Late at night.

Fiona Green walked down the empty hospital hallway, heading toward the break room. After a day of intense work, exhaustion showed on her face, and her white coat was slightly wrinkled.

"Dr. Green, the ER just brought in a patient! She's losing a lot of blood—please come quickly!" a young nurse rushed in, her voice filled with panic.

Fiona nodded. "Got it." She immediately quickened her pace and headed toward the ER.

On the moving hospital bed lay a woman with disheveled hair and a deathly pale face, screaming in excruciating pain.

Beside the bed stood a man in a custom-tailored suit, crumpled and stained with bright red blood. Despite this, he looked completely composed, not a trace of distress on his face. His sharp profile and deep-set features were as precise as a sculpture, his tightly pressed lips showing an aloof indifference.

Fiona rushed in, but the moment her eyes landed on the man’s face, she froze. Her face drained of color.

He looked back at her, and after a brief moment of surprise, a faint and ironic glint flickered in his dark eyes. It seemed like fate had a cruel sense of humor—she worked at this hospital, of all places.

Fiona quickly turned her gaze away, fixing her eyes on the patient lying on the bed.

Pulling back the blanket, she was greeted by a gruesome sight—the woman's lower body was soaked in blood, the once-white dress now a vivid, alarming red.

"The child is gone. Prepare for a D&C procedure," Fiona said calmly to the nurse beside her.

Even she had to admire her own composure at that moment.

The nurse handed the surgical consent form to the man standing nearby. He took it, his gold pen flickering under the light as he signed his name with sharp, decisive strokes: "Ethan Blake." His handwriting matched his demeanor—arrogant and detached.

The surgery took over two hours. The baby was already gone before they reached the hospital. All she could do was clean the patient's uterus to minimize the damage.

Walking out of the operating room, Fiona removed her mask and threw it into the disposal bin along with her blue scrubs. She stood at the sink washing her hands when a low, magnetic voice spoke behind her. It was a voice meant to be striking, if not for the cold edge beneath it.

"Don't you have anything to ask me?"Fiona didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to; she had been familiar with that voice for three years.

She washed her hands clean, dried them under the sterilizer, and then turned around slowly.

He stood at the doorway, his tall figure mostly swallowed by shadows. A cigarette dangled loosely between his slender fingers, and wisps of smoke drifted around him. His handsome face was partly obscured by the haze, making him seem distant, almost unreal.

“And you? Don’t you have something to explain?” Fiona met his deep, unreadable eyes. Her face stayed calm, her tone oddly steady, but her trembling hands, hidden behind her back, betrayed her inner turmoil.

She waited for his response. If he said he had done nothing to betray her, she would’ve believed him—lie or not. But he didn’t. His cold silence crushed the last bit of hope she held.

He had walked into her space, brazenly holding another woman—someone who had just lost his child. That, in itself, was a slap to her face. But what hurt even more? He didn’t even bother to offer a single word of explanation.

Ethan Blake, how could you be so cruel?At the same time, Ethan Blake narrowed his eyes, staring at her. He could hardly resist the urge to tear off that indifferent mask she always wore.

Three years of marriage, and no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to provoke her, her reactions never changed—calm, unaffected.

He seriously wondered if this woman even had a heart.

"Fiona, do you know what it means when a woman doesn’t even have the most basic sense of jealousy? Seriously, I don’t know how you see our marriage," he said coldly, tossing the half-burnt cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot. Without waiting for a response, he turned around and walked away.

Fiona Green stood there, watching his figure disappear. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes.

The faint smile on her lips was a mix of bitterness and irony.

Her marriage? It was like guarding an empty, lifeless house. Her marriage meant waiting endlessly, from hope to complete despair.

Her pale hand brushed across her cheek, feeling the wetness left behind. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She hadn’t realized she was still capable of crying because of this man.