"yeah... Yeah, take me."
"Annabelle..... Wait... Is that you?"
The lights suddenly brightened, Annabelle saw the face of the man on her, her pupils contracted fiercely!
"Ricardo? How could it be you?!"
The man seized her chin, his face extremely cold, "If you are in my bed, then you should know I am not to be trifled with."
"That's not it, I made a mistake..."
Annabelle struggled to push him away, but it was too late. A tearing pain rushed over her, and she was completely swallowed by this dark night...
Afterwards, Ricardo threw her a card, while Annabelle slapped him on the face!
He touched the corner of his lips with his tongue, sarcastically: "Isn't this what you wanted, hmm?"
One sentence completely shattered Annabelle, she had no room for regret now.
"Ricardo, I don't want money, I want you to marry me!"
Three years later, at the Blinge Estate.
Annabelle watched the entertainment news broadcast on TV. Dancer Mirabel accidentally fell off the stage, causing chaos at the scene.
A man dressed in a suit, with a stern face, waded through the crowd, lifted the injured woman, and left the scene swiftly.
Even though it was just a profile, having been married to him for three years, she could still recognize him, even if he was reduced to ashes.
Last night...it was this man who was lying in bed, promising to come back early today.
She turned her gaze to the dishes on the table that had cooled down. They were the result of her laborious efforts all afternoon.
Annabelle rose, walked over, and dumped all the food into the trash bin.
Her fair hand bore two blisters scarred red. A stark contrast to her emotionless face whilst she was disposing off the food. It was such an irony.
After dumping the food, Annabelle went upstairs to pack her luggage.
She remembered, on the day she registered the marriage with Ricardo, they also signed a divorce agreement for a period of three years. That was the duration of Clarence's further studies abroad.
Although it was still three months away from the agreed time, Clarence had returned early. So, the divorce agreement should have come into effect as well, right?
Annabelle carried her suitcase downstairs. Before leaving, she dialed Ricardo's number.
An impatient voice came from the handset, "What is it?"
Listening to his indifferent voice, Annabelle's fingers holding the phone whitened slightly. It seemed he had already forgotten his promise from last night.
But it made sense, how can one trust the words a man says in bed?
"Have you eaten yet?"
Probably not wanting to answer her boring question, there was silence for a few seconds: "If there's nothing else to say, I will hang up. I'm busy."
The statement was brief and clear. He hung up after he finished speaking.
Later on, Annabelle drove away in the most expensive car in the garage.
The car, which didn't seem particularly special when it was parked among the other luxury vehicles, exuded a sense of flamboyant dominance once it hit the road.
She headed straight to the city's most upscale seven-star hotel, handing the front desk attendant a black card. "The Presidential Suite, for three months," she ordered.
Accepting the black card with a smile, the attendant replied, "That will be fifteen million, ma'am. Since you've chosen the Presidential Suite, there will be a 30% penalty if you check out early."
Unfazed, Annabelle said, "Just run the card."
By tomorrow, she expected she wouldn't be able to spend much of Ricardo's money.
The divorce agreement drafted by her lawyer proposed splitting their assets equally, but if Ricardo disagreed and insisted on a fight, it'd be anybody's guess if she'd be left with nothing. After all, the Rodney Enterprises' legal team was top-notch, capable of seemingly anything.
Given this, she decided to splurge while she was still Mrs. Rodney. After all, any money she didn't spend would likely end up with the home-wrecker.
After she swiped her card, the front desk attendant handed over her room key card with due respect. "Please keep your room card safe, ma'am!"
The people around her looked at Annabelle as if they were watching a walking, gold-plated plutocrat...
Outside a hospital operating room.
When Ricardo saw the card transaction record, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. It wasn't the sum that bothered him but the recipient — a seven-star hotel.
With a knit brow, he was about to call Annabelle when Mirabel was wheeled out of the operating room by a doctor.
She was still dressed in her dancing outfit, with the wounds from a fall scraped by stage decorations all over her arm. After being stitched up, it looked even more shocking.
Her face was even paler than the blanket beneath her.
Ricardo put away his phone and walked over, "Doctor, how is her condition?"
"She has minor concussions, multiple soft tissue contusions, slight spinal injuries. According to the examination results, it's not too severe."
Despite not being seriously injured, since she fell from a high place after all, Mirabel's face is still pale.
Anxiously looking at the doctor, she asked, "Will this affect my career down the line?"
In a conservative tone, the doctor responded, "We have to wait and see how your recovery goes, but there is a possibility."
Mirabel's eye reddened in an instant, but she brushed it off, looking at Ricardo, "Ricardo, thank you for today. You can go first. I can..."
Before she could finish her sentence, she was abruptly cut off by the doctor, "That's unacceptable. Someone needs to stay and watch over you. Mild concussions do come with risks, it's not a joke."
Mirabel, about to say something, was interrupted by Ricardo, "I'll stay tonight. You need to rest."
Having known each other for so long, Mirabel knew of his temperament, "I appreciate that, but… Should I call and explain to Annabelle?"
It was big news, they must have seen it.
The man was silent for a few seconds, a slight frown on his face noted his impatience, "No need."
Ricardo didn't leave the hospital until the early hours of the next morning. Upon his arrival back home, the housekeeper had already begun cleaning, "You've just come back, sir? Would you like some breakfast?"
"Mm."
After staying up all night, he was a bit groggy and his head throbbed a bit. Absently, he asked about Annabelle, "Where's the missus?"
"Madam must have gone to the company, I haven't seen her since I came," said the nanny, who does not live here since Ricardo doesn't like strangers in his house.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Ricardo noted that Annabelle would usually still be having breakfast at this hour. Had she made an arrangement for him to stay at the hotel last night since she didn't return home?
Ricardo's face clouded somewhat but the oblivious nanny brought up breakfast, along with a document in her hand. "Sir, this was given to me by the property management office this morning. They said that someone mailed you a parcel."
His residential address was confidential and the document was typically mailed to the company. After the secretary screened it and deemed it necessary, only then would it be given to him.
Having some free time, Ricardo didn't think much and accepted it directly, opening the parcel.
The conspicuous large words "Divorce Agreement" made his already grim face instantly grew cold. Skimming through the document, he scoffed when he saw the property division section, "Quite detailed indeed."
All properties, cars, cash and stocks bearing his name have been split in half.
Rodney Ricardo: "Quite ambitious, I see."
The nanny, standing by the side witnessing the words "Divorce", dared not say a word, wishing she could vanish on the spot.
With one hand holding the agreement, he took out his phone with the other and dialed a number.
Soon, a sleepy female voice came through the phone, "What is it?"
