Chapter 3

When I saw the scene before me, I staggered and grabbed the doorframe to keep myself from collapsing.

As I remembered the years of coldness he had shown me, something like a surge of electricity ripped through my body, then a sharp pain followed by a hollow numbness.

The love I once felt for this man drained away completely.

I showed the marriage certificate to him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t come again.

“From now on, nothing about your life has anything to do with me.

“There’s no need for a wedding either.

“And if there is one, it would be between my husband and me.”

Charlie froze, disbelief twisting his expression.

“Are you insane, Kendall? You actually registered a marriage with that lunatic?

“Ridiculous! When you divorce him and marry me, wouldn’t that make me the fool who married a used woman?”

Even now, that was all he cared about.

As if, after everything, the worst disaster he faced was the possibility that the great heir of the Boyds might have to marry a second‑hand bride.

He still believed I would eventually marry him.

Crystal had finally managed to put on her clothes and covered her mouth with a soft laugh.

“You really humiliated yourself and Mr. Boyd by acting without thinking just because you were angry?

“If the news spreads, what would people say about him?”

I laughed coldly.

Who was the one who forced me to marry Conrad?

Who was the one who abandoned me at the wedding and came here to fool around, pretending he had a meeting?

And now, everything has somehow become my fault.

Charlie went to pour a glass of water for Charlie.

When she approached, she brushed against something and let out a delicate cry as she fell onto the carpet.

Hot liquid splashed everywhere and seeped into the hem of Charlie’s trousers.

He immediately crouched down to help her.

When he reached for tissues and found the box empty, he barked at me, “Hand me your scarf!”

I froze.

That light sky‑blue velvet scarf was the one he had given me when he confessed to me.

He had asked about my favorite color and fabric in advance, and—despite being who he was—made it by hand himself, spending a full month on it.

He told me it was the most effort he had ever put into a gift in his life, and that I had to wear it every day.

I agreed—and I did.

And now, just because Crystal had spilled water on him, he demanded it back as if it meant nothing.

The last thread of sentiment inside me broke.

I smiled, removed the scarf, and, from a full meter away, tossed it straight onto the two of them.

“Here. I’m returning it. We’re finished.”

He hurried to wipe the water off Crystal with that scarf and scolded me without even lifting his head.

“It’s just an old scarf, why are you making a fuss? You look so pathetic! You can wash it—or buy another one anywhere on the street!”

So he had even forgotten he made it himself.

I refused to say another word and turned to leave.

My footsteps seemed to provoke him, and he shouted, “Who do you think you are? I’m not putting up with this!

“I’m giving you a way out now—if you don’t take it, even if you beg me later, it’ll be useless!”