I didn't expect that before the divorce was even finalized, Lucian had already harmed himself. Quietly, without a sound.
This only deepens my curiosity—what on earth has Lucian been through, that he'd go so far as to hide even the pain he inflicts on himself, terrified of anyone finding out?
A man who stood nearly two meters tall, his eyes red-rimmed, crouched in the corner of the wall, shirt sleeves rolled up high. He looked helpless and pitiable as he dragged a knife across his wrist, blood pouring out steadily.
He seemed immune to pain.
Numb, yet utterly shocking.
I had to admit, at this moment, I felt pity for him.
As I loomed over him, curled up in the corner, he panicked, hurriedly hiding his injured wrist behind his back, his lips trembling, "Marie, I... I hope you don't hate me."
I slowly took the blade from his hand and, with disinfecting swabs, carefully tended to his wounds. Several times, he tried to pull away, turning his face aside, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Don't touch me, I'm dirty..."
I raised my eyes to look at him, gently asking, "Does it not hurt?" He remained silent. For a moment, the room felt eerily still.
Unexpectedly, I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, patiently coaxing him, "I'm your wife. If there's something on your mind, you can tell me. Don't keep it bottled up."
"Why do you always think I hate you?"
I gently turned his face toward me, staring into his eyes, which were wet with panic. "Lucian, I've never hated you. It's you who's been avoiding me."
"You pushed me away, and now you're hurting yourself."
"We're married, Lucian. Is there something you can't say to me directly?"
He lowered his head, his lips trembling slightly, leaving only his pale, full forehead visible to me. His hand clenched tightly around the fabric of his trousers.
However, the wound I had just bandaged was now torn open again.
Reluctantly, I reached for the medical gauze once more.
"They said you never wanted to marry me, that you even tried to run away..." So, was this the reason he thought I hated him? I met his panicked, averted gaze and spoke again.
"No woman would willingly marry a man she didn't know."
"Lucian, look at me. Don't turn away."
"I'm already married to you, aren't I? I'm your wife."
"I've tried to get close to you, to understand you, but you not only didn't appreciate it, you kept pushing me away."
"Lucian, don't you care about your own dignity?"
His eyes were misty, and it seemed as if he was speaking to himself, determined, "So, now you're just resigned to this."
"What else could I do? Have you given me any other choice?"
He fell silent, his burning tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
I realized, a little too late, that I had said something wrong. Quietly, I continued to tend to his wound.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and the air was thick with the raw, magnetic scent of Lucian's presence.
I thought back to the online comments about him. Lucian was wealthy, young, handsome, with an amazing physique, but he was also known for keeping his distance from women, never chasing after fleeting desires.
Any woman who could marry him was considered to have earned great luck in her past life.
But now, he looked like a wounded little deer, sitting in front of me, his eyes glistening with vulnerability, fragile yet alluring. The truth was, my past life of trying to please him wasn't entirely due to resignation, was it?
At least I was willing to spend my life with him.
Marrying him was a win for me. I hastily tried to clarify, "No, I didn't mean it like that..." Lucian, however, spoke at the same time, his voice cautious and barely audible, like a whisper.
"I just feel guilty, guilty for tying you to me out of selfish desire, unable to face you..."
"Then why are you still doing this?"
"Why did you have to marry me?"
"Tell me."
Lucian's face flushed red, his head lowered, and the hem of his navy suit was tightly clenched in his fist. I couldn't help but laugh softly.
"Because you like me, don't you?"
I gently unfolded his hand, my gaze full of sincerity, "Lucian, you should be confident. You're so handsome, even your hands seem blessed by the heavens. How could there be a woman who wouldn't like you?"
The tension in the room dropped abruptly.
Lucian's voice was hoarse, almost frostbitten, as he responded, "So, it's because I'm handsome that you're willing to marry me?"
Naturally, with no understanding of him at all, it was his face that caught my attention first.
… And once again, Lucian asked me to leave.
He promised he wouldn't harm himself anymore.
I, utterly confused, couldn't understand which of my words had triggered him. I cursed silently in my mind, calling him crazy.
And just like that, my anger faded.
But I didn't expect to run into Lucian's newest signed artist outside the company. Olivia King, dressed in a mint green gown, exuding an ethereal and gentle presence, was affectionately called "the modern-day goddess" by online fans.
A shadow passed over my eyes.
No one knew that in my past life, the final straw that led to my divorce from Lucian was actually her. She was also my half-sister.
