Four Loveless Years, One Unforgettable Goodbye

Depending on others had always felt like standing on sand—unstable, shifting beneath Willa's feet, ready to swallow her whole the moment she trusted it.

Since deciding on divorce, she had thrown herself into finding work.

She avoided big corporations; Bryan's influence ran too deep. One careless move, and word would reach him within the hour.

His obsession with appearances was suffocating—if anyone learned his wife was earning a living, he'd make sure every door closed to her.

So she set her sights lower, aiming for something small but steady: private tutoring. The pay was decent, the hours her own, and—best of all—it would stay beneath Bryan's radar.

Her social circle was a fraction of his, but she could build it brick by brick, quietly and patiently.

At first, the contact she reached out to drew a blank at her name.

Only when she mentioned her grandfather's name did a flicker of recognition surface—an awkward pause, then a reluctant promise to meet.

Martin had once lent a hand to countless young entrepreneurs. Back then, Fletcher Group had thrived under his guidance. But when Alcott Fletcher—Willa's father—took the helm, the empire began its slow, inevitable crumble.

"Willa, I know life hasn't been easy for you these past few years. Take this money for now. If you need more later, just tell me." The elderly gentleman, Callum Wright, saw a chance to settle an old debt with a little money.

For a moment, Willa didn't know how to respond.

She hadn't come here for charity, so the sight of that check stung her pride.

"Mr. Wright, you've taken this the wrong way," she said, her voice even but firm. "I heard your grandson needs an art tutor. You've seen my paintings before. I'd like to apply for the position—just at the regular market rate."

Callum blinked in surprise, then chuckled. "Ah, you're far too modest, my dear. No need to be so formal."

Just then, as the waiter entered with steaming dishes, the door swung open. Someone in the hallway paused mid-stride.

A young man poked his head in, phone already raised. He snapped a quick video and scurried back toward his private room, only to stumble halfway and wince as pain shot up his leg.

Meanwhile, inside the gleaming office of Scott Group, Bryan sat behind his desk, agitation simmering beneath his composed expression. Cody's message blinked on his screen, once again pressing him to produce an heir.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the image of Willa's tear-streaked face—fragile, haunting.

Being with her had left him unsettled, like downing a bottle of sleeping pills: his mind stayed sharp, but his body fell helplessly under her spell.

The phone buzzed again, vibrating insistently against the desk.

Bryan's gaze darkened as he lifted it, the chill in his eyes sharpening.

Four years into their marriage, and she still hadn't changed. The same old games, the same crude attempts at manipulation.

Once she'd wielded gratitude like a weapon; now, she seemed to be peddling that act to someone new. With his current standing—having locked down most of Stratfield's key resources while still in his prime—any talk of divorce would trigger a feeding frenzy of families eager to marry into his power.

And frankly, he no longer had the patience for another farce of a marriage.

With a quick message to get the address, Bryan hit the road without hesitation.

He didn't storm in immediately; instead, he opened the door to another private room and found his friend, Floyd Cullen, sprawled on the sofa, dabbing ointment on his ankle.

"I really messed up my foot," Floyd groaned, pointing at the swollen spot.

Bryan barely spared him a glance. Despite years of friendship, he had no patience tonight.

He inquired, "How'd you manage to hurt yourself? Don't tell me it's because of Willa and that old man?"

Floyd blinked, bewildered. "What? No, man. I tripped on the damn doorframe."

With a curt exhale, Bryan turned on his heel and strode towards Willa's private room. Without bothering to knock, he shoved the door open and nodded stiffly at Callum.

Dinner turned painfully awkward. Callum fumbled for an excuse to leave, clearly uncomfortable under Bryan's gaze.

Whatever cooperation he'd planned with Willa was now as good as dead.

Catching the disdain in Bryan's eyes, Willa's fingers trembled against the edge of her plate. "Were you following me?" she demanded.

"Why would I bother?" His tone was dry, laced with mockery. "You really think you're worth the trouble?"

He reached for the water pitcher, pouring himself a glass with slow precision, and took a measured sip—every gesture steeped in the quiet arrogance that cut straight through her pride.

A humorless smile ghosted across her lips. "Then what's the point of showing up here—just to eat?"

"Only to remind you not to embarrass the Scott family," he stated in an icy tone.

Even seated, he seemed to loom over her, his arrogance pressing down until her pulse thudded in her ears.

She said nothing, though her anger churned hot beneath her composure. Pulling a vitamin from her bag, she slipped it between her lips, then abruptly turned toward him. Her mouth met his, soft yet defiant, as she pushed the pill past his lips.

Bryan stiffened, eyes narrowing, but before he could react, he'd already swallowed it.

The kiss that followed was clumsy and desperate—her tongue brushed against his with awkward determination, grazing his teeth and nicking his lip more than once.

He didn't even blink. His dark pupils mirrored her trembling lashes as their uneven breaths tangled in the narrow space between them.

For a few heartbeats, Willa went still, too shocked to retreat.

Then his hand clamped around her waist, dragging her closer, forcing her to meet his rhythm.

The pressure sent her reeling.

When she failed to pull away, instinct took over—she bit his tongue sharply, and when he hissed and loosened his grip, she sank her teeth into his hand hard enough to draw blood.

Bryan flinched, pain flashing across his face. "What the hell, Willa? Do you only know how to bite?"

Her cheeks burned scarlet, but her movements stayed sharp. Without a word, she snatched the teapot and tipped the water straight over his lap.

Floyd barged in just in time to witness the chaotic scene, his jaw practically dropping.

"You two are insane. Should I… uh, give you some space?" he muttered, shifting uneasily.

Willa slung her bag over her shoulder and strode for the door. "I just fed you a poison that'll make you wish for death," she snapped, her words laced with frost.

Bryan stood frozen, still reeling from the sting of her bite, but by the time he gathered himself, she had vanished—only a few white tablets scattered across the floor remained as proof she'd been there.

A shadow crept over his face as he ordered Jarrod to run a test on the pills.

Jarrod acted fast and soon sent back a photo of the test report.

They weren't poison at all. Just 72-hour emergency contraceptives.

A sneer curled on Bryan's lips—bringing contraceptives to see another man? She had some nerve.

...

Willa's days had fallen into a weary rhythm—job applications by morning, hospital corridors by afternoon.

When the attending doctor summoned her to his office, his face carried the kind of gravity that made her chest tighten.

"Your grandmother's condition has worsened," he said solemnly. "It's mid-stage heart failure. We can stabilize her for now, but without a transplant, her life remains at risk. I wanted you to be prepared."

The words hollowed Willa out. She knew too well how rare heart donors were. Clutching her bag, she begged the doctor to keep an eye out, promising to cover any cost, but even as she spoke, she knew money couldn't buy what they needed.

Later, in the quiet hospital room, her grandmother slept beneath the soft hum of the ventilator.

Years of hardship weighed on her mind as Willa watched her grandmother sleep, and the decision crystallized—she had to let go. Raising a child demanded time and money she no longer had.

The medicine she'd bought earlier had vanished somewhere along the way, so she purchased two new kinds and prepared to take them before heading downstairs for surgery.

Silence blanketed the room, broken only by the crisp tear of foil as she opened a pill packet.

Just as the white tablets brushed her lips, a deep voice cut through the stillness behind her. "Poisoning yourself, huh?"

Startled, Willa's hand jerked. The pills slipped from her fingers, scattering across the floor until they stopped against the gleaming tips of Bryan's bespoke leather shoes.