"Why are you crying? Should I be gentler?"

In the dim bedroom, the man's deep voice resonated, intermittently intermingled with muted moans.

The mobile phone incessantly rang at the side, making their obligatory sex seem more ludicrous and absurd.

Courtney Doyle bit her lip hard, enduring Tristan Raymond's forceful thrusts which felt like a vent.

Today was their agreed-upon day to fulfill their monthly marital duties.

Tristan was too fierce tonight, still only caring about his own pleasure, his face forever sporting that cold and detached expression.

Perhaps due to the incessant ringing of the phone, the time was cut by half from before, almost costing Courtney half her life.

He pulled out and hastily picked up his phone to answer the call.

It wasn't until this moment that Courtney, with her senses in disarray, noticed that he hadn't even bothered to remove his shirt that night.

His attitude felt like a harsh stab to her heart.

She was the one who had originally longed for this marriage.

They had been married for three years, and news about Tristan's flings outside of their marriage never ceased.

Courtney turned a deaf ear, sometimes even speaking up for him in front of his parents, single-handedly sustaining this ridiculous marriage.

She had been constantly self-hypnotizing, telling herself that at least, he had never deprived her financially, and that at least, he had always respected her.

Gradually, even these things disappeared.

Courtney guessed that Tristan might have had a mistress.

He was using this detachment to coerce her into making way for his new love.

"Good girl, stop crying. I'll be over right away."

Tristan's tone was very gentle as he coaxed the person on the other end of the phone, making Courtney's heart plummet into an abyss.

He hung up the phone and came in, swiftly dressing.

"I'm leaving. I won't be staying here tonight."

His tone was indifferent, as if everything should be taken for granted.

Courtney looked at him for a long time.

Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs.

Strong muscles, portrayed strength without exaggeration.

Once upon a time, Tristan was the man all the women of Berkhamsted dreamed of.

Based on his face alone, they would be fawning over him.

What a pity, only Courtney, his wife, knew how terrible he was as a husband.

As Tristan walked to the bedroom door, behind him came Courtney's indifferent voice.

"Tristan, let's get a divorce!"

He halted his steps, turning back to glance at Courtney with an extremely cold gaze.

"I've followed the schedule and had sex with you, haven't I? What's the problem now?"

Courtney's lips curled up, revealing a bitter smile, "I'm fed up. Since I can't get pregnant anyway, let's end this!"

Tristan sneered, "Think it over. You better not regret it. I despise clingy women the most."

"Don't worry, I won't." Courtney resolutely replied.

"Suit yourself!"

With these words, he angrily slammed the door and left.

As the harsh sound of the door shutting lingered, Courtney finally regained her senses.

He actually agreed to it so easily. It seemed he really had a mistress.

Courtney clenched the corner of her blanket, her knuckles turned pale and her lips slightly quivered.

It was better this way.

Just consider that three years of her effort had all been in vain!

...

Early the next day, Tristan returned.

His eyes bore an unhealthy blue hue, signaling lack of sufficient sleep.

"Leyla, call her down to join me for breakfast," commanded Tristan as he seated himself by the dining table, tenderly massaging his forehead. He was yearning for Courtney's touch - her therapeutic technique which always managed to soothe his aching head.

Yet, it was contrary to his expectations.

"Mr. Raymond, Mrs. Raymond left early in the morning. She left you these."

Raising an eyebrow, Tristan's amber orbs instantly held a sharper glint. A set of keys, a card, and a divorce agreement - those were all she left him.

"Damn woman!"

Indignant, Tristan dialed Courtney's number through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, the user you are trying to reach has already logged out," the automated voice responded, filling the silence.

Thump! His grip on his phone tightened before he forcefully smashed it on the dining table.

The screen cracked.

The sweet smiling face of Courtney on his wallpaper was now buried under the distressing spider-web of broken glass.