He Got What He Wanted... Then Went Mad

Sabrina's Point-of-View

In my past life, I only dared to linger outside Micah Benson's private study, stealing glances at the wall covered in photos of Rowena Fletcher through the crack of the door.

But now, reborn, I wanted to see for myself the woman who made the cold, untouchable man of Raventon Street lower his guard.

"Denton, liquidate all the assets from my parents' trust fund. I want the full amount wired to the Velebrook Bank within three days."

After issuing the order to Denton Gibson, I contacted my lawyer to expedite the divorce agreement. Then, I drove to the Deaf and Non-verbal Community Center in Briar Glen, where Rowena worked.

She was crouched in front of a pile of battered children's books, carefully taping a torn page back together. Beside her stood a sweet-faced boy, communicating with her in sign language.

The late afternoon sun poured through the high windows, casting a golden glow around her frame. She looked untouched by the world, like an angel who had accidentally stumbled into a broken corner of it.

No wonder Micah had lost control because of her.

"Watch out!"

Suddenly, a steel bookshelf beside her creaked and collapsed with a deafening crash. I instinctively took a step back.

But Rowena lunged forward instead. She threw herself over a tiny, trembling kitten, shielding it with her thin frame.

As the steel bookshelf fell, the sharp edge of the rusted frame slashed across her arm. Blood seeped through her white T-shirt in an instant.

She flinched but didn't cry out. Instead, she turned quickly and cradled the terrified kitten in her arms.

"Don't worry. The shelf just tipped over. We'll get it upright again." She gently stroked its fur.

I froze on the spot as I watched her. Rowena's blood dripped onto the floor, a silent testament of her kindness.

Ten minutes later, I took her to a clinic to treat her wound. Her skin was so fair that it nearly looked translucent, but the angry burn scar on her wrist stood out starkly against it.

"What happened here?" I asked.

Rowena looked down and gave a small smile. Then, she explained, "I was burned by an oven while working at a diner. It's old—it doesn't hurt anymore."

But I remembered something Micah's psychiatrist had once said. He despised scars. They reminded him of the fire that had turned his childhood into a nightmare.

Yet he had always accepted Rowena's imperfections.

I took a bank card from my handbag and placed it firmly into her hand. "Use this to fix the place up. Consider it an early gift from me."

In a month, Micah and I would be officially over. I wanted to leave this behind with some dignity.

But Rowena shook her head and pressed the bank card back into my palm. "Thank you, but I can earn my own money."

Just then, her phone buzzed softly. When I saw the encrypted number flash on the screen, a sharp pain cut through me. It was Micah's private line—one I had never gotten access to, not even after 13 years by his side.

On the video call, his voice was low and tender, carrying a warmth I had never known. "Did you get hurt?"

Rowena's ears flushed pink. "It's nothing serious… You don't need to come."

I could already hear the soft growl of an engine pulling up outside.

It took him only 12 minutes to get from the heart of the financial district to the city's old district.

He knew everything about the woman he loved. Rowena had barely gotten scratched, yet he had crossed the entire city for her without hesitation.

The moment he stepped through the door, his eyes held only the reflection of that fragile, innocent woman he adored. There was no space left in them for me.

I let out a soft, bitter laugh.

The last time I collapsed from food poisoning, he had only sent a single message through his housekeeper. "Don't die at home. It's bad luck."

As it turned out, it wasn't that he was incapable of love—he simply didn't think I was someone worth loving.

I gave Rowena a polite smile and took a step back. "Your friend's here. I'll leave you two alone."