The next day at Villa Celeste, the stillness of the early morning was broken by Aunty Yang's concerned voice.

"Ma'am, are you there?" Her voice carried a hint of worry.

"Ma'am, is everything okay?" She called out again, louder this time.

Her voice roused Han Xue, who lay crumpled on the floor, leaning against the couch in an uncomfortable kneeling position. The sharp morning sunlight streamed through the windows, making her feel dizzy. She tried to rise, but her knees gave way, having been numb from sleeping in such an awkward position all night.

It was only by chance that a rug had been beneath her, sparing her from the biting cold of the marble floor.

Aunty Yang, growing more concerned, opened the door. The sight that greeted her left her momentarily frozen. Han Xue lay on the ground, weak and pale, as though she hadn’t moved all night. The moment Aunty entered, Han Xue sneezed, further alarming her.

Aunty Yang rushed to her side, gently lifting her to sit on the couch. “Aiya, Ma'am, what happened? Did you spend the entire night like this?” she asked, her voice filled with concern as she hurried to grab a blanket and draped it over her.

She hesitated before softly asking, "Did Sir... did Sir do something? Is he treating you badly?"

Han Xue’s voice was faint as she replied, “No, it’s not about him.”

And then she fell silent.

Sensing her fragile mood, Aunty Yang didn’t press further. Instead, she quietly fetched a cup of warm water and informed her, “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, and Sir is expecting you in the dining room.”

Han Xue's heart trembled at the mention of Haoran, but she merely nodded as she took the cup, offering a soft hum in response.

Aunty Yang was about to leave the room when she noticed a burn on Han Xue’s right forearm. “Oh, Ma'am, your hand... it’s completely burned!”

Alarmed, Aunty Yang quickly grabbed some ointment and began applying it to the burn. “Does it hurt a lot?” she asked gently.

To Han Xue, the question felt almost absurd. She didn't know what hurt anymore—her body, her heart, or the last shred of hope that had vanished last night. Everything felt numb now.

“No... it doesn't hurt anymore,” she replied in a hollow voice.

Seeing Aunty was almost finished with the ointment, Han Xue weakly stood up, the weight of her acceptance settling in. "I’ll come down," she said, as if accepting the fate she couldn't escape.

She walked toward the washroom, telling herself, 'After all, it was never meant to be. It’s all over now.'

In the mirror, her reflection looked pale and drained, but she steeled herself to appear strong in front of the man who had always remained a stranger to her. She took a quick, hot shower, though it was a struggle as her burn stung painfully.

As she dressed in her walk-in closet—an enviable dream for many, yet to her, a gilded cage of unhappiness—she chose a simple, black knee-length A-line dress. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, her makeup was light and subtle, masking her exhaustion. She paused for a moment, staring at her wedding ring, wondering if she should still wear it, but had it had ever mattered. Haoran had always believed what he wanted, never bothering to ask her side. What was even the point anymore?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Aunty Yang’s voice from outside. “Ma'am, are you okay? Are you coming down? Do you need any help?”

Han Xue didn’t respond. She simply left the dressing area and walked toward the door, ready to face the day.

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Aunty Yang trailed behind her as they made their way downstairs, the older woman noticing Han Xue sneeze again. She hurried to offer a handkerchief. “Ma'am, if you're not feeling well, I can let Sir know—”

Han Xue remained silent, taking the handkerchief as they reached the dining hall.

Her eyes briefly met Haoran’s, who sat at the dining table, meticulously eating his breakfast. He was already dressed for the office, wearing a sharp dark grey suit, his expensive cufflinks catching the morning light, and a Patek Philippe watch adorning his wrist. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, noticing the absence of his wedding ring—a small detail she hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity.

When was the last time I even saw that ring on his hand? she wondered, the thought leaving a dull ache in her chest.

The glance they shared was fleeting and cold, like two strangers who had been forced to cross paths. Haoran's eyes flickered away almost immediately, as though meeting her gaze for even a second more would taint him. It was as if the space between them had grown so vast that any connection, however small, was a burden neither was willing to bear.

Before she could sit down, he shoved a folder across the table toward her. “Here. Sign it.”

