Once Cast-Off Wife, Now Untouchable Queen — Free Preview

Tyrone Winter's first love—the woman he broke up with six years ago and never really got over—suddenly came back.

And Zera Caldwell didn't come alone. She brought a five-year-old son with her.

For a month, Tyrone had been hiding behind business trips, doing everything he could to stay away from home.

Tonight was supposed to be special—their third wedding anniversary.

Aella Reid had set the table for a candlelit dinner. Wrapped a gift. Even sent him a WhatsApp message.

By nine o'clock, he still hadn't shown up.

Instead, she got a call from his younger sister, Raine Winter.

Her voice was tight. "Check the message I sent you."

Aella hung up and opened her chat.

One glance—and her smile froze.

The plate in her hand slipped and shattered against the floor. Porcelain shards cut into her ankle, thin red lines forming on her skin.

She didn't even flinch.

Raine had sent screenshots of Tyrone's private Instagram post.

He'd rented out the entire Bayline Marina.

There he was—with Zera and her son—celebrating the boy's birthday under a sky full of fireworks.

Aella bent down, picked up her phone, and swiped through the photos one by one—beach, yacht, fireworks, roses.

And there was Tyrone, holding a little boy in one arm. His other hand, still bearing their wedding ring, was resting possessively on the waist of another woman.

The perfect romantic tableau.

The caption read: "A blueberry cake I baked myself, for the ones I love most."

Even through the screen, the affection felt suffocating.

Aella's mind went blank. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

Her hands trembled as she opened Tyrone's profile—nothing. Empty.

She opened her mouth, but for a good minute, no words came out.

At some point, he had hidden all his posts from her.

That was when the last fragile piece of hope she had for him shattered.

Still, she refused to give up.

She called him. Once. Twice.

The third time, he hung up.

Then a single reply popped up: Busy.

Cold. Dismissive. Final.

Helplessness, anger, jealousy, heartbreak—all of it tangled together, tearing her apart from the inside.

Aella sank to the floor, clutching her head, gasping for air. Her chest felt like it was splitting open.

She grabbed a handful of her own hair and screamed until her throat burned—then broke down into silent sobs.

A knock sounded at the door.

She forced herself up and opened it.

Raine froze. "Aella, are you okay?"

Tears streaked Aella's face. She just shook her head.

Raine's jaw tightened. "Let's go. We'll find him right now."

Aella swallowed hard and steadied her voice. “No. I'll deal with Tyrone myself."

Her mother had just undergone bypass surgery and was still in the hospital.

She couldn't fall apart now.

Raine left in the early morning.

Aella drifted through the villa like a ghost, moving from room to room without really seeing anything.

She and Tyrone had been childhood sweethearts. Everyone knew she'd loved him since they were kids.

Everyone also knew Tyrone had never stopped loving someone else.

He hadn't married her out of love—it was a family arrangement.

Still, after three years, Aella had believed that maybe, if she loved hard enough, he would come around. That she could warm his heart.

Instead of love, she found proof of his grand reunion with his old flame.

Her childhood crush, the love she grew up with—twenty-five years of her life—had all burned out.

It was over.

Her mind was clear on what to do next, but her heart ached so deeply it hurt to breathe.

The pain felt like being split in two.

Unbearable.

—

That night, Tyrone still didn't come home.

For the next three days, Aella stayed at the hospital, caring for her mother, Miriam Reid.

During that time, Tyrone never called. Not even a text.

When her mother finally stabilized, Aella's father, Warren, urged her to go home and rest.

Late that night, half-asleep, she heard the bedroom door creak open.

Water splashed in the bathroom.

Then the mattress dipped beside her, and the faint scent of men's body wash filled the air.

Before she could react, she was already in Tyrone's arms.

After more than a month, he had finally decided to come back.

She could only imagine how happy he'd been—with them.

Feeling her body tense, Tyrone knew she was awake.

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer.

His lips brushed her neck, warm and insistent. Beneath the blanket, his hand slid down, tugging lightly at her pajama strap.

In three years of marriage, this was the only time Tyrone ever seemed gentle—with her, it was always just in bed.

And every time, Aella had lied to herself—telling herself his passion meant love.

