Four Loveless Years, One Unforgettable Goodbye

The bedroom lights glowed faintly, throwing long shadows across the room. On the plush bed, Willa Fletcher's wrists were pinned above her head, her breath hitching with pain.

A tremor ran through her as her husband, Bryan Scott, thrust into her.

Desperate, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, wordlessly begging him to be gentle.

Through the haze of tears, she saw his expression remain cold and unyielding, offering not even a flicker of softness.

When it was finally over, Willa lay drained and motionless, her body limp as a discarded doll. Sleep claimed her before she could even think about cleaning up.

By morning, she woke to find the other side of the bed empty. Alyssa Higgins, the housekeeper, informed her that Bryan had already left.

Catching sight of the dark bruises marring Willa's skin, Alyssa's face twisted with distress. "Mr. Scott should have been gentle with you," she muttered.

Without waiting for an answer, she darted off to fetch some ointment.

Left alone, Willa stood motionless, her gaze drifting over the dark marks that trailed across her arms. A sharp ache coiled in her chest, bitterness welling up until it choked her.

The night before replayed in her mind. She had visited Bryan's grandfather, Cody Scott, at the Scott Mansion. A servant had handed her a glass of water, and a sudden, unnatural heat had surged through her veins soon after.

On the drive back, the chauffeur had veered off the main road, steering into a shadowed stretch of empty lanes.

Panic had clawed at her as she fired off a message to Bryan-only to receive silence in return.

If the crash had not jolted the car to a stop, she might have ended up spending the night with another man. Her reputation would have been ruined beyond repair, leaving a permanent stain on the Scott family's name.

When she finally stumbled back to the villa, drained and trembling, Bryan sat at his desk, calmly immersed in an online meeting. He didn't even glance in her direction.

For four years of marriage, he showed no concern for her. He didn't bother asking why she was home late.

Something inside her fractured. Stripped of restraint, she let her clothes fall away and pressed herself against him, her trembling fingers circling his neck in a desperate attempt to reclaim his attention. The change in her was startling-wild, feverish, driven by something that wasn't entirely her own will.

Bryan's reaction was swift. With a flicker of irritation and desire, he ended the call and caught her by the waist, sending papers fluttering as he pushed her down on the desk.

Their bodies tangled through the night in a blur of heat and pain, but when dawn broke, he was gone.

Willa suspected the glass of water she'd accepted at Scott Mansion had been laced with an aphrodisiac-a plot to create a scandal and get her kicked out of the Scott family.

Her marriage to Bryan was never about love. Years ago, her grandfather, Martin Fletcher, had rescued Cody from a dire predicament. In gratitude, the Scott family had repaid that favor by binding her to Bryan through marriage.

Aside from Cody, not a single member of the Scott family had ever treated her with genuine warmth.

She wasn't some gullible fool-what happened at Scott Mansion couldn't have taken place without Bryan's silent approval.

After that day, he'd vanished on a month-long business trip, leaving no word behind.

When his name finally resurfaced, it wasn't through a message but a headline. The entertainment news was abuzz.

Bryan was in another city, orchestrating a dazzling fireworks display with drones-for another woman.

Though the footage was grainy, Willa knew that silhouette at once. The woman was Caylee Wall-Bryan's rumored ex-girlfriend and the sister of a Scott family bodyguard.

A wave of bitter irony swept through Willa as she stared at the screen. The tenderness she'd yearned for over four long years now belonged to another woman.

Her stomach twisted, the nausea from heartbreak mingling with a deeper ache that made her head spin. Feeling faint and uneasy, she decided to go to the hospital.

...

"Mrs. Scott, you're pregnant-around four weeks," the doctor announced.

Willa went still, her gaze fixed on the report lying starkly on the table. Disbelief hollowed her chest.

"That's impossible," she whispered, her voice trembling.

She and Bryan had been married four years, yet they'd only shared a bed once-and he'd been careful, using condoms.

