Chapter 3Reborn from the Ruins of Marriage

After Jack took Seraphina to the hospital, I sat numbly in the drawing-room.

My fingers instinctively traced the wedding ring on my ring finger.

This was the only tangible proof of my title as Lady Thorne.

The ill-fitting ring was bound with several wraps of crimson thread, barely allowing it to stay on my finger.

But five years had passed, and the gold plating had faded, revealing the silver beneath.

When we bought the wedding ring back then, the sales assistant’s gaze at me was filled with disdain.

"Such a wealthy and generous husband wouldn't be unwilling to buy something better. He must have been forced into marriage, just casually making a token gesture. This woman is truly pitiful."

But I had happily accepted the ring Jack had personally chosen, never taking it off.

I had asked him to wear the male wedding ring, but he refused.

When I persisted, he simply claimed he had lost it.

And so, for five years, his hand remained bare, as if he had never been bound by this marriage at all.

I cut the red thread and took off the ring. From behind me, Jack’s cold sneer broke the silence.

"Finally willing to take it off? Wasn't it 'cherished until death do us part'?"

He walked in, puffing on a pipe, smoke curling around him, and eyed me disdainfully.

His expression at that moment instantly transported me back to our wedding day, when he brought his first mistress into our bridal chamber.

I had dragged the mistress out by her hair.

Jack had watched with the same detached indifference, pipe in mouth.

"Go on, hit her. Hit as hard as you like. The Thorne family has plenty of coin for compensation."

"For every one you strike down, I'll take ten more. There are plenty of women in the world; I can be a groom every night."

I used to hate Jack like this the most—always causing a scandal, yet remaining aloof, leaving me to be the desperate, defeated wretch.

But, I was leaving. It no longer mattered.

I walked around him, heading straight into the dressing room to pack my luggage.

Jack rushed in, agitated, and pushed my suitcase away.

"Packing what? Leaving?"

Was there panic in his eyes?

How laughable.

I sidestepped him, my voice calm.

"It's too cold. I'm going to a warm springs retreat with a good friend."

Jack visibly relaxed.

While I was bathing, amidst the steam, Jack pushed open the bathroom door and walked in.

He said he'd help me wash, as an apology for the day.

I immediately wrapped myself in my bathrobe, recoiling from him in disgust.

"Save your services for your little vixens; I don't want them!"

Jack’s face turned livid. He sneered.

"Clara, what are you playing at, being a saint? A woman with a temper, isn't it just because her man isn't putting in enough effort in bed? Your husband will love you fiercely tonight!"

He seized my waist, ripped open my bathrobe, and buried his face downwards.

"Get out! Don't touch me!"

I struggled wildly, lifting my knee to strike at his groin.

Jack dodged my attack, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He violently smashed the bottles and jars in the bathroom to the floor.

"Fine! If you're not willing, there are plenty of others waiting!"

Jack stormed out, slamming the door.

I clutched my bathrobe tightly, curling into a ball, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

In the dead of night, from the other side of the wall by my headboard, came rhythmic, intimate sounds, jarring me awake.

Following closely, the man’s playful laughter and the woman’s moans seeped into my ears.

The room next door was the nursery, prepared for the newborn.

Jack was deliberately trying to sicken me.

The door was wide open. I walked directly to them, staring at their entangled forms without blinking.

Jack turned, saw my indifferent expression, and his face twisted. He roared at me to get out.

My eyes stung with unshed tears.

But it didn't matter. Out of sight, out of mind.

It would all be over soon.