The temperature in the dining room seemed to drop by several degrees. All the servants, though silent, could sense the tension. They could only guess what the papers contained, but they saw, for the first time, that Madam, usually polite and neutral, now held the same coldness and darkness that their Sir was known for.

For a moment, it seemed Han Xue had become just like him.

Han Xue’s gaze remained icy as she sat down without even glancing at the folder. She exuded elegance and a regal air, as if she were the one in control. The butler served her food, and she began eating quietly, ignoring Haoran’s presence completely. The only sound in the room was the soft clinking of cutlery.

Suddenly, a sneeze broke the silence. Haoran glanced at her casually, taking in her poised demeanor. Despite her powerful presence, there was something about her today that seemed as though she had lost everything. His thoughts twisted. Was she only showing her true colors now that she was free of this marriage? Shouldn’t she be happy? Or is this all just grief for her lover? Even now, he refused to consider the possibility that her pain could be connected to him.

Aunty Yang returned with a warm medicinal drink for Han Xue. “Ma'am, please drink this for your cold.”

Han Xue glanced at her with the faintest warmth in her eyes—Aunty Yang was the only person in the house who had ever shown her any kindness. “I’m fine,” she muttered.

“But Ma'am—” Aunty Yang began, only to be interrupted by three quick sneezes from Han Xue.

“Achoo… achoo… achoo…”

Her nose turned pink, and embarrassment colored her cheeks. Haoran found the sight oddly endearing, though it frustrated him. Today, more than ever, she seemed like a stranger—someone he had never truly known.

As his frustration boiled over, Zi Haoran stood abruptly, the clatter of his chair against the floor cutting through the heavy silence of the room. Just then, Shen Mu descended the stairs, sweat beading on his forehead, struggling with two pieces of luggage in hand.

“Sir, I’ve packed everything important,” Shen Mu announced, his voice strained under the weight of the tension and the heavy bags.

The sight of the luggage sent a wave of shock through the room. The servants exchanged glances, but no one dared to speak. The air felt thicker, colder, as the reality of the situation became painfully clear.

Han Xue’s eyes flickered briefly toward the bags before refocusing on her plate, as if the sight meant nothing to her. She continued eating with an elegance that belied the storm brewing inside her. No one could tell what she was thinking, and she made sure of it—her mask firmly in place.

But a single thought echoed in her mind: He’s in such a hurry to leave me…

She swallowed the bitterness along with her food, her expression betraying none of the pain that had lodged itself deep within her chest.

Haoran shot a glance at Han Xue and, in a cold, final tone, said, “Sign it and send it to my office by tonight.”

It wasn’t just a command—it was an ultimatum.

But Han Xue, as though speaking to a stranger herself, replied with chilling detachment, “I’ll think about it.”

Haoran’s gaze darkened. “Do you think I’m giving you an option?” he snapped.

She met his eyes, her voice calm and unyielding. “Does it matter?”

Leaning back in her chair, she gave him a cold stare, her face glowing in the sunlight, her exhaustion and coldness more apparent than ever. Her arms rested on the chair's armrests like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her voice was sharp as ice.

“If you have the ability to forge my signature to get what you want, why bother waiting until tonight?” she said, pushing the folder of divorce papers toward him without even bothering to open it.

The servants and Shen Mu stood frozen, too terrified to make a sound. The room felt like Antarctica, the tension between them palpable.

Haoran, his anger reaching its limit, stormed out of the room, Shen Mu rushing after him, asking the servants to help with the luggage. Moments later, the sound of the Ghost’s engine roaring to life echoed from outside.

By now, Han Xue had already risen from her chair. She walked slowly toward the living room windows, where she could watch the garden driveway below. Standing at an angle where no one from the ground could see her, she observed as the car pulled away.

Shen Mu had hoped Madam would stop the boss, that she would say something to resolve it all, but she had given up this time.

Han Xue stood motionless, watching the car disappear down the road. As the cold mask fell away from her face, a single tear slid down her cheek.

Moments later, a loud thud echoed through the villa.

The servants rushed in.

“Ma'am has collapsed!”

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