The doctor glanced up, then gestured to the results. "The report is accurate. But your blood sugar levels are dangerously low-you'll need to take better care of yourself."

Willa's pulse pounded wildly. It wasn't until she found herself standing amid the hospital's noisy lobby that the memory struck her-Bryan had been too rough that night, and she vaguely recalled that one of the condoms had torn.

Her fingers tightened around the report, the paper crinkling in her grasp as she dialed his number.

When the call finally connected, his detached voice came through the line-cold, distant. But then, from across the hall, she caught sight of him.

Tall and poised, Bryan wore a mask that hid half his face, his piercing eyes uncharacteristically soft as he spoke into his phone and turned to the woman beside him.

Caylee's bare face glowed with unguarded joy, her sweetness disarming in its simplicity. Even the loose dress she wore couldn't hide the gentle curve of her belly-three, maybe four months along.

The sight struck Willa like a bolt of lightning. Her body went cold, her fingers trembling around the medical report she still clutched.

A brutal sting tore through Willa's chest, stealing her breath.

From the other end of the line came Bryan's impatient voice. "Say what you need to."

Her mind reeled, chaos pressing in, but she forced the words out anyway. "Where are you?"

His reply carried that same detached indifference, as though even answering her were an inconvenience. "I'm busy. Just get to the point."

Watching him escort Caylee toward the obstetrics department, Willa finally understood-holding on to this loveless marriage was pointless. She refused to be the wreckage left behind in another woman's fairy tale.

"Come home," she said evenly, her tone stripped of emotion. "We need to talk."

Taking a deep breath, Willa forced her composure back into place before flagging down a cab to the villa. By the time she arrived, Bryan had already been home, immersed in work inside the study.

When she pushed the door open, his icy gaze lifted, and a deep frown etched across his brow.

"Seriously? You can't even knock before storming in?" His voice carried a cold edge of irritation.

Bitterness welled up inside her, but she kept her expression composed. With a sharp motion, she swung the door shut so hard it rattled on its hinges.

A moment later, her knuckles pounded against the wood again-each strike louder, angrier, as though she might tear the entire door down.

Five long minutes crawled by before his voice came, clipped and low. "Come in."

Her breathing steadied as she stepped inside, holding out a few freshly printed photos of Bryan and Caylee from the hospital. "Is this you?"

Bryan barely spared them a glance. "If your eyes still work," he said flatly, "then you already know the answer."

Grinding her teeth, Willa demanded sharply, "Do you seriously have nothing to say for yourself?"

He finally looked up, his expression carved from ice. "Why should I explain myself? Our marriage was founded on coercion, not love-a fact you are well aware of."

Her gaze dropped to the faint red marks peeking out from his collar-obvious traces of another woman.

The sight froze her in place. After several trembling seconds, she managed a rasped whisper. "Bryan..."

He ignored the tremor in her voice, turned another page, and said flatly, "If you've got nothing better to do, go iron the clothes I left in the bedroom."

A sneer escaped her.

"Let's get a divorce," she hissed. "Since you hate me, we should end this."

The corners of Bryan's eyes tightened, a trace of mockery in his gaze as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "What did you just say?"

Her voice trembled at first, but steadied as she went on, "I said I want a divorce. First the fireworks display in the news, and now taking her to her prenatal checkup? I've had enough."

Every week, she'd accompanied him back to Scott Mansion, smiling on cue for Cody's sake, maintaining the illusion of a harmonious marriage. The charade had long worn her down.

Their union had started as a repayment of an old debt between their grandfathers. Yet after four years of her earnest effort, she had hoped that even his frostbitten heart might thaw a little.

Instead, he'd remained unchanged-and now another woman carried his child.

She couldn't keep up the pretense anymore.

Bryan leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Why are you throwing a tantrum? Caylee needed a checkup, and I took her out to see some fireworks afterward. What? You have an issue with that?"

His tone stayed cold and detached, like always-devoid of even a flicker of warmth.