Instinctively, she caught his hand. For the first time, she whispered, "No."

Her voice was raw from crying, but to him, it sounded like desire. His kisses deepened.

He knew her body too well—every touch deliberate, every move calculated. She couldn't fight it.

Just as she was about to give in, her mind flooded with flashes—

fireworks, roses, a yacht, and the beach.

Tyrone's wedding-band hand resting on another woman's waist.

That caption: For the ones I love most.

Her stomach turned. She shoved him away, rolled to the edge of the bed, and gagged.

The light clicked on. The air in the room changed, sharp and cold.

Tyrone got up and gently rubbed her back. "Are you sick?"

Aella pushed him off and stumbled to the bathroom.

She wasn't sick—just nauseous.

Tyrone frowned, watching her go. Then he went downstairs to get her some water.

He didn't notice her swollen eyes, her hoarse voice, or the bandaged cut on her ankle.

By the time he came back, Aella was climbing back into bed.

He handed her the glass. "Tomorrow I'll make a reservation," he said casually. "We'll make up for our anniversary."

No apology. No guilt. Just that.

Aella ignored the glass and pulled the blanket up. "Don't bother."

So he had remembered their third anniversary.

Yet that night, he'd still rented out an entire beach—for her and their son—and spent the evening watching fireworks with them.

From the day they married, Aella had cooked every meal, kept the house perfect, never asked for anything.

But for that woman and her child, Tyrone had rolled up his sleeves and baked a cake himself.

He had cheated. Fathered a child. Lied. And still came home, touched her, talked to her as if none of it meant anything.

He stood there now, calm and unbothered, pretending nothing had happened.

For the first time, Aella saw her husband—the man she'd loved all her life—for what he really was.

A hypocrite.

Silence filled the room, heavy as lead.

Then Tyrone's phone lit up on the nightstand.

Tyrone glanced at his phone, then at Aella.

When she didn't react, he quickly typed something back, locked the screen, and said flatly, "Get some sleep."

But sleep was the last thing Aella could do. Even with her eyes shut, that image replayed again and again—Tyrone, holding his son in one arm and his first love in the other. The scene burned behind her eyelids.

Her anger screamed at her to grab his phone, to make him tell her the truth.

But reason whispered that her mom had just gone through heart surgery. She was still in the hospital. This wasn't the time for a divorce fight.

At three in the morning, Tyrone's phone lit up again.

Ten minutes later, she heard the front door open, then the car start.

Aella opened her eyes. Just one text, and he ran out into the night.

That was how much power his first love still had over him.

She wanted to scream, to throw something, to fall apart—but she didn't even have the strength for that anymore.

All she could do was breathe.

The next morning, Aella forced herself to hold it together. She brought breakfast to the hospital for her parents.

Her exhausted face startled them.

Miriam was awake, lying weakly in bed, IV tubes running down her arm. Her voice was faint. "Aella, honey… what's wrong?"

Aella forced a smile. "Nothing, Mom. I just didn't sleep much."

Warren peeled an apple and handed her half. "The doctor came by earlier. Said the surgery went great. No complications. If the incision heals well, she can go home in a week."

Hearing that, Aella finally felt a little bit of relief.

After helping her mom finish breakfast, she stopped by the doctor's office.

On the way back, near the billing counter, she saw him.

Tyrone.

Even in a crowd, he stood out—tall, sharp-featured, with that cold, commanding aura that turned heads.

Their eyes met. He frowned slightly, then started walking toward her.

Aella glanced at the stack of receipts in his hand but swallowed her questions.

It was Wednesday morning. Around nine.

He should've been at the office, leading his weekly meeting.

But he was here. And she didn't need to ask why—she already knew.

She wanted to confront him, but fear held her back.

She didn't want to become that woman—the one screaming in public, the one everyone pities.

And she couldn't risk her parents finding out.

So she stood there, silent, her chest twisting with pain.

Waiting.

Tyrone reached for the medical bills in his hand—then his phone rang.

He froze for half a second, pulled his hand back, checked the screen, and answered quickly.

"I need to take this. You go ahead," he said, walking toward the elevators.

His voice dropped low. "Baby, don't pout," he murmured, soft and coaxing.

