Chapter 3: The Countdown to Ruin

Time moved forward without ever caring about a heart that was slowly dying.

One day, two days, three days—even an entire week had passed since that tear-filled night in the apartment. For the past seven days, Emma had been trying to gather the shattered remnants of her hope. Whenever an opportunity arose—during their silent breakfasts together or when the atmosphere between them softened ever so slightly—Emma would always slip in the same question.

A question about her status.

About certainty.

About their future.

But Zane's answer was always the same.

Monotonous, cold, and utterly devastating.

"Don't start this again, Emma. We've talked about this hundreds of times," Zane had said two days ago without even looking up from the script in his hands.

For some reason, Emma felt that Zane harbored an intense hatred, a deep trauma, or an absolute rejection toward the institution called marriage. Every time the word marriage left Emma's lips, the passionate look Zane usually gave her would instantly turn into a cold glare filled with disgust.

But enough was enough.

Emma had reached the point where she no longer wanted to know or care about the reason behind that trauma. Her soul was simply too exhausted to keep begging for understanding.

Today, as Zane's personal assistant, Emma had no choice but to set aside her pride and her broken heart.

She stood in a corner of the filming set for a romantic mini-drama starring Zane. The air inside the studio felt suffocating, but not nearly as suffocating as Emma's chest when she saw who Zane's co-star was today.

Violet Iris.

The blonde actress wore a bright smile, looking especially excited as the director called everyone to prepare for the main scene.

"Alright, Zane, Violet, we're doing the close-up kissing scene. Make it as intimate as possible! The scriptwriters want the emotions to explode!" the director shouted through a megaphone.

Emma stood behind the crew's monitor, gripping the bottle of mineral water in her hand until the plastic crackled softly.

Under the bright studio lights, Zane wrapped an arm around Violet's waist with a movement that was both smooth and possessive. When their lips met, it wasn't just a professional kiss between actors.

Emma could see the way Zane's strong jaw shifted.

The way his fingers settled firmly at the back of Violet's neck.

The way he deepened the kiss as though the world around them had ceased to exist.

Zane was enjoying it.

He looked incredibly skilled.

So alive.

So full of passion beneath another woman's touch.

Stop.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away.

Her chest pounded violently, consumed by overwhelming jealousy.

Damn it.

She hated herself for still being capable of feeling such burning jealousy.

She loved that bastard far too much.

The man who had shared a bed with her for seven years, yet at the same time believed that she—and every other woman in the world—was nothing more than a toy that could be replaced at any moment.

Unable to endure the suffocating atmosphere any longer, Emma stepped back and quietly left the busy filming area.

She walked toward Zane's private VIP lounge.

On the table sat a bottle of red wine that had been prepared either as a prop or for Zane's personal enjoyment after filming.

Without thinking, Emma grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork, and drank the dark red liquid straight from it.

The bitter warmth immediately burned down her throat, bringing the numbness she desperately needed.

The lounge door was suddenly pushed open.

Zane strode inside, breathing slightly heavily, his filming makeup still flawlessly covering his handsome face.

The moment his eyes landed on Emma drinking the wine, the mocking smirk on his face disappeared, replaced by unmistakable anger.

Crossing the room in long strides, Zane snatched the bottle from Emma's hand so forcefully that several drops of red wine splashed onto the front of her white shirt.

"Since when did you start drinking alcohol, Emma?!" Zane shouted, his deep voice echoing with anger and accusation.

Emma stared at her now-empty hand before slowly lifting her head.

The alcohol, hitting her empty stomach far too quickly, had already begun making her eyes hazy.

Yet her gaze pierced straight into Zane's.

A bitter, sarcastic smile filled with pain curved across her lips.

"Since I realized..." Emma let out a soft laugh as she stepped one pace closer to him, the scent of alcohol lingering between them.

"...that you don't love me, Zane. Since I realized that you probably never will... and that you'll never want to marry me."

Zane's face instantly hardened.

The knuckles gripping the neck of the wine bottle turned white.

"Emma! Lower your voice!" Zane snapped through clenched teeth, glancing toward the closed door, worried that a crew member or journalist might overhear them.

He grabbed Emma by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

"Emma, we agreed from the very beginning when this relationship started. There would be no serious relationship, no love, and no marriage! This kind of relationship... has worked perfectly fine for both of us for the past seven years, hasn't it? Why do you have to ruin it now?!"

Hearing those incredibly selfish words, Emma felt something inside her chest finally die.

The warmth she used to feel every time Zane embraced her disappeared without a trace.

