No Way Back to Love

Caleb Lewis's fingers were slightly cold, gentle as if afraid of breaking a fragile treasure when holding mine. "Nancy, the luckiest thing in my life is marrying you." He smiled at the camera, the tenderness in his eyes perfectly measured, enough to fool all the media present. The flashbulbs kept popping relentlessly, and I forced a smile, but my fingertips brushed against the chill of his sleeve, the cold seeping through the fabric, piercing to the bone. After wrapping up and returning to the villa, the moment the heavy solid wood door closed, Caleb Lewis withdrew his hand. He walked straight to the study at the end of the corridor, his footsteps never once faltering, leaving me only with a tall yet distant silhouette. Our bedroom, separated by a long corridor, felt like an insurmountable chasm. Married for three years, this villa is absurdly large, yet it holds not a trace of true warmth. At eleven o'clock at night, my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a message from Caleb Lewis—no greeting, no emotion—just a cold command: "Next week's charity gala, remember to wear the haute couture I prepared for you." I stared at the screen for half a minute, my fingertip tracing the wallpaper — it was a photo of us from when we first got married. In the picture, my smile bloomed like a flower, and he held me from behind, the tenderness in his eyes unmistakably real. But now, looking at it again, that smile stings my eyes. I replied "Okay," then tossed the phone aside, turning and tossing all night, sleepless. The next afternoon, the sun blazed fiercely, the harsh light pressing down on my heart. I had just stepped out of the agency's door, about to get into the car, when a sharp burst of insults suddenly exploded in my ears. "Homewrecker! Shameless!" "Seductress! Stealing another woman's man while pretending to be pure!" I stood frozen, still not fully realizing what was happening, when a heavy, spiked object suddenly struck my head. A sharp pain spread instantly, as if countless needles were stabbing my scalp all at once, burning fiercely. Looking down, I saw a split durian, its yellow flesh mixed with dark red blood, flowing down my cheek, dripping onto my white dress, blooming into ugly stains. "Caleb Lewis loves you so much, and you're still not satisfied!" A girl wearing a black mask rushed up, pointing her finger at my nose and shouting, "You don't deserve him at all!" "Get out of the entertainment industry! Don't tarnish Caleb!" Another girl in a pink hoodie reached out and pushed my shoulder with considerable force. I staggered back two steps, steadying myself by leaning against the nearby wall. The blood on my forehead flowed increasingly, blurring my vision, and everything before my eyes grew indistinct. "What are you doing! Stop it!" My assistant Amy rushed over like a madwoman, spreading her arms to shield me. "Where are the security guards? Someone, please come quickly!" Amidst the chaos, someone whispered softly, their voice low yet clearly piercing my ears: "Luna was right; she deserved it." "Indeed, relying on her status as Mrs. Lewis, she behaves arrogantly. She should have been taught a lesson long ago." Luna Quinn, Caleb Lewis's chief assistant. That woman, always impeccably made up and speaking with flawless precision, yet always hiding hostility deep in her eyes. The hospital's disinfectant smell was suffocating. I sat in the consultation room; the wound on my forehead had been treated and was wrapped in thick gauze. The doctor entered holding the test report, his brows tightly furrowed, his expression so grave it made my heart sink. "Ms. Nancy Xavier," he adjusted his glasses, his voice heavy, "the test results are in. It's acute leukemia. The prognosis is not optimistic, and we need to urgently find matched hematopoietic stem cells." "Acute leukemia?" I repeated the words, my mind completely blank. The test report in my hand felt weightless, yet seemed to carry the weight of a thousand pounds, causing my fingers to tremble slightly. Caleb Lewis knew nothing about this. He was busy with interviews, attending various events, focused on maintaining the facade of a devoted husband before the cameras, never once asking how I was feeling. It was Luna Quinn who first learned of my hospitalization. She stepped into the ward in high heels, the clicking sound sharp and deliberate. Dressed in impeccably tailored professional attire, her makeup flawless to the point of perfection, yet her gaze was as cold as winter snow. "Nancy," she sat down on the chair beside my bed with an elegant posture, her tone edged with unmistakable dominance, "let's talk." I raised my hand to wipe the blood seeping through the gauze on my forehead; my fingertips were icy cold. "Talk about what?" "You get a divorce." Luna Quinn spoke bluntly, without any preamble, "Caleb Lewis is at the peak of his career, right in his ascendant phase. This cannot be jeopardized because of you." I smiled, the movement tugging at the wound on my forehead, making me gasp in pain, yet the ache in my heart was far worse than the wound. "Is it you who wants me to divorce, or is it Caleb's wish?" Luna Quinn raised an eyebrow, a cynical smile curling at the corner of her mouth: "Does it even matter? The outcome is the same either way." She took a divorce agreement from her handbag and pushed it toward me. "Sign this, and Caleb will give you generous compensation, enough for you to live comfortably and securely for the rest of your life." I glanced over the numbers in the agreement—undeniably tempting, enough for a normal person to live several lifetimes. So what if that's the case? What I have never wanted is money. "What if I don't sign?" I looked into her eyes, asking each word deliberately. Luna Quinn leaned close, her voice low and laced with naked threat: "Nancy Xavier, you'd better be sensible." The injury on your head might only be the beginning. She paused, her eyes filled with calculation. "You wouldn't want those fans to find out that the perfect Mrs. Lewis in their hearts is actually a woman 'unworthy of her position,' would you?" When the time comes, will you be able to bear the pressure of public opinion? I gazed into the malice in her eyes and was instantly struck by a deep sense of irony. Our marriage, which seemed flawless to outsiders, had long since been gutted, leaving behind only a magnificent shell that could shatter with the slightest touch. Caleb Lewis and I, who were once so good together, had long become the most tragic actors in this false marriage.