Chapter 2

The roar of the ballroom gradually subsided. At three in the morning, the Susanna estate was dimmed. The guests had long departed, leaving behind a mixture of expensive cognac and premium cigar smoke. I sat quietly on the sofa in the study; cold rain tapped against the floor-to-ceiling windows—the first rain of early winter, bone-chillingly cold.

The lock clicked slightly, and Elena walked in. She had shed the cumbersome diamond jewelry, her long dress trailing on the floor. The sharp, piercing aura from the gala had faded from her face, replaced by a nauseating, "kindness"—as if she were bestowing charity.

She held two glasses of red wine, and atop the tray lay the signed divorce agreement.

"You haven't slept yet, Adrian." She circled the large mahogany desk and sat opposite me. Those eyes, which usually looked at me like I was trash, now displayed a strange, eerie gentleness. "These three years, we’ve certainly had our collisions. I won't deny that, as a husband, you were... adequate in some respects. But it was all for the family, you know."

She pushed one glass toward me. The liquid was a deep, dark purple in the light, but at the edge of the fine bubbles, I smelled a faint, bitter almond scent. It was a prohibited neurotoxin from the Eastern European black market. Once entering the human body, it would instantly put the central nervous system into a "frozen" state.

This was Marcus’s ace in the hole. In this so-called "elite" circle, the simplest way to solve a problem is often to make the trouble disappear forever.

"Drink it." Her voice was low and light, carrying a hypnotic tremolo. "Once you drink this commemorative toast, we are through. Beyond the quitclaim agreement, I’ll give you an extra severance package—five million dollars. Enough for you to buy a farm in some Midwestern town and spend the rest of your life in peace. Adrian, don't be stubborn. This is our last negotiation as equals. If you don't drink..."

She paused, a flash of cruelty flickering in her eyes before being masked by fake tenderness. "If you don't drink, things might get ugly. Marcus isn't very patient, you know. His current business plan cannot tolerate any uncertainties."

I looked at the wine, the reflected light from the glass appearing distorted.

I knew what this wine meant, and I knew what kind of agony my body would endure after drinking it. But in the final footnote of the "Family Protection Contract," there was a cold clause: "If the contract executor (Adrian) suffers malicious harm from the entrusting party (Susanna Family) during the contract period, it shall be deemed as the entrusting party’s breach first, the protection agreement will be automatically voided, and a full liquidation procedure will be triggered."

For three years, to maintain this contract, I endured too much humiliation. Now, this poisoned wine was the perfect final act for the play. I didn't even need to think, because this was the "freedom" they were handing to me.

I took the glass, my movements as steady as checking an anti-personnel mine on the Northern front.

"Five million dollars?" I looked up, staring straight into Elena’s beautiful eyes. In those eyes, I saw her greedy imagination for the future—without me, she would marry Marcus, control the massive logistics group, and live the life of the top elite she’d always dreamed of. "Elena, do you think my personal freedom for the last three years is only worth five million?"

She was stunned, clearly not expecting me to haggle at this point. A flash of disdain crossed her eyes. "Adrian, what capital do you have to negotiate with me now, other than a marriage certificate? Five million is already out of consideration for the past..."

"I’m not haggling." I interrupted her, a faint curve on my lips—a smile she couldn't understand at all.

I pressed the glass to my lips. In front of her, I downed it in one gulp.

The pungent liquid slid down my throat. It wasn't just the burning of alcohol, but the cold explosion of neurotoxin at the moment it touched my tongue. It felt like ten thousand tiny ants frantically tearing me apart in my blood vessels. My vision began to blur, and my muscles began to spasm uncontrollably. But I sat there, motionless.

Elena leaned toward me, staring intently. The fake tenderness was gone from her eyes, replaced by an impatient glee. She watched my pupils dilate, watched my hand holding the glass tremble. The hatred and rejection she had hidden for three years were finally released.

She felt she had finally cleansed the biggest stain in the family history.

I felt the suffocation rise like a tide to my brain—the toxin spreading to my peripheral nerves. I struggled to put down the empty glass and looked at Elena. She was laughing—a victor's laugh, looking down at an ant. She even stood up gracefully and adjusted her robe.

"This... this wine is very bitter," I said, my voice already raspy, as if squeezed from the depths of my throat.

"Wine is always bitter, but the feeling of release is sweet, isn't it?" She looked down at me, her tone laced with mocking pity. "Adrian, disappear from my life. This is the best outcome for small-time people like you."

I felt the toxin finally reach my heart. The agonizing pain nearly plunged my vision into darkness, but I struggled to lift my head, looking straight into her pupils.

"Elena," I said, word by word. The toxin made my expression grim, but to her, it might just be the desperate mutterings before death. "The wine is bitter, but I hope for the rest of your life... you never taste anything more bitter than this."

After saying this, I collapsed heavily into the padded armchair, my eyes closing heavily. My heart beat violently in my chest, as if waiting for the revival of some forbidden power.

And, at the instant my consciousness plunged into darkness, I heard the sound of Elena’s light footsteps leaving, and the sound of her letting out a long, relieved breath.

The play was over.