Willa met his gaze head-on. "Do you have any idea where I almost ended up that night after leaving the Scott Mansion? Do you even realize that if it hadn't been for that car crash, I'd have been sexually assaulted by another man and kicked out of the Scott family?"

Bryan's eyes flicked toward her, icy and unreadable, yet every word that followed cut deep. "Martin used that so-called favor to secure this marriage for you. If you were really involved in a scandal, even if my family drove you away, you'd have no right to complain."

He made no move to clarify what he and Caylee truly were. To him, it wasn't worth the effort.

Her lashes trembled as old memories surged-how she'd first seen him at a university lecture, standing before a crowd in a dark, fitted suit, his voice smooth, his presence magnetic. He'd seemed untouchable then, brilliant and composed, the kind of man who drew every eye without trying.

From the moment she fell for him at first sight until now, seven years had passed. Yet, it seemed her love had always been hers alone.

After her grandfather passed and her grandmother fell gravely ill, tragedy struck again-her mother died unexpectedly. Soon after, her father remarried and started a new family, welcoming a son with his second wife.

Left to shoulder everything alone, Willa devoted herself to caring for her ailing grandmother. It was during that difficult time she met Bryan and fell hopelessly in love.

"Caylee is carrying your child," Willa remarked, a strained smile curling her lips. "No wonder you couldn't care less whenever Cody urged you to have a child with me. I was such a fool. I actually thought you couldn't perform in the bedroom. Guess I was worrying for nothing."

Bryan's brow furrowed. "Funny," he murmured. "I remember having you shaking under me. How could you suspect that I struggle in the bedroom?"

Her breath caught. The memory hit like a wave-his touch, his heat, the helpless tremor in her limbs. Even recalling it made her skin prickle with unwanted sensation.

Still, she straightened her back, refusing to let him see her falter. "A single night of intimacy doesn't prove anything."

Bryan tossed his pen onto the desk and rose to his feet. Crossing the space between them, he looked down at her with cool indifference. "Seven times in one night and you begged for water twice before dawn-doesn't that prove anything to you?"

Willa's face drained of color. She'd heard that tone too many times-mocking, sharp enough to slice through what little pride she had left.

Taking a small step back, she dropped her gaze and muttered, "Let's stop this, Bryan. Once the divorce is done, you can have children with anyone you want."

Bryan moved closer, the scent of his cologne filling the space between them as he pressed her back against the door.

"You worked so hard to claw your way into the Scott family-now you're walking out just like that?" he queried, his voice low and taunting.

Willa's chest rose and fell with suppressed fury, yet she curved her lips into a brittle smile. "You think you're some big deal? The second someone else lays a damn hand on what's mine, it's garbage to me."

Spinning on her heel, she strode out-only to whirl back, still burning with resentment. Her hand shot out, grabbing the small cactus from his desk.

She'd once picked it out herself, hoping it would shield him from computer radiation and ease his strained eyes.

Now, she intended to dump it in the trash where it belonged.

Bryan's brows knitted, a shadow passing over his face as he watched her storm off.

Willa retreated to her bedroom and fished out her phone to call a lawyer for the divorce papers. As she did, something fluttered from her bag onto the floor.

She bent down and picked it up: a men's health clinic flyer. The memory of a woman pressing it into her hand at the hospital gate flashed vividly through her mind.

Tightening her grip on the phone, she swiped to unlock the screen.

Willa had slipped away, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.

For an entire day, her phone stayed off, her messages unread, as though she'd dropped off the face of the earth.

Bryan was wrapping up work at the office when his phone buzzed with a call from Cody.

"Why can't I reach Willa? Her phone's off, and you can't get through either? What the hell is going on with you two?" Cody's irritated voice barked through the line.

Bryan held the phone away from his ear, his patience thinning. "How would I know?" he snapped, voice clipped and tense.

"She's your wife. If you don't know where she is, who should I ask then? Listen-if you don't bring her with you when you visit me this weekend, don't even think about showing up."

The call ended with a sharp click.

