Chapter 1

On my twenty-sixth birthday, I finally called my brother, Julian.

"Julian, I'm getting a divorce."

My voice was as parched as a desert, choked with a weariness I could hear myself.

Three seconds of silence stretched on the other end.

Then Julian’s deep voice came through, "I told you years ago, Adrian's like a cold marble statue; you could try forever and never warm him up."

I leaned back on the couch, rubbing my burning eyes, forcing a thin smile. "Yeah, I overestimated myself."

"Come to Switzerland."

Julian's tone instantly lightened, like he was coaxing a child. "I've got plenty of charming men here, any one of them better than Adrian. If he can't appreciate a lively, adorable sister like you, let him spend his life alone with his... whatever he's into."

"Okay."

I mumbled, "Just let me sort things out here."

Hanging up, I took a deep breath and walked to the second floor.

As I passed Adrian's closed study, a low, muffled moan pierced my ears like a needle.

The door wasn't fully latched, leaving a narrow crack.

A dim, yellowish light seeped from the gap. My hand trembled involuntarily, but I couldn't resist peeking inside.

Within the room, the scent of sandalwood incense wafted up, veiling everything like a thin mist.

Adrian knelt before a small altar. His grey, specialized robe was half-open, and a string of carved wooden beads hung loosely around his wrist.

But his body was trembling slightly. Beneath his lowered head was a lifelike wooden doll.

The doll's face was strikingly clear in the candlelight.

Almond-shaped eyes, cherry-like lips, and a tear-mole beneath its left eye.

It was unmistakably Seraphina—the "kindred spirit" who’d been inseparable from him since he was seven.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

This was the third time I’d stumbled upon this absurd scene.

The first time, I just ran, stumbling down the stairs, tears streaming uncontrollably.

The second time, I sat in the living room all night, staring blankly at the ceiling until dawn.

But tonight, I felt only a dead calm in my heart, like charcoal embers extinguished by the wind.

How ridiculous.

I thought he was ascetic, cold as ice, but it turned out he just saved all his passion for someone else.

I leaned against the wall, its coldness creeping up my fingertips.

My mind, however, uncontrollably replayed the first time I saw Adrian.

I was nineteen that year.

My brother took me to an exclusive club in the city, saying he wanted to introduce me to his closest friend.

That day, Adrian wore a dark grey jacket with subtle cloud patterns embroidered on the cuffs, and a string of carved wooden beads on his wrist.

Among the room full of flashy, wealthy socialites, he sat alone in a corner, with only a pot of plain tea beside him.

He lowered his head to pour tea, his long fingers grasping the white porcelain pot. The stream of water filled the cup, and the rising mist blurred his profile.

Then he looked up and glanced my way.

His eyes were as clear and cold as moonlight, deep enough to pull a person in.

In that instant, my heart seemed to skip a beat.

Seeing me stunned, my brother laughed and patted my head. "Don't dream, little sister. You can like anyone, just not him."

"Why not?" I frowned and asked.

"In our circle, who isn't just playing at life?"

He lit a cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Adrian's the only one who's been dedicated to his studies since he was a kid. Desires, affections—he won't touch them."

I didn't believe it.

Growing up, there was nothing I wanted that I couldn't get.

I refused to believe there was a man in this world who could remain completely unmoved.

So, I started pursuing him.

I used every trick I could think of.

When he was working on his spiritual carvings in his study, I deliberately stumbled, pretending to fall into his arms.

He frowned, then effortlessly lifted me with one hand and set me aside, as if I were a package.

I secretly added something to his tea—a mild aphrodisiac, I hoped—and served it to him, full of expectation.

He took a sip, then gave me a faint glance. "Next time, less of that sweet floral tea. It’s too sweet."

The most outrageous time, I snuck into his study when he was on a retreat.

Wearing nothing but his long jacket, I lay on his bed in what I thought was a seductive pose.

He pushed the door open, and I even deliberately swung my leg, batting my eyelashes at him.

He didn't even look at me, just turned and walked away.

The next day, a box of brand-new robes was delivered to me with a note: "For you. Stop taking mine."

Julian couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled me aside and tried to reason with me. "Can't you have some self-respect?"

I retorted, neck stiff, "I'm saving him! A man this handsome being so detached is such a waste!"

I chased him for five years.

I tried everything, but I never even touched a hair on his head.

I started to doubt if I truly had no charm.

Until late on my birthday night, he suddenly called me. "Come downstairs."

I ran down in my pajamas.

It was pouring rain outside. He stood under the eaves, half of his jacket soaked, a few fallen leaves clinging to his shoulder.

"Let's get married."

He said only those three words.

No flowers, no ring, not even an expression.

But I was ecstatic, like an idiot, and rushed to hug him. "Are you finally moved by me?"

He didn't hug me back, just let out a low "Mm."

Looking back now, that "Mm" was so dismissive.

Three years into our marriage, we never once consummated it.

No matter how sexy I dressed, or how alluring a pose I struck, he would always leave with a cold face at the last moment.

Then he'd lock himself in his study, staying there all night.

I used to think he was just too deeply committed to his spiritual practices, accustomed to solitude.

Until three days ago, unable to bear it anymore, I secretly followed him into his study.

Watching him lose control before that wooden doll, I finally understood—he wasn't without desire; his desire just didn't belong to me.

He loved Seraphina.

The girl who grew up with him, taken in by his family.

His studies, his prayer beads, marrying me—it was all to suppress his feelings for her.

In that moment, my heart turned utterly cold.

Like falling into a winter lake, I lost even the strength to struggle.

In his study, Adrian finally stopped.

He leaned down and kissed the doll's forehead, his voice hoarse, like he was murmuring a spell. "Seraphina, I miss you..."

The sound was so soft.

Yet it felt like a rusty knife, brutally plunged into my already tattered heart.

Tears fell. I wiped my face and turned to go downstairs.

I never looked back.

The next morning, I woke up early.

Adrian was already dressed and about to leave.

He wore a black trench coat, his figure as tall and straight as a pine tree, the same carved wooden beads on his wrist.

The distraught man from last night seemed to have never existed.

As he was about to step out, I called out, "Wait!"

"What is it?"

He didn't even lift his head, his voice as cold as ice shards. "Don't bother me."

His words were like a thorn, shattering the last shred of my hope.

In his eyes, I was still just an annoying nuisance he couldn't shake.

I suddenly laughed. "You're overthinking. I just want the keys to your Bentley."

"Take another car. This one's convenient for me."

I walked over and simply pulled the keys from his pocket.

He finally looked at me, his tone still flat. "Going out today?"

"Yep." I nodded.

"What for?" He asked one more question.

I jingled the keys, smiling somewhat ironically. "To do something that will make you happy."

With that, I turned and walked toward the garage without looking back.

Silently, I added a line in my head:

To finally leave you.