That gentle tone cut through Aella like a knife.

She rushed into the restroom and broke down. The tears came hard, unstoppable.

So he could be tender. He could speak sweetly.

He just never did it with her.

She'd known Tyrone for twenty-five years—and he had never once talked to her like that.

When she finally calmed down, Aella washed her face, fixed her makeup, and went back to the hospital room.

Her mother noticed right away. She sent Warren out on an errand, then reached for Aella's hand.

"Aella," she whispered, "did you and Tyrone fight?"

Aella dropped her gaze. "No, Mom. We're fine."

She had barely said it when the door opened—and in walked Warren, with Tyrone right behind him.

Miriam's tired face brightened instantly. "Tyrone, you're so busy with work, you didn't have to come."

Tyrone set the supplements on the table. "Mom, I arranged for one of the best cardiologists to take a look at you. Once you're discharged, we'll do a full follow-up check."

Warren smiled proudly. "You've always been so thoughtful, Tyrone. We really owe you a lot."

Tyrone's eyes flicked toward Aella's swollen lids. "Dad, we're family. No need to be polite."

When Aella tried to stand and give him her seat, Tyrone pressed her gently back down. "I'll stand."

She sat there, watching the warm little scene—her parents smiling, Tyrone laughing softly—and it made her stomach twist. It looked too perfect, too bright. She had to look away.

Three years ago, when the Reids went bankrupt, Tyrone had carried the whole burden. He paid their debts, got her parents back on their feet, sent her brother to a private school—and even followed through on the marriage contract to marry her.

Back then, she'd been naïve enough to think he must feel something for her.

But then she overheard him talking to his father after the wedding. That was the day she woke up.

He'd said that in business, character and reputation mattered most—and helping the Reids would give him both.

He was right.

Marrying her turned him into a model husband, the golden boy of the Winter Group.

That's when she realized—she wasn't the woman he wanted. She was just the convenient choice. The safe one.

And the moment his first love came back, he ran straight to her.

When that woman gave him a son, Tyrone was over the moon. He completely forgot he even had a wife.

Aella's face went pale.

Miriam noticed and told Tyrone, "Take her home, let her rest."

They walked out of the room together in silence. Nothing was said until they reached the elevator.

Tyrone finally spoke. "Why do you look so pale? Didn't sleep?"

Aella let out a hollow laugh.

He had spent their anniversary with another woman and her child, and now he thought she just needed rest.

Love or not, the truth was written all over the details. She'd just refused to see it.

She pulled her hand free. "You go on ahead. I want to walk a bit."

The elevator doors opened, but Tyrone caught her arm and gently pulled her inside.

"I made dinner reservations tonight. Your favorite restaurant."

"Mm," Aella replied flatly.

More people got in, and Tyrone pulled her a little closer. His frown deepened as he looked down at her.

The girl who used to light up every room she walked into was now quiet and dull, like someone had drained the life out of her.

When they stepped out, Aella refused to let him drive her home.

As soon as they parted, she went straight to a law firm.

At two hundred dollars an hour, she hired a lawyer to draft her divorce papers.

At seven that evening, Aella showed up at the restaurant.

Tyrone stood to pull out her chair, as gentlemanly as ever.

She sat quietly, watching as he ordered for them with his usual calm precision.

He wore a black suit with a matching shirt—simple, elegant, and perfectly tailored. On anyone else, it might've looked stiff. On him, it just made him look more composed, more controlled.

Tyrone Winters had been groomed since birth to take over the family empire. He had the pedigree, the manners, the discipline—all the right polish in all the right places.

Aella had known him for twenty-five years. In all that time, she had never once heard him raise his voice or lose control.

Even with the waitstaff, he was unfailingly polite.

He was the kind of man who always had everything—and everyone—exactly where he wanted them.

Tyrone Winters was extraordinary.

But he married a woman he didn't love.

Divorce was just a matter of time.

While they waited for the food, Tyrone set a small velvet box beside her hand. "Your anniversary gift," he said simply.

Aella wrapped her fingers around her water glass, gave a small nod, and barely glanced at it.

She had loved Tyrone for twenty-two years. Married him for three.

