Chapter 2

Angela choked up, wave after wave of desolation washing over her.

Her marriage to Lucas was essentially contractual. If she hadn't found Brigitta collapsed on the roadside from a stroke and saved her, she never would have married into the Conway family.

At the time, Cora had just gone abroad. Lucas, freshly separated from her, had been utterly despondent. His grandmother, Brigitta Hughes, pressed him to marry Angela. Though reluctant, perhaps believing it didn't matter who he married, he agreed.

Angela had desperately needed money for her brother's medical bills. So she agreed too.

Lucas didn't love her. The prenuptial agreement stipulated they keep their relationship private and not interfere with each other's emotional lives. It stung, but she signed.

Then married life happened, and she fell in love with him.

She memorized all his preferences—he liked sweets, couldn't handle spicy food, was allergic to mangoes. She waited up late whenever he worked overtime, hoping only that he'd come home to a bowl of hot noodle soup she'd made herself.

She'd naively believed her sincerity would melt the ice around his heart.

But when Cora returned and the Lucas Cora Tower lit up the city, she finally saw clearly. His heart held only Cora. No room for anyone else.

All her efforts had been a joke.

Angela drew a deep breath and met his gaze, her eyes neither sad nor joyful. "Lucas, I'm setting you free to pursue the woman you love. And setting myself free."

His lips curled into a mocking smile. "Drop the act. Don't think you can threaten me with divorce."

He picked up the suit jacket he'd tossed aside, draped it over his arm, and swept his gaze across her pale face. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Cool down and think it through. Without the Conway family, you're nothing."

He didn't spare her another glance. The door slammed. The car engine started, fading into the silent night.

Angela didn't chase him. She sat motionless, like a lifeless statue.

Not until the sky shifted from black to pale gray did she finally move her stiff body.

There wasn't much to pack. The house was large and luxurious, but what truly belonged to her fit in a single modest suitcase.

She contacted her lawyer and had him draft a divorce agreement. The terms were simple—she'd walk away with nothing. Only a quick divorce.

She took one last look at the home she'd lived in for three years, turned around, and gently closed the door.

The moment she reached the ground floor, her phone rang.

"Is this Alan Andrews's family? This is the Riverside District Police Station. Alan is here on suspicion of intentional assault."

Angela's heart plummeted. Ice shot through her fingertips.

Alan was her brother—adopted by her parents years ago, only three years younger, frail since childhood from a congenital heart condition. After their parents died in an accident, they'd relied on each other completely.

When she'd been cornered by thugs in an alley, it was scrawny Alan who'd grabbed half a broken brick and stood in front of her, eyes blazing. "Don't touch my sister! I'll fight you to the death!"

He'd gripped her hand, voice firm. "Angela, you're my only family. You're more important than my own life."

She'd wept, regarding this brother—no blood relation—as the only light in her life.

So when his heart condition worsened, even knowing the marriage would lead nowhere, she'd agreed to marry Lucas without hesitation. All for his surgery.

The surgery succeeded. Alan recovered and got into one of the country's top universities. But perhaps resenting her marriage, he'd never contacted her since starting college. Every time she tried to visit, he avoided her.

Yet he'd always been calm and sensible. How could he have gotten into a fight?

She hailed a cab and rushed to the station.

Inside the mediation room, her eyes found Alan in the corner—and she froze.

He was holding a young woman with an innocent face, whispering comfort to her. He wiped tears from the girl's cheeks with his fingers, eyes full of tenderness, completely absorbed. He hadn't noticed Angela in the doorway.

Her heart gave a sharp, inexplicable throb.

In her memory, the stubborn boy had once wiped away her tears just like that. "Angela, I don't want you to be my sister anymore. I'm going to marry you and protect you for the rest of my life."

That image overlapped with the young man before her now, gently soothing someone else. Familiar, yet utterly strange.

She steadied herself, swallowed the bitterness, and approached the officer on duty.

"You're Alan's sister?" The officer glanced at her. "Not complicated. Some thugs were harassing his girlfriend at a night market. He lost his temper and smashed a beer bottle over one of their heads. Injury's not serious, but they're pressing charges. The family's here and pretty worked up."

Before she could ask more, angry shouting erupted across the room.

"You little punk!" A stocky man with a brutish face shot to his feet, pointing at Alan. "You're dead meat, kid!"

Angela's face went white. She threw herself in front of Alan. "Don't! We can talk this out!"

The man was beyond reason. He swept his arm and shoved her hard.

She crashed onto the cold tile. Her palms scraped raw, blood seeping out, staining the gray surface.

But more painful than her palms was the chill in her heart.

Alan had been right behind her. When she fell, he'd only pulled the girl tighter, softly reassuring her. "Don't be scared. I'm here."

He hadn't spared Angela a single glance.

Officers rushed over and restrained the man. Amid the chaos, Angela slowly pushed herself up, blood still seeping from her palm.

She gritted through the pain to handle the bail paperwork, paid the medical expenses and compensation, spoke countless placating words until the other party reluctantly agreed to settle.

Throughout it all, Alan stayed by the girl's side, speaking in low, gentle tones. Never once helping Angela. As if everything she did was simply expected.

When it was finally resolved, Angela walked up to Alan, her hand still faintly bleeding. She opened her mouth but didn't know what to say.

The girl seemed to notice her only then. She tugged Alan's sleeve. "Alan, who is she?"

His gaze finally fell on Angela. The eyes that had once been filled with her were now distant and indifferent.