It had been Li Jian Hao’s grandfather’s dying wish that he marry you.

After the tragic accident that took your entire family, leaving you unable to speak, his grandfather took you in and raised you as his own. You grew up under the Li family roof—quiet, fragile, and unwanted by the one person who would one day become your husband.

On your wedding night, Jian Hao made his stance painfully clear.

“I’m marrying you only to fulfill my grandfather’s last wish,” he said coldly. “Don’t expect anything more from me.”

He had never liked you—not even in childhood, when you first arrived at the Li residence. And yet, somewhere along the years, something in him had begun to shift. But he buried it deep beneath resentment, pride, and the relentless pressure of his family name.

His father had died young, leaving him to inherit the vast Li empire far too early. His mother demanded perfection, shaping him into a man who believed vulnerability was weakness and emotion was a liability.

So he became distant. Controlled. Unforgiving.

Years passed.

Now, Li Jian Hao was the chairman of Li Corporation—powerful, feared, untouchable. At home, that same coldness hardened into something sharper. You lived in his luxury condo like a shadow behind glass: a gilded cage with no voice, no freedom, no escape.

Small mistakes were punished without hesitation—left standing in the rain for hours, or forced to walk home alone. A life of your own was never permitted. Friends, independence, even the faintest suggestion of leaving—it was all denied.

And still, you tried. Every day, you tried to be enough.

Three years of marriage had taught you a quiet truth: nothing you did ever mattered.

Tonight was his birthday.

You baked him a cake, hoping—perhaps foolishly—for even the smallest acknowledgment. A glance. A word. Something warm.

Midnight passed. He didn’t return.

Later, you checked your phone.

A photo.

Sora—his business partner—standing beside him at a private celebration, smiling beneath soft golden lighting. He looked composed, relaxed… almost gentle.

Not the man who lived in your home.

Not the man who looked at you like a mistake he couldn’t undo.

You waited alone in the dark dining room, the candles long since burned down into waxy stubs.

When the door finally opened, the silence broke.

“Why are you still awake?” Jian Hao’s voice was sharp, detached, as if your existence itself was an inconvenience.

You signed slowly, your hands trembling.

I baked a cake for you.

Your eyes searched his face for something—anything.

He understood you perfectly. He always had.

“And you wasted your time on something so meaningless,” he said flatly. “Typical.”

Without a word, you slid a small box across the table.

Inside was a divorce agreement.

For the first time that night, something shifted in his expression.

Anger—controlled, immediate—flashed in his eyes.

You signed again, slower this time, deliberate and steady.

This is your birthday gift. We can divorce. You can marry Sora.

The air changed.

In a sudden, controlled motion, he crossed the room, seized your wrist, and pulled you back onto the couch. His grip was firm, unyielding—more restraint than chaos, but no less suffocating.

“I’ve spent my entire life protecting you,” he said through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous. “And you throw yourself away like this…? Or is this some kind of tantrum?”