No one knew better than she did that beneath all that polish and charm, his heart was cold as marble.

When she was younger, she used to pester him for presents. He'd eventually give in, annoyed but indulgent, and she'd spend days beaming over whatever trinket he gave her.

That was before her world fell apart. Before her family went bankrupt.

Her mother had reminded her back then that she was no longer an heiress—just an ordinary girl.

"Don't forget your place," she'd said. "You're not his equal anymore."

From that day on, Aella stopped asking for anything.

No tantrums. No begging.

And even though Tyrone didn't love her, he kept up appearances.

Birthdays. Anniversaries. Valentine's Day. Even Women's Day. There was always a gift waiting.

Tonight was no different.

Seeing that she wasn't opening it, Tyrone unboxed it himself, revealing a diamond bracelet that sparkled under the soft restaurant light.

One look told her it was worth at least seven figures.

He reached for her left hand, his long fingers curling around hers as he tried to slip it on.

Aella instinctively pulled back.

Tyrone's grip tightened slightly. His eyes studied her, sharp and steady.

"You don't like it?"

There was a time when a five-dollar hair tie from him could make her smile for days.

Now, a diamond bracelet barely earned a glance.

"It's fine," she murmured.

Tyrone fastened it around her wrist anyway. "It looks beautiful."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He frowned.

When she was a kid, she'd followed him around everywhere, always wanting something—his time, his attention, anything. And she'd always taken whatever he gave her without hesitation.

Now, after three years of marriage, she was suddenly… polite.

He figured it must be because of Zera. He had forgotten their anniversary, after all. She was probably still mad.

Tyrone picked up his utensils and passed her the dessert plate. "Your favorite. Chocolate truffles."

Aella stared at them, then looked up at him. "If I wanted something you made yourself, would you do it for me?"

Tyrone cut into his steak with calm precision. "Everyone has their strengths," he said evenly. "The chefs here could make it better than I ever could. Whatever you want, just buy it. Don't worry about the money."

Aella dropped her gaze to hide the sting.

Everyone has their strengths. That was his answer.

Yet he'd baked a blueberry cake for his first love—and her son. Even posted it online, like some teenage boy in love.

For her, though? He couldn't be bothered to learn one recipe.

The difference between being loved and not being loved had never felt clearer.

She forced herself to take a bite of the truffle.

It tasted bitter. Hard to swallow.

She frowned but swallowed anyway. The bitterness clung to her tongue, heavy and sharp, just like the ache in her chest.

She didn't speak again.

Tyrone ate quietly, neatly, every motion practiced. The soft clink of silverware was the only sound between them.

He looked up after a while, uneasy.

When she was younger, she could never sit still during a meal. She'd talk nonstop, laugh too loud, even try to climb into his lap.

Once, he'd joked that she probably had ADHD.

Even when she was mad, she was noisy about it—pouting, crying, yelling.

But never like this. Never so quiet.

He tugged at his collar. Something felt off.

Then his phone lit up.

He glanced at the screen and locked it.

A minute later, it buzzed again.

He declined the call and reached for the juice to refill her glass.

Before he could finish, the phone started buzzing a third time.

Their eyes met.

Tyrone's expression darkened.

Aella's gaze flicked down to the phone vibrating on the table. She knew that look—the tension in his shoulders, the way he tried to stay composed.

She didn't need to see the caller ID. She already knew who it was.

His first love.

Zera.

The urgency in his eyes was unmistakable. What she didn't see was guilt.

When the fourth call came through, Tyrone finally spoke. "I'll leave the driver for you. Go home and get some rest. Don't wait up."

As he stood, Aella rose too.

She swallowed the dull ache in her throat and reached for her bag. "You're busy. I'll call a cab."

He didn't explain. She didn't ask.

Distracted, she turned—and bumped into a passing waiter. Her phone and bag hit the carpet, scattering everything—including the divorce papers she'd just picked up from the law firm.

Tyrone bent down to help, but Aella snatched them up first.

Now wasn't the time. Not yet. Not until her mother was out of the hospital.

Tyrone's eyes swept over the mess, then zeroed in on the papers in her hand. His gaze sharpened.

"What's that?"

