DAMIEN FORST E O LABIRINTO DO MINO-REI

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, the warmth from the man's waist still lingering on her fingertips.

She did not push him away. Instead, she looked at me with the kind of indulgent exasperation someone might reserve for a spoiled child.

As if I were the one being unreasonable.

"So, you're making this big of a scene this time, Mr. Sinclair?" she asked leisurely as she pulled out a tissue and wiped her fingers. "You're even giving up the assets. What, are you trying to leave me with nothing?"

"I don't want your things," I repeated calmly. "The cars, the houses, the shares. Everything you transferred to me under your name, I've already signed away."

She stared at me for two seconds. Then, she laughed.

The laugh carried her usual flippancy, along with a trace of unease so faint it was almost impossible to detect.

"Don't want any of it?" she echoed. "Then what do you want? You want me to stay faithful to you? You want me to spend every second revolving around you like some obedient pet?"

At last, she pushed the man away.

He let out an unhappy sound, but one look from her was enough to make him retreat beneath the covers.

"Julian, I've told you before." She rose to her feet and walked toward me without a shred of embarrassment, her presence as overwhelming as ever.

"I love you more than anyone else. But loving only you would be boring. It's like steak. I love steak, but I can't eat steak every single day."

She reached for my face. I turned my head slightly and avoided her touch.

Her hand froze in midair before dropping. Then she lightly patted my cheek. "Be good and go home. Tonight I'll cook dinner myself. I'll make your favorite pan-seared sea bass."

"No need," I interrupted. "Just sign it."

I pressed the fountain pen into her hand.

For the first time, Evelyn's careless expression faded. She stared into my eyes, searching for even the slightest crack in my composure. But all she found was her own unfamiliar reflection.

"You're serious?" Her voice lowered, carrying a dangerous edge.

"When have I ever not been serious?" I asked.

Something seemed to occur to her, and her expression shifted. But the confidence quickly returned.

She spread the agreement open, skipped over the contents entirely, and signed the last page without reading a word.

"Julian, I don't believe you'll actually leave me. There. Signed." She pushed the papers back toward me. "Don't forget dinner at Mom's tomorrow. She's been asking about you for weeks."

With that, she turned back toward the bed and bent down to whisper to the man.

"Don't be scared. He'd never really divorce me. We've been together for seven years. He hasn't held a job in all that time. How would he survive without me? Let's continue."

I picked up the agreement and walked out.

The moment the door closed behind me, I heard the man complain softly, "Ms. Bennett, your husband is so scary."

Evelyn laughed. "He can't live without me. It's been seven years. He doesn't even have a job. How could he possibly survive on his own?"

I tightened my grip on the agreement until my knuckles turned white.

She had probably forgotten. Seven years ago, I had been Seaport's youngest licensed senior architect. I was the one who had given up my career for her.

I had barely walked out of the room when a sharp pain twisted through my stomach.

All these years, I had spent my life taking care of everyone else. Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to take care of myself. My stomach had already been ruined by years of stress and neglect.

I turned around immediately and knocked on the door, hoping Evelyn would take me to the hospital.

Her cold laugh came from inside. "Weren't you acting so tough a minute ago? Now you're panicking? Wait. I'm not finished yet. Let me calm this one down first, then I'll deal with you."

No matter how many times I knocked after that, she never answered again.

Only her companion, Nathaniel Parker, came out.

The moment he saw the blood at the corner of my mouth, he smiled. "You're a grown man, and you don't even know how to wipe your mouth after eating. Even I feel embarrassed for Ms. Bennett."

"No, it's my stomach—"

Nathaniel kicked my hand aside and deliberately exposed the marks covering his body. "Ms. Bennett and I aren't done having fun yet. No matter how urgent you think this is, you'll have to wait your turn."

Then he slammed the door shut. The heavy wooden door scraped across my hand, leaving a deep bloody gash. I collapsed onto the floor and lost consciousness completely.

In the end, it was a hotel employee who called an ambulance and got me to the hospital.

Half of my stomach had to be removed. As I lay on the cold operating table, there was only one feeling left in my heart.

Relief.