Bryan's brows drew together, his face clouding as he slammed the phone onto his desk.

His assistant, Jarrod Powell, stepped in and laid a freshly printed contract in front of him.

Catching the way Bryan kneaded his temples, dark circles under his eyes, Jarrod ventured, "Mr. Scott, did you clear up that headline with Mrs. Scott?"

Bryan immediately shot back, "Why should I have to explain anything to her?"

A baffled sound slipped out of Jarrod. "You two are legally married. You owe each other at least some loyalty. If gossip is swirling around you, your wife is bound to overthink it. You shouldn't make her cry."

With a nervous little laugh, he tacked on. "Well, except maybe in bed."

That earned him an icy stare as Bryan sneered, "You sound very experienced in relationships."

Bryan then thumbed through his contacts for Willa's number and hit dial, only to be met with silence.

Jarrod's face flushed scarlet. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "There's another matter... Did you tell Mrs. Scott that the rear-end accident last month wasn't an accident at all-that you planned it?"

Bryan's expression darkened, a sharp frown creasing his brow. "You're overstepping your bounds, Jarrod. Mind your own business."

Bryan couldn't quite explain it, but as long as he and Willa kept a respectful distance, life ran smoothly. She handled the housework with quiet efficiency, preparing his meals, doing the laundry, and every weekend she'd head to Scott Mansion to chat with Cody and help out with family matters. Everything stayed neat and orderly.

After they had shared a passionate night, something shifted.

That night, she'd wound her legs around his waist, her palms framing his face with a tender urgency as she surrendered completely to the moment.

All the restraint he'd kept buried for years erupted in a rush of heat he couldn't contain.

Somehow, he'd been devoured by desire far more easily than he ever thought possible.

On his way out, Jarrod casually set down a tube of allergy relief ointment. "This worked last time you had that peach reaction. With those marks on your neck, anyone would think a woman left them there."

Bryan's gaze lingered on the ointment, and a memory surfaced-an employee had given him some peaches. Just brushing against them had made his skin crawl with unbearable itch.

He opened the lid, and a sharp medicinal scent hit him, stirring a dull ache behind his temples.

His mind drifted to Willa. She'd been skilled at crafting scented candles and always tucked a few into his luggage before business trips. Whenever he lit one in a hotel room, the mellow fragrance would linger for days.

At home, her touch remained in the air too-a soft sweetness of citrus, threaded with faint floral notes that never quite faded.

Bryan pressed his lips into a thin line and tossed the box back across the desk.

His gaze lifted to Jarrod as he instructed, "I asked you to find that driver. It's been a month and you still have nothing."

Jarrod froze, caught off guard. A month ago, when Willa had been drugged, Bryan had received her panicked text. He'd been tied up in an urgent international conference, and their marriage was already on thin ice back then-so he'd sent Jarrod to handle it.

Tracking her phone's signal, Jarrod had rammed straight into the suspect's car. But before he could react, the suspect darted into the shadows and vanished like a ghost.

Snapping back to the present, Jarrod quickly straightened. "We've got a lead. He finally showed himself after a month in hiding. His card was used at a bar. I've already dispatched a team-shouldn't be long before we have him."

Bryan gave a curt nod. Another meeting was about to start, so he didn't linger. But midway through the discussion, his phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

Jarrod meant to decline the call for Bryan but accidentally hit the speakerphone instead.

"Hello, is this Mr. Bryan Scott? You submitted an inquiry about premature ejaculation yesterday. When would you like to come in? Our specialists can provide a free physical examination."

A thick silence dropped over the conference room, suffocating and tense.

Every shareholder stared, stunned. Bryan, still so young, was already having trouble in bed?

Jarrod nearly fumbled the phone in his panic, rushing to end the call. His face went pale as he stammered, "Um, it is a mix-up. The caller must've dialed the wrong number. Just a coincidence with the name."

Bryan's eyes turned glacial as he leveled a look at Jarrod.

That number was private. No one could have leaked it besides that infuriating woman, Willa.