Aella forced her voice to stay calm. "Some medical notes."

He didn't buy it. “Really?”

Before she could hide them, he reached for the folder.

The papers stretched tight between them, neither willing to let go.

Then Tyrone's phone buzzed again.

He hesitated. Looked at her.

And let go.

Tyrone left in a rush, telling the driver to take Aella home.

But as soon as he was gone, Aella waved the driver off, hailed her own cab, and followed him straight to the hospital.

She needed to see her with her own eyes—the woman who'd held Tyrone's heart all these years.

At the elevator, she caught sight of him stepping inside. By the time she got there on another lift, he'd already disappeared.

Aella let out a bitter laugh.

Once, she'd been the proud heiress of her family—poised, admired, untouchable.

Now she was just a jealous wife, chasing after her cheating husband like some desperate fool.

Her stomach twisted. If it weren't for her mother's fragile health, she might've screamed at Tyrone, ripped off her wedding ring, and ended everything right there.

The pain was so sharp it made her dizzy.

By the time she managed to calm herself, she wiped her tears, redid her makeup, and walked into her mother's hospital room like nothing had happened.

Miriam looked surprised to see her show up so late. Concern flashed across her tired face.

"Aella, sweetheart, tell me the truth. Did you and Tyrone have a fight?"

Aella forced a smile, dragging a chair closer to the bed. "No, Mom. We're fine."

Her throat tightened. She remembered the day she'd proudly told her parents that marrying Tyrone was the happiest thing in her life.

Now, how could she tell them the truth?

That her perfect husband had been unfaithful.

That she wanted a divorce.

Her father, Warren, passed her a pack of snacks sent by relatives. "Aella, you've been married three years now. Tyrone's done a lot for this family. If there's an issue, talk it through. Don't throw a fit and make things worse."

Miriam sighed, her tone soft but pressing. "You're twenty-five now. It's time to start a family. Tyrone's the Winters' only son. You should give him a child soon—then your marriage will last."

Aella went quiet.

She wanted kids.

But Tyrone didn't.

She remembered one night, not long after he came back from a business trip. She'd hidden all the protection on purpose.

That night, he'd been unusually passionate. They didn't use anything.

For a moment, she'd been so happy—thinking maybe, finally, he was ready.

The next morning, Tyrone handed her a box of emergency pills and stood there, watching, until she swallowed them.

After that, she gave up. On schemes. On dreams.

He wanted kids—just not with her.

Later that night, her younger brother Clyde came running into the hospital after school. The moment he saw Aella, he hugged her tightly.

"Aella! I just saw Tyrone!"

Her smile froze.

Miriam frowned. "Aella, did Tyrone come here with you?"

Aella forced out an answer. "He just dropped by to see a friend. I tagged along."

She turned to Clyde, her voice low. "Where did you see him?"

Clyde scratched his head, thinking. "We got in the elevator together. I think he pressed thirteen."

Aella muttered something vague to her parents, then slipped out.

She couldn't just walk up and accuse him. Instead, she quietly made her way down the thirteenth-floor hallway, checking each private suite.

Her chest tightened with every step. She wasn't the one having an affair—but somehow, she was the one who felt ashamed.

The corridor was quiet. Too quiet.

Then she stopped.

The door ahead was slightly open. Through the narrow gap, she saw Tyrone sitting by a bed—his arm around a woman.

Her stomach dropped.

That had to be her.

His first love.

Zera.

Aella had heard her name before, but she'd never seen her in person.

Zera sat at the edge of the bed, arms looped around Tyrone's waist, her face buried against his chest. Her long hair spilled over his arm.

Even from behind, Aella could tell she was beautiful. That kind of delicate, soft beauty that made men want to protect her.

Then Zera lifted her head, voice trembling just enough to sound fragile. "Tyrone, can you stay with me tonight?"

So that's how close they were.

Aella's nails dug into her palm as she watched Tyrone gently untangle Zera's hands from his neck. And that's when she saw it—

a diamond bracelet on Zera's wrist.

The same bracelet he'd given her earlier that evening.

Her breath caught.

She looked down at her own wrist—two identical bracelets.

So when he'd said "It looks beautiful," he hadn't been talking about her.

