Chapter 4

Yes. Ten years.

She had given up the chance to study in Paris, given up her dream of becoming a painter, willing to become the shadow behind him, to become the perfect "Mrs. Hamilton." She managed his social connections, cared for his sick mother until she passed away, and endured those lonely nights.

And what was the return?

A cold prenuptial agreement, anniversaries forgotten time and again, and the hand of a young woman in a red bandage dress resting on his arm.

The weakness in Vivian's eyes gradually faded, replaced by a resolve she had never possessed before. It was the instinct to fight back after being pushed to the brink.

"What do you need me to do?" Vivian asked.

Lee Yun-jin curled her lips in satisfaction, pulled a fountain pen from her bag, and handed it to Vivian.

"First, we need to freeze his assets before he notices. Second, I need you to recall: in the past year, has he brought home any strange documents, flash drives, or received any mysterious phone calls at home? Any detail could be a breakthrough."

Vivian took the pen, the cold metallic touch sobering her.

"The study," she said. "He has a safe in his home study. Although he never lets me in, I know the code."

"What is the code?"

"1123." Vivian smiled ironically. "Our wedding anniversary. He always uses this date for passwords because he thinks it represents 'commitment.' How ironic."

Lee Yun-jin's eyes lit up. "Excellent. That is a perfect start."

...

3:45 AM, 740 Park Avenue.

The elevator doors slid open silently, and Alexander Hamilton stumbled out.

He had drunk too much. That top-shelf tequila had a kick, making his steps unsteady and his vision blurred. His tie was missing, three buttons on his shirt were undone, and his suit jacket smelled of cigars and that intense perfume from Scarlett.

"Vivian?" he called out slurredly, his voice echoing in the empty foyer.

No one answered.

The apartment was pitch black, with only the moonlight from outside spilling onto the cold marble floor.

Alexander frowned, leaning against the wall to change his shoes. Usually, no matter how late he returned, a warm yellow lamp would be left on in the foyer, and Vivian would always be sitting in the living room in her robe, holding a cup of hangover tea waiting for him.

But today, there was nothing.

"Mad?" he muttered, an inexplicable irritation rising in his chest. "It's just an anniversary..."

He swayed as he walked into the dining room.

By the faint light from the window, he saw the scene on the dining table.

The candles in the silver candelabra had burned out, leaving only a pool of solidified wax. The decanted red wine was still full, but had already oxidized and turned sour. The elaborately cooked Beef Wellington lay quietly on the plate, long since stone cold, the fat congealed into white clumps, looking nauseating.

Alexander approached the table, casually reaching for the wine bottle to pour a glass, but his shaking hand knocked over a goblet.

With a *crash*, the crystal glass shattered.

He looked down and cursed, but his gaze was suddenly drawn to a glinting point beside the steak plate.

He narrowed his eyes and leaned in for a closer look.

It was a ring.

A ten-carat emerald-cut diamond ring. He had given it to her on their fifth anniversary; back then, he had smugly said that this diamond represented his eternal love for her.

Now, this priceless ring was discarded casually beside the cold steak, like a piece of worthless trash.

Alexander's drunkenness instantly evaporated by half.

A panic he had never felt before crawled up his spine like a venomous snake. This wasn't just anger; this wasn't just the silent treatment.

This was a declaration.

"Vivian!"

He shouted, rushing toward the master bedroom.

He shoved the door open and flipped on the lights.

The bed was made with pristine Egyptian cotton sheets, without a single wrinkle, and without human warmth.

He rushed into the walk-in closet. It was filled with the season's latest haute couture gowns; Hermès bags were stacked neatly on the shelves, and necklaces and earrings sparkled under the lights in the jewelry box.

Everything was there. The "love" he had piled up with money—it was all there.

Only the person who should have been there had vanished.

Alexander stood in the center of the empty closet, looking at himself in the mirror—disheveled, drunk, his face full of shock.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed Vivian.

"Sorry, the subscriber you dialed has powered off."

The cold, mechanical female voice repeated over and over.

Alexander collapsed onto the carpet, clutching his phone tightly. In this moment, inside this mansion worth tens of millions of dollars, at the pinnacle of the city he thought he had conquered, he felt a bone-chilling cold for the first time.

This chill didn't come from the winter night wind, but from that woman who was always gentle and submissive, yet who had now left with absolute resolution.

But he didn't know yet—this was only the beginning.

A few blocks away at The Carlyle Hotel, a divorce agreement capable of destroying his entire empire was taking shape under Lee Yun-jin's pen.