Emma shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

"Yes... you're right," Emma whispered.

Her smile widened.

But the emptiness in her eyes sent an unexpected chill through Zane's body.

"You're absolutely right, Young Master Zane."

"This relationship has been very comfortable... for you."

Without waiting for his reply, Emma picked up her handbag.

Her head was spinning violently now.

The wine had taken effect far too quickly.

She didn't want to remain in the same room with Zane for even one more second.

Emma walked out of the lounge, ignoring Zane as he called her name in frustration.

She staggered toward the luxury hotel directly connected to the filming studio.

Her head felt unbearably heavy.

Her vision blurred.

Reaching into her pocket, she found the hotel keycard she had received earlier from the front desk for the room where she was supposed to rest while Zane attended his post-filming interview.

"Room... 6006," Emma mumbled hoarsely as she read the number printed on the digital key holder.

She rode the elevator to the sixth floor, her body swaying unsteadily.

When the elevator doors opened, a long, silent hotel corridor greeted her.

Emma walked slowly along the hallway, occasionally leaning against the wall as her shoulder brushed lightly against the doors she passed.

Emma's footsteps came to a halt in front of a room.

Through her blurred vision and alcohol-clouded mind, the number on the door looked like 6006.

In reality, because the top screw of one of the metal numbers had come loose and her vision was distorted from intoxication, the room number was actually 6009.

The slightly tilted number 9 looked like a 6, making it the presidential suite at the end of the corridor.

Emma pressed her keycard against the door handle.

But before the card could flash green, her trembling hand accidentally pushed the handle.

The door opened with ease.

It hadn't been locked properly from the inside.

Emma frowned, her alcohol-numbed mind unable to process how strange that was.

"Ah... why wasn't the door locked? Did I forget to lock it earlier?" she murmured indifferently.

She stepped into the spacious, luxurious room.

The suite was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner.

Heat spread throughout Emma's body, a secondary effect of the premium wine mixing with the overwhelming emotions surging inside her chest.

Emma tossed her handbag aside.

With clumsy, impatient movements, she began taking off her clothes.

Her wine-stained white shirt landed on the floor, followed by her trousers.

Now, only a black bra and a pair of lace panties remained, hugging her curvy, well-proportioned body.

She climbed onto the enormous super king-size bed in the center of the room.

The mattress felt unbelievably soft and comforting, like an embrace she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Emma lay on her stomach, wrapping her arms tightly around the cool silk pillow.

"Zane..." Emma let out a soft laugh that sounded unbearably sorrowful in the silence of the room.

Tears once again slipped from her eyes, dampening the pillow beneath her face.

"Twenty-three days left... yes, twenty-three more days. If you still can't love me... then fine. I'll throw away these foolish feelings too. I'll leave..." Emma mumbled incoherently. The alcohol was slowly stealing the last of her consciousness, dragging her into a hazy, melancholic delirium.

At that very moment, the sound of running water coming from the bathroom in the corner of the suite gradually came to a stop.

The frosted glass door slowly slid open.

Warm steam drifted into the room, carrying the lingering scent of luxurious sandalwood and cedarwood soap—a fragrance far different from, and far richer and more mature than, the cologne Zane usually wore.

A middle-aged man stepped out of the bathroom.

He was dressed in a plain white satin bathrobe loosely tied around his waist, exposing part of his broad, still-firm chest marked with the defined muscles of a mature man.

His jawline was sharp, accentuated by a neatly trimmed beard along his chin.

His black hair, now streaked with a few strands of gray at the temples, was still damp, giving him an air of undeniable charisma and authority—the unmistakable presence of a cold-blooded, mature man accustomed to standing at the very top of the business world.

The man was Lucas Moura Blackwood.

Lucas was drying his hair with a small towel when his footsteps suddenly stopped at the foot of the bed.

His sharp, ice-cold eyes narrowed the instant they landed on a sight he had never expected to find on his private bed.

A strange woman.

She was lying on her stomach with her back facing him.

The smooth, flawless skin of her bare back was completely exposed, contrasting beautifully with the black bra wrapped around her body and the graceful curve of her slender waist.

Under the dim bedroom lighting, the silhouette of her figure looked irresistibly alluring, creating an extraordinarily sensual sight for any normal man.

Lucas said nothing.

He simply stood motionless beside the bed, his eyes fixed on Emma as she continued murmuring softly in her drunken sleep.

Slowly, Lucas's prominent Adam's apple bobbed heavily.

Something that had long lain dormant inside the powerful man was suddenly disturbed, violently awakened by a single glance at the unfamiliar woman.