He'd been remembering her.

Zera.

The realization hit like a blade to the chest.

The sounds around her faded, swallowed by the roar in her ears.

Rage bubbled up—hot, sharp, uncontrollable.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Aella tore the bracelet off her wrist and threw it to the floor.

Then she turned and ran.

Down the hall, around the corner, until her legs gave out and she crumpled in an empty corridor, shaking, sobbing into her hands.

For a long moment, she thought she might actually die from the pain.

By the time she got home, she couldn't even remember how she'd made it there.

After crying herself dry, she showered, but her body felt heavy and hollow. Her fingers were so stiff she couldn't even turn on the hairdryer.

She lay in bed, eyes swollen and red, every emotion locked deep inside—anger, humiliation, heartbreak—all swallowed down, silent.

Even breaking down, she realized, required the right time and place.

So this was adulthood.

When her mother recovered, Aella decided she would end it.

Just thinking about divorcing Tyrone in a few days made her whole body tremble.

At night, when the house was quiet, the grief hit hardest.

She curled up, covering her face with both hands, and sobbed until she couldn't breathe.

In the dark, she looked so small, so fragile—like someone trapped in a nightmare they couldn't wake up from.

—

Back at the hospital, Tyrone had just settled Zera back into bed before heading to the nurses' station to get a thermometer.

A few nurses were chatting softly, and one of them was holding a diamond bracelet.

The moment Tyrone saw it, his expression hardened.

He stepped forward, took it from her hand, and turned it over. Inside the clasp was a tiny engraving—an A.

His chest sank.

That bracelet belonged to Aella.

There was no mistaking it.

"She was here," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "Where did you get this?"

The nurses froze. One stammered nervously, "I—I'm sorry, Mr. Winters. A lady dropped it. Said she didn't want it anymore."

Didn't want it.

The words hit like a punch.

A few minutes later, Tyrone walked back into Zera's room, face unreadable. He handed her the thermometer.

"I talked to the nurses. Someone will come sit with you soon."

Zera, pale and frail, tried to sit up. "Tyrone, didn't you promise to stay with me tonight?"

He gently pushed her back down, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. "Something came up. I'll take care of it."

Zera gave a soft, weary smile. "It's my fault. My son and I have taken up so much of your time. Your wife must be upset. You should go home and comfort her."

Tyrone adjusted her pillow and straightened the blanket again.

His voice was calm, steady, too even.

"Don't worry," he said quietly.

"She's fine."

It was late when Tyrone got home. The whole house was pitch-dark.

Not a single light on.

He stood there for a moment, uneasy, before finally flicking the switch.

For three years of marriage, no matter how late he came home, Aella would always be waiting for him in the living room with the TV humming softly.

The second he stepped through the door, she'd run over barefoot and jump into his arms, clinging to him so tight he could barely move.

But tonight, the house stayed silent. Not even one light left on for him.

She was really mad this time.

Dragging his tired body toward the bedroom, Tyrone found it just as dark. Only a faint glow seeped through the curtains. He turned on the bedside lamp.

Aella had her face buried in the pillow, pretending to be asleep.

Tyrone sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair off her forehead, checking if she'd stir.

She didn't move, still hidden under the thin blanket.

After a long pause, he got up and went into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room.

Aella slowly opened her swollen eyes. Her lashes were still damp. She trembled slightly, then pulled the blanket over her head again.

When Tyrone came out, dressed in a dark robe, his wet hair was dripping onto his shoulders.

He leaned over the bed, studying her face. Seeing she was still "asleep," he sighed, turned off the light, and left for the study.

He didn't turn on the light there either. Standing by the tall window, he lit a cigarette and held up the diamond bracelet in his hand.

She probably hadn't noticed yet.

If she had, knowing her temper, the whole house would've been in chaos by now.

It must've just slipped off somewhere on the 13th floor.

The next morning, Aella got up early, washed her face, and got ready to bring breakfast to her parents.

Tyrone walked out of the dressing room, neat and composed.

She didn't have the strength to argue anymore. Picking up her phone, she headed for the door.

Tyrone caught her wrist, his fingers brushing against her skin.

