Chapter 1 Chapter 1 I'll Call You Later

The night was deep, and finally, she escaped from that suffocating business dinner.

This was Sophia Marshall's first job after graduating college. She had always been well-liked, and things were going relatively smoothly at work. But because of this job, Ethan Griffin seemed somewhat upset-he was always composed, self-disciplined, and a bit of a traditionalist. Yet Sophia had no interest in being financially dependent on him. That kind of life made her feel insecure. So she chose sales, firmly and decisively.

After all, they had only known each other for a week before getting married. Even though they had been married for six months, she still felt like she didn't really know him.

Just like that morning-he'd taken a phone call in the bathroom with the door shut. When he came out, his expression was unreadable, and then he left.

The client's inappropriate touches and suggestive words from tonight made her nauseous. Stumbling, she flagged down a cab, and the moment the door shut behind her, she drifted into a heavy, exhausted sleep.

A shriek of metal and a sudden jolt jerked her awake. The seatbelt yanked her backward, then rebound her into the seat.

"Miss, are you okay?" the panicked voice of the driver asked.

She instinctively touched her forehead, which throbbed with pain. Her fingers came away sticky and red. "I-I'm fine." she replied, trying to stay calm, though her voice quivered uncontrollably.

After getting out of the car, the cold wind chilled her to the bone. She sat down on a concrete block by the roadside. The world was still spinning slightly-but colder than her body, was her heart. She pulled out her phone, bit her lower lip, and with icy fingers typed a message: I was in a car accident.

Sent. Recipient: Ethan.

The screen dimmed. No reply. Like a stone thrown into the ocean.

A nearby police officer gestured toward the Rolls Royce that had hit them. "This gentleman will take you to the hospital."

Dazed, she got into the passenger seat. The man's profile was sharp, his aura cold and unapproachable.

"There's glass in your wound," he said suddenly, his voice like ice water.

Sophia blinked, then glanced at the vanity mirror. Tiny shards of glass were indeed embedded in the cut on her forehead.

"Oh. thanks for the heads-up." She lowered her gaze. "Sophia."

"Lucas Marshall," he replied, and said no more.

At the hospital, Lucas handled everything efficiently. Sophia checked her phone again-the chat with Ethan was still chillingly silent. She took a deep breath and called him directly.

Just as the call was about to go to voicemail, it connected.

"Hello?" she opened her mouth to speak-

"I'll call you later," his low voice said. There was background noise, then the line cut off cleanly.

Sophia stared at the darkened screen, her whole body cold. She didn't even get the chance to say, "I'm at the hospital."

Lucas handed her a gold-embossed business card. "Call me for the follow-up."

"No need. I can handle it myself." She rejected him flatly and walked toward the street, her back straight and independent.

"Still planning to take cabs alone?" Lucas's voice came from behind-not loud, but sharp, like a needle piercing through her forced calm.

"I'll drive you," he said, leaving no room for argument.

In the moonlight, her pale face and stubborn eyes formed a strangely fragile contrast. Lucas's gaze flickered. Suddenly, he reached out and brushed her hair.

"What are you doing!" she pushed him away, somewhat repulsed.

Feisty. Lucas's lips twitched slightly.

"Wait here. I'll get the car."

His departing figure was effortless. Soon, the car pulled up. Sophia got in. Silence stretched between them.

Lucas handed her his phone.

She looked at him, confused.

"Put in your number."

She refused. "I don't want to."

So stubborn. His eyes sharpened. "If you don't, how will I contact you about the compensation?"

Sophia noticed the business card box by the glove compartment. She pulled out a card and slipped it into her purse. "This is enough."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling slightly in amusement.

She got out of the car outside her apartment complex, thanked him politely, and walked into the building. The key turned in the lock. The door opened to a cold, pitch-black apartment and a silence that threatened to swallow her whole.

Ethan wasn't home. He hadn't come back all night.

She didn't know how she made it through the night. Six months ago, she had just escaped a suffocating family, clinging to this seemingly mature and stable man like a lifeline. But now, the so-called "harmonious" marriage felt laughably hollow.

The next day, she hid the bandage on her forehead beneath heavy bangs and went to work like nothing happened. By evening, the sun cast a golden glow over her desk when finally, her screen lit up.

Ethan was calling.