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When Amelia reached the door of the private suite, the sound of glass shattering echoed from within. Fearing for Chris, she pushed inside without thinking. "Chris, are you—"

The room was filled with the city’s elite. In the center, Chris Spencer lounged on a velvet sofa, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking every bit the cold, noble heir he was. Beside him sat a gorgeous woman, her hand resting intimately on his shoulder.

The sight felt like a physical blow. Amelia almost wished her vision would fail her again so she wouldn't have to witness her husband’s comfort with another woman.

"What are you doing here?" Chris’s voice cut through the music, sharp and full of disdain.

Amelia froze. Looking at his disgusted expression, she realized she had been lured here by Leila’s message. He wasn't in trouble; he was simply reminding her of her place.

"I... I thought you needed assistance," Amelia managed to say, her voice small.

Chris sneered. "Your excuses are as transparent as your family’s lies."

"Chris, don't be so hard on her. She’s just playing the devoted wife," the woman beside him said with a saccharine smile. This was Leila Ross—the ex-girlfriend whose return had been the talk of the town.

"Does she even have the right to care?" Chris countered, standing up. He leaned down, his voice a lethal whisper in Amelia’s ear. "Trying to play the role of Mrs. Spencer in front of my friends? Do you want to remind them how your mother sold you to the highest bidder?"

Amelia bit her lip, enduring the humiliation in silence. Her lack of reaction only seemed to irritate him further.

"Don't let there be a next time. Get out," he commanded, turning his back on her.

As Amelia retreated, the room erupted in mocking laughter. The insults followed her—words like "gold digger" and "shameless" pelted her like stones. They spoke of her as if she were a common swindler, someone who had forced her way into a world where she didn't belong.

Outside, the cold autumn wind bit at her skin. Suddenly, a red sports car screeched to a halt in front of her. Leila looked out from the driver’s seat, a smug smile on her lips.

"Quite a performance tonight, Amelia. Chris hates scenes, and you just gave him a grand one."

"The title of Mrs. Spencer is mine until I choose to let it go," Amelia replied, trying to find a shred of dignity.

Leila laughed. "Don't cling to what was never yours. Chris is coming over to my place later. We have a lot of lost time to make up for."

The car roared away, leaving Amelia alone in the dark. She spent the entire night on the sofa, waiting. By dawn, the house was still empty. Chris hadn't returned.

When heavy footsteps finally sounded at the door, Amelia—whose vision had temporarily blurred again—recognized his scent: a sharp, cold pinewood.

"You're back," she whispered, her voice dry.

As Chris approached, Amelia tried to stand, but her weakened legs gave out. She stumbled, falling forward, and for a fleeting second, she was caught by a broad, solid chest. Her hands instinctively touched his jacket, feeling the warmth beneath.

But the next second, he shoved her away with a look of pure revulsion. Amelia hit the floor, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her fragile frame.

"Amelia, how many times do I have to warn you? Stop these pathetic attempts at seduction," Chris growled, looming over her.

He didn't just see her as an unwanted wife; he saw her as a predator. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back onto the sofa before tossing her phone at her.

"Is this what your family is planning now?"

Amelia looked at the screen. The messages from her mother, Nina, were horrifying. They detailed a plan to use a third party to secure an heir, a scheme involving hidden payments and a faked pregnancy to ensure the Tudor family stayed attached to the Spencer fortune.

“As long as we get a child in that house, the Spencer billions are ours, Amelia. Find a woman, pay her off, and we’ll handle the rest.”

Every word was a brand of shame. Amelia felt sick. She was the one paying for her mother’s greed, trapped in a cycle of debt and loathing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words feeling hollow. "I didn't know she would go this far."

"Sorry?" Chris laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Your family is a parasite, and you are the host."

Amelia looked at him, her vision clearing just enough to see the sheer hatred in his eyes. She couldn't do this anymore. The darkness in her eyes was nothing compared to the darkness in this marriage.

"Let’s get a divorce," she said, her voice finally steady.