"Where's your bracelet? Why aren't you wearing it?"

Aella lowered her eyes, her voice hoarse. "I don't know. I must've lost it."

Tyrone ignored the rasp in her voice, watching her closely. "I saw Clyde last night."

Aella froze. He was testing her.

Taking a breath, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

"After we split up last night, I went to see my mom at the hospital. Clyde said he saw you heading to the 13th floor. I looked for you but couldn't find you, so I went home."

Tyrone reached into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet.

"You dropped it at the hospital," he said quietly. "I picked it up."

He didn't explain why he'd been there.

Sliding the bracelet back onto her wrist, he tried to sound gentle.

"Just wear it for now. Once this busy stretch is over, I'll take you to get something new—whatever you want."

Aella felt something in her snap.

Days of frustration, hurt, and resentment boiled over all at once.

"I said I don't want it!" she screamed. "I don't want it! I don't want it!"

Her chest heaved as she glared at him, tears burning her eyes.

"If it's not one of a kind—if you're not one of a kind—I don't want it at all!"

For some reason, Tyrone felt oddly relieved seeing her finally lose control.

Aella had always been spoiled. When she didn't get her way, she'd throw a fit.

He figured she was upset because the bracelet wasn't "special enough."

He slipped his hands around her waist and bent down to kiss her.

But the moment his lips brushed hers, Aella shoved him away.

She wasn't like before—when even a small touch could melt her completely.

Tears blurred her vision. "No! I don't want this! No!"

She pushed, hit, clawed at him, desperate and wild.

Tyrone's patience frayed. He caught her wrists.

"Aella, that's enough. You're crossing a line."

He could handle her moods—but not this hysteria.

Her voice cracked. "I've always been like this! You're just realizing that now?"

Tyrone kept his calm. "All this over a bracelet?"

Aella's rage exploded. She threw things across the room.

"You know exactly what you've done, Tyrone!"

Her sobs grew louder. "You don't even want to be here, do you? Then go! Get out!"

Instead of leaving, Tyrone pulled her into his arms.

“Stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Then his phone buzzed. The timing couldn't have been worse.

When he quickly reached to silence it, she went berserk.

"Answer it! Go on! Isn't work more important? Answer it!"

Aella was at her breaking point.

When Tyrone refused, she lunged at the phone—then bit his hand, hard.

Pain shot through him, and he instinctively shoved her away.

She stumbled, fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

The room went dead quiet.

Tyrone's chest rose and fell as he stared at her lying motionless, hair a tangled mess across her face.

Exhaustion sank into his bones. He was done.

His mind drifted back—

To when she was little: mischievous but sweet, always melting his heart.

To when she grew up: bright, stunning, innocent, turning heads wherever she went.

Then later: passionate, playful, so in love with him that she never hid it.

After marriage, she softened—learned to take care of him, became calm and gentle.

At every stage, she'd been radiant. Proud. Graceful.

But never like this—never a broken, raging mess.

"When you've calmed down," he said quietly, "we'll talk."

Without looking back, he walked out.

Just then, Raine showed up.

Tyrone paused at the stairs. "Aella's not in a good mood. I ordered her some food. Stay with her, make sure she eats, then take her out for some air."

Before Raine could say anything, he was already gone.

It wasn't the first time Aella had "fainted."

Whenever she upset him, she'd act sick or fragile, and every time, he'd just ignore it.

But this time, she'd gone too far. He wanted her to cool off.

Raine went upstairs and froze the moment she stepped into the bedroom.

"Aella!" she screamed.

She rushed to her, lifting her up—only to realize Aella wasn't pretending this time.

Panicking, she dialed Tyrone, but his line was busy.

With no other choice, she called 911.

When Aella opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital bed.

Raine sat nearby with their mother, Virginia Winter.

The moment Aella stirred, Virginia leaned forward anxiously.

"Aella, sweetheart, does it hurt?"

Aella shook her head weakly. "Why am I in the hospital?"

Raine gently helped her sit up. "You fainted at home."

Slowly, her memories came flooding back—

The argument, the shouting, the fall.

Her voice trembled. "Did Tyrone… bring me here?"

Raine hesitated. "No. The ambulance did."