Not a Love for Faint Hearts

"She actually agreed? Congrats, Maxwell. You're finally free!" One of the guys laughed.

Inside the private room, Maxwell's friends were still joking, disbelief written all over their faces.

Even Maxwell himself froze for a second when he had heard it. For just a moment, something flickered in his deep, ocean-dark eyes—surprise.

But more than anything… relief.

He raised his arm and waved it carelessly. "Drinks are on me tonight."

The whole room erupted in cheers.

Except for Zoey Bradford. Her stubborn silhouette faded into the chaotic swirl of neon light. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Maxwell glanced back at her one more time.

"How long do you think it'll take before she comes crawling back?" someone asked. "A week? Two?"

Maxwell said with a sneer, "I'd say seven days."

"Seven days from now, I'll marry Nancy. Get ready for my wedding party."

The room exploded in excitement.

Zoey had already left the private room. The sunlight outside was harsh, blinding. Only then did she finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

She forced herself not to cry. Her chest felt hollow, her limbs numb, as she quietly took a cab home.

Her phone kept buzzing. Videos of Maxwell's proposal were everywhere on social media.

She didn't want to look. She told herself not to.

But her thumb betrayed her. She tapped on it anyway.

On the screen, Nancy Westbrook stood there in an outrageously expensive couture dress, her cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide with surprise and delight.

Of course, Zoey knew Nancy.

Nancy was the girl who had stayed by Maxwell's side the longest, the girl he bought a luxury apartment for, the girl who now wore a one-of-a-kind Langue blue diamond ring.

Maxwell had once complained that Nancy was always throwing little tantrums. Every time he wanted to do something, she would lift her chin, her face tight with childish defiance. "Maxwell, I won't be anyone's mistress!"

And so, Maxwell started asking Zoey for a divorce.

Back then, she and Maxwell had built their business from the ground up. But just as success was within reach, he used their marriage to destroy it completely.

She hated him for it. Hated him so much, the only thing she could do was cling to the marriage like a lifeline.

The first time he asked for a divorce was the day she nearly died giving birth. She was hemorrhaging. He stood by her hospital bed, cold and detached.

"Sign the divorce papers, and I'll sign the consent form for your surgery."

The second time was the day she got into a car accident.

"Agree to the divorce, and I'll call an ambulance." His voice cold as ice.

...

The ninety-ninth time was when she'd been kidnapped. Shot. A bullet lodged in her heart. He called her from his phone. His voice, as cold as ever.

"Agree to the divorce, and I'll pay the ransom."

And now, the hundredth time…

She was just tired. Completely, utterly tired.

She hadn't wanted to give in. But the doctor had told her that her heart wouldn't hold out much longer. Seven days, maybe. After that... death.

She walked into the dim, silent villa. Despair seeped into every corner. Even then, the tears wouldn't come. Because she remembered—she was the one who had chased after Maxwell first.

Back then, Maxwell was the crown prince of Asterhaven's elite. Distant. Unreachable.

But as a child, she had always clung to him.

He never liked it. Never warmed to her. Her presence only ever seemed to annoy him.

And yet…

It was that same cold, detached boy who had charged into a burning building, over and over, to drag her out of the flames. He had pulled her back from the brink of death with his own hands.

Her parents had died in that fire. Afterward, she didn't speak for a long time.

It was Maxwell who sat patiently beside her, helping her learn to talk again. And whenever anyone mocked her broken speech, he didn't hesitate—he would beat them until they were on the floor, three ribs snapped.

At night, when the darkness terrified her, he'd stay awake telling her stories. They'd stay up all night long, talking. He never left her alone in the dark.

She had truly believed… she was loved.

So when he knelt down and offered her the simplest, plainest little ring, she didn't hesitate. She said yes.

But after the wedding... by the time she realized what was happening, her family's business was already stripped bare, hollowed out beyond repair.

And when she burst into his office, demanding to know why...

All she saw was Maxwell, holding Nancy in his arms, kissing her deeply.

Her mind went blank. Rage and shock hit her like a thunderclap.

"You saw that?" Maxwell asked, calm as ever. "Divorce me. Nancy deserves a proper title."

In that moment, it felt like ten thousand arrows pierced her heart.

She went mad. She lunged at him, screaming, demanding why. But the ice in his eyes froze her to the core.

"You really thought I loved you?" His voice was so cold it hurt. "Zoey, when your mother drove mine to her death… do you think she felt this same kind of despair?"

That was the moment she understood.

He hated her.

He had hated her for ten full years.

And so, like a cornered dog, she fought. Fought with everything she had left, clinging to the one thing she still owned—their marriage.

She refused to bow her head.

But now… she was dying. Even thinking about it made her feel pathetic.

Pride was Zoey's armor. She'd rather choke on blood than let anyone see her stumble. Even death wouldn't be granted the satisfaction of her surrender.

She wouldn't let Maxwell collect her corpse.

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when she jolted awake.

In the dream, Maxwell had held her gently. Red roses covered every surface, blooming endlessly. His eyes were full of warmth and tenderness as he said, "Zoey, let's be husband and wife… forever."

But when she opened her eyes, there was only darkness.

Her phone buzzed with a new post from Maxwell's feed.

A flash of crimson. A crumpled bedsheet.

The caption read: [Finally… with the love of my life.]