, Yates had his men take her straight to the blood donation room. "Take her blood!" he shouted at the doctor. "Keep taking it until Claire is out of danger!" The doctor hesitated. "Mr. Prescott, Ms. Chandler is already extremely weak. If we take any more blood, she could..." "I don't care if she dies!" Yates cut him off. "You have to save Claire and our baby!" He didn't care if she died. Lying there, Yvette listened to those chilling words and suddenly remembered something from long ago. She'd once come down with a bad cold, and Yates had stayed beside her bed for three days and nights. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, but he'd refused to leave her side. Holding her hand, he'd pleaded with her over and over. "Yvette, please get better soon. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?" Now, he could stand there and watch them drain her blood, casually declaring that it didn't matter if she died. The grief and sheer absurdity of it overwhelmed her. Darkness swallowed her vision, and she lost consciousness once more. When she woke again, there was no one beside her. Just then, her phone rang. "Ms. Chandler, this is the civil registry. Your mandatory divorce waiting period has ended. You can now come in to collect your finalized divorce papers." Yvette struggled out of bed and made her way out of the hospital room. As she passed Claire's room, she caught sight of Yates leaning over Claire's stomach, his face glowing with the excitement of a man about to become a father. The sight of them nestled together hurt her eyes, but her heart had long since gone numb. Without a word, she turned and walked away. After collecting her divorce papers, Yvette returned to the mansion to pack. She had surprisingly few belongings to take. Most of the jewelry, designer handbags, and expensive clothes Yates had given her over the years were left untouched. While clearing out the bottom drawer of her desk, her fingers brushed against a hard box. Inside was a thick stack of love letters, all written by Yates when they were young. [Yvette, I saw you talking to that guy from the other class today, and I nearly went crazy with jealousy. You're mine, and mine alone.] [Yvette, as soon as I graduate, we're getting married. I'm going to give you the grandest wedding imaginable. I want the whole world to know that Yvette Chandler is Yates Prescott's wife.] [Honey, today marks our 999th day together. Loving you is the best, happiest thing I've ever done. We'll be together forever and grow old side by side.] Yvette read through the letters one by one. She didn't cry, though her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the pages. Eventually, she stood and looked around the home she'd decorated with such care. They'd cooked together in that kitchen, watched movies together, and spent countless hours planning their future. On the living room couch, Yates had once held her in his arms and told her she was his entire world. In their bedroom, they'd fallen asleep wrapped around each other, promising to grow old together. Now, every one of those memories felt like a cruel joke. Yvette took her suitcase to the front door. Then she flicked on a lighter and tossed it toward the curtains. The flames spread rapidly, devouring the couch, the love letters, the piano... As the fire raged, Yvette could almost see herself and Yates at sixteen. They were holding hands, laughing and playing beneath a cherry blossom tree. He tugged at her ponytail, and she chased after him, laughing. Then, little by little, the two figures faded together into the flames until nothing remained. A faint smile touched Yvette's lips before she turned and walked away without looking back. Before her flight took off, Yvette logged onto social media and published one final post. [At sixteen, you promised you'd love me for the rest of your life. At twenty, we got married, and you stood before a priest and swore you'd always be faithful. At twenty-five, you fell in love with another woman. Today, we're divorced. You can take back every promise you ever made. I'm taking back the heart I gave you. From now on, I'm no longer the Mrs. Prescott you tricked into marrying you. I'm just Yvette Chandler. @YatesPrescott] Once the post went through, she switched off her phone, removed the SIM card, and casually tossed it into the trash bag in the seat pocket in front of her.