"Smack"
The sound cracked through the room, sharp and brutal, reaching Arielle's face before her mind could register what had happened. Her body reacted first. She staggered sideways, her head snapping to the side as heat exploded across her cheek, blinding and immediate. Pain rippled outward, blooming fast and unforgiving.
One of Arthur's men had slapped her.
The realisation hit harder than the blow itself.
Arielle stood frozen, her breath caught somewhere between shock and humiliation. Her eyes lifted slowly to the man who had struck her, disbelief etched into every line of her face. Her chest tightened painfully. Even if Arthur had never truly seen her as his wife, even if he had never shown her the slightest affection, she was still human. She deserved respect. At the very least, she deserved to be treated as something other than disposable.
Her lips trembled, but no words came.
She raised her hand slowly, fingers shaking as they pressed against her cheek. The skin burned beneath her touch, throbbing angrily. Every heartbeat sent another wave of pain through her face. She winced but did not cry out, her pride clinging desperately to silence.
Then she felt it.
That familiar, suffocating cold.
Arthur stepped forward from the back of the room, his presence heavy and deliberate. He moved with the same calculated precision he always did—controlled, measured, untouched by emotion. His gaze swept over her dishevelled state, the swollen cheek, the tremor in her hands, the exhaustion written into her posture.
A smirk curved his lips.
Disgust flickered openly across his face.
"So," Arthur said, his voice smooth, almost casual. His lips curled faintly as he spoke. "How do you see this place?"
The question was almost laughable.
Arielle stared at him, stunned. He spoke as though he were asking her opinion on a view, not mocking the dark, suffocating room he had ordered her locked inside. As if the fear, the insects, the endless hours trapped in darkness were nothing more than scenery.
His eyes held no concern. No guilt. Only cold amusement.
She opened her mouth to respond, but before a sound could escape, Arthur flicked his wrist dismissively. A set of papers left his hand, fluttering through the air before landing at her feet. The sound was soft, but it echoed loudly in the tense silence.
Arielle hesitated.
Slowly, she bent down, her body aching, joints stiff, her movements careful. She picked up the document, her fingers brushing the smooth surface. Her breath caught the moment her eyes scanned the page.
Her heart dropped.
"Authur…" she whispered, her voice breaking as she looked up at him. "Divorce?"
The word tasted bitter on her tongue. Her chest tightened as she struggled to draw air.
"Sign those papers, Arielle," Arthur replied harshly. There was no hesitation in his tone. No patience. He lifted his hand slightly, gesturing coldly to the men beside her. "Make her sign."
Before she could react, hands grabbed her arms. Strong. Unyielding.
Arielle struggled immediately, panic surging through her veins. She twisted and pulled against their grip, desperation lending her strength. "No—!" she cried, her voice cracking. "I I… love you. I can't… I can't leave…"
The words came out broken, fragmented, choked by tears and fear.
Arthur watched her with narrowed eyes.
He had never seen someone as stubborn as her.
Anyone else would have signed by now. Anyone else would have taken the escape he was offering. Sometimes, he wondered if she had taken some sort of love potion, because nothing else explained why she still clung to him after everything he had done to her.
Her struggle only hardened his resolve.
He despised women like her—selfless, all-loving, foolish enough to sacrifice themselves for men who did not want them. Arielle embodied everything he disliked. Watching her cling to him, even now, only deepened his contempt.
"Sign the damn papers!" Arthur shouted suddenly.
The sound echoed harshly off the walls.
His expression twisted with disgust as he looked at her. He could not understand how his mother had ever approved of someone like this. How she had insisted Arielle become his wife, pressing the decision with a firmness that left no room for refusal. His mother had never liked Nerissa when she was alive; she had found everything Nerissa did offensive, false, reeking of calculation and dishonesty. There was always something about Nerissa that irritated her, something she did not trust.
Yet Arielle had been different.
From childhood, his mother had shown her a strange, almost unsettling fondness. She had watched her closely, protected her, favoured her in ways Arthur had never fully understood. Arielle's presence had softened her in moments where no one else could. That quiet preference, that unwavering approval, had followed Arielle into adulthood—and finally into marriage.
The memory burned.
The thought that his mother had chosen Arielle over everyone else—over Nerissa, over his own judgement —irritated him deeply.
He flicked his slender fingers sharply.
"Enough," he said coldly.
The men released her immediately. Arielle stumbled back, nearly losing her balance, clutching the papers tightly to her chest as if they were the only thing keeping her upright.
"I'm giving you two options," Arthur continued calmly, his tone eerily controlled. "First—sign the papers and be free. You'll be sent to any country of your choice, I'd give you one billion yuan,We forget everything that happening the past.You'd also be forgiven for murdering my moonlight ."
Arielle's breath hitched sharply.
"The second," he went on, his eyes darkening, "You refuse.… and endure the consequences."
He tilted his head slightly. " Choose."
Shock rooted Arielle to the spot.
"One billion yuan"
The number rang loudly in her mind. It was more money than she could ever imagine, enough to last several lifetimes. It was clear now—Arthur wanted her gone. Completely erased from his life. He was willing to buy her absence.
Her fingers tightened around the papers.
Leaving him felt impossible. Painful. Like tearing her own heart out.
"Can you… can you give me time to choose?" she asked finally, her voice small, fragile.
Arthur scoffed.
"Twenty–four hours," he said impatiently. " After that, I'd make the choice for you."
He turned away as if she no longer existed.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and answered it without hesitation as he walked a few steps away.
"Yes?"
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Arielle could hear her own heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears, uneven and frantic. The men around her remained perfectly still, watching her, waiting.
Then a voice came through the phone, tense and hurried.
"Sir,"a voice came through the phone, tense and worried, "There's an emergency!"