Chapter 2

"He won't agree to the divorce." I grabbed the gauze from Kade's hand and wrapped it tightly around my palm.

I remembered how Brayden nearly crushed my jaw during our standoff. "Divorce is too much hassle. I've got to take care of Joyce's recovery. No time to play games with you..."

Even though our love had rotted, the eighty-two songs I wrote for him still raked in money.

Brayden wouldn't divorce.

I wouldn't bow to Joyce either.

"Get a lawyer." I shoved a stack of sheet music toward Kade, every song I'd written and freely given to Brayden over eight years.

Including the one he sang with Joyce in that live stream.

Since our love was dead, I wanted them all back.

"Have him draft a lawsuit for infringement against her." The divorce papers stayed clutched in my hand, soaked with sweat.

Some of the sheet music had yellowed, remnants of our cheapest but most cherished days in a rented apartment.

The engagement ring dug deeper into my finger.

Brayden's love grew fainter by the day.

A heavy sense of helplessness spread from my heart.

As I bent to pick up the shards of the porcelain urn, memories of Ruby flooded my mind.

A shrill ringtone snapped me back to reality.

When I reached the hospital, my grandpa was already in the ICU.

"What happened?" My heart pounded against my ribs as I grabbed the doctor's collar. "Didn't you say the bypass surgery went well? I spoke to him last night. How could this happen so suddenly?"

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Walton." The doctor's voice was heavy with regret. "According to the ward nurse, Mr. Walton saw today's trending news and was so shocked he struggled to breathe and passed out."

"What news?"

I took the doctor's phone, and headlines seared my eyes.

"Famous Singer's Late-Night Tryst with Tall Beauty, Hotel Romp Until Dawn?"

"Brayden Reynolds, Devoted Husband, Caught Cheating with Labelmate Joyce Shaw?"

In the photos, Brayden made no effort to hide, fully exposed to the camera.

He turned his head, laughing softly with the girl nestled sweetly against his shoulder.

Their gazes stuck together like glue.

The images were shot from every angle, so clear anyone could tell it was staged.

Brayden didn't even try to hide.

He'd chosen the same hotel where he proposed, just to provoke me further.

Facing the internet's uproar, he posted only two lines.

"Late-night creative spark. Please enjoy the gossip responsibly."

"Support my labelmate Joyce's work. Thank you all."

My social media was tagged into oblivion.

Even knowing it was a stunt, the stinging comments still made my heart skip.

But now wasn't the time for blame or clarifications.

I waited outside the ICU until my body went numb. Finally, the exhausted lead surgeon spoke. "The bleed in his brain is too small. My skills aren't enough to operate. We need the hospital's top neurosurgeon, Dr. Winchester, to save Mr. Walton's life."

"Then get him!"

Five minutes later, drenched in sweat, I learned Dr. Winchester had been called to a VIP ward consultation.

Without thinking, I rushed over.

Among the crowd of doctors, Brayden was gently feeding Joyce soup.

"Brayden!" I kicked the door open, slapped the bowl from his hand, and landed another slap across his cheek. "You know my grandpa's in the hospital, and you still pulled the experts away?"

Brayden froze, stunned by the slap, then his veins bulged with rage.

A famous singer slapped in public-if this got out, he'd be a laughingstock.

"Are you out of your mind? Your grandpa's already out of danger, isn't he? What's wrong with me calling experts for Joyce's consultation?"

"It's because of you!" Thinking of my grandpa fighting death in the ICU, my blood seemed to flow backward. "If he hadn't seen your scandal, would he have had a brain hemorrhage and ended up critical?"

Brayden stiffened.

His expression froze instantly.

But his stinging cheek reminded him of the humiliation. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Brayden! My grandpa's my only family. Without his support back then, neither of us would've survived in Jexperton!"

My hoarse scream carried the image of my grandpa's stern face.

I grew up in a scholarly family, happy as a child but orphaned as a teen.

My grandpa raised me, working as a translator at a publishing house.

He grumbled about the entertainment industry but still slipped money into my luggage when I moved to the city.

When he learned I was with a struggling singer who could barely eat, he called me foolish but sent money anyway.

When we couldn't afford food, my grandpa's beef paste kept us going.

On the day of the proposal, Brayden brought him from the countryside.

He knelt before him, swearing to treat me well forever.

That was the only time I saw my grandpa cry.

"I told you, hurt me all you want, but not my family!" Before my words settled, the glass on the table shattered in half.

Ignoring the pain of shards cutting my palm, I pinned Brayden's throat with his own self-defense move. "You're a big shot, Brayden, with your VIP ward and expert consultations. I can't compete. But you only have one life. If you don't want to lose it, get Dr. Winchester to operate on my grandpa now, or else..."

His neck was already scratched, the pulsing vein taunting my eyes. "Let him go... I'll let him go..."

Dr. Winchester hurried out.

I released Brayden, trembling, and slowly removed my engagement ring under his hateful glare. "Eve Walton, I really regret this."

The toilet flushed smoothly, the water reflecting only my desperate eyes.