M copsed onto the plush sofa, her shimmeringvender dress fanning out around her. Her slender, pale arms were pinned down by long, defined fingers, as a man in an elegant ck suit leaned over her, his lips stained crimson from their fierce embrace.


    After a moment, they pulled apart. M''s eyes were hazy, and she gasped for breath, taking a long time to regain herposure. Her almond-shaped eyes burned with anger, ring at the equally dazed man before her.


    "LYSANDER!"


    Lysander looked unfazed, casually wiping the blood from his bitten lip. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice waszy and indifferent, "Quite the bite you''ve got there."


    "Get off me!" M''s chest heaved with fury, her words rasping with a hint of hoarseness.


    She tried to push him away, but her wrists were held in an iron grip, leaving her no escape. The helplessness and pain made her body tremble uncontrobly.


    Resigning herself, she stopped struggling, softly closing her eyes and whispering with a weary sigh, "Let me go, Lysander. I''m exhausted. I don''t want to do this anymore."


    "Heh." Lysander chuckled softly, leaning in closer, his eyes so deep they threatened to drown her. "If not with me, then with whom?"


    "Do you think this is fun?" M''s face was a canvas of disappointment.


    "Stop pretending you''re desperately in love with me, Lysander. You''re just upset because the ''toy'' you controlled slipped out of your hands, and your male pride is stinging. I know you too well."


    After seven years together, M understood her husband all too well.


    The scene felt absurd to her.


    He didn''t love her. Seven years of marriage, seven years of silent hostility, seven years of guarded distance. Even in the rare intimate moments, he treated her more like an indestructible object than a fragile human being.


    But she was human. She could break.


    And she could despair.


    M closed her eyes, turning her head away from Lysander. Her voice was calm, almost a whisper, "Let''s end it here. Seven years is enough."


    ...


    "No way!"


    Lysander straightened, pulling her up from the sofa and holding her close, forcing her to meet his gaze. His voice was low and threatening.


    "M, this isn''t how the game works. You started it, and I decide when it ends. You don''t get to choose."


    Seven years of marriage, reduced to a mere game in his words.


    M curled her lips into a cold smile, "What will it take for you to let me go? How do I satisfy you enough to get a divorce?"


    "Divorce?" Lysander sneered, "You''re in such a hurry to leave, aren''t you? So you can run off to that old me of yours? Dream on!"


    "Smack!"


    His words ignited a fire within M, and in a moment of lost control, she pped him.


    "Lysander! You y your dirty games, don''t assume I''m as filthy as you!"


    Lysander turned his face slightly, pausing for a beat before slowly turning back, his eyes tinged red, storm clouds brewing in his gaze, though his face wore a mocking smile.


    "Me, filthy?"


    He frowned deeply, "M, I''ll say it once. There''s nothing between Giselle and me. We''ve been friends since we were kids. It''s only right I look after her. Stop making a fuss."


    Look after her?


    Look after her by spending every moment together, evente into the night? By letting their child be part of their escapades and making her feel like the outsider?


    Look after her by paving the way for Giselle''s swift rise to CEO while shutting his own wife out of the family business?