Chapter 3 I'm Tired, Let's Get a Divorce

Tristan was so eager to leave, he didn't even care about the divorce; he was rushing to be with Lark.

A familiar pang of pain swept through Harriet's heart, so intense it almost numbed her.

In the first two years of their marriage, she'd often seen Lark flaunting her love life on social media.

Back then, she felt conflicted—each time she looked, it hurt, yet she couldn’t stop herself from checking.

Now, she'd decided to stop torturing herself like that.

Harriet tapped her screen and deleted both Tristan's and Lark's contact information.

After taking a bath and putting on her clothes, her phone suddenly rang.

It was Tristan calling.

Wasn't he supposed to be with Lark? Why would he have time to call her?

Harriet hesitated but answered the call, "Tristan?"

"Did you delete Lark's contact info?"

"Yeah, I did. What's the problem?"

"What's the problem? You seriously have to ask?" Tristan’s voice shook with anger. "Lark found out you were out of prison and tried to reach out, only to discover you'd deleted her. She thinks you still hate her and is reliving the trauma of being pushed down the stairs. She's a mess, Harriet! Can you just stop?"

His accusations stung, but Harriet forced herself to stay calm. "Tristan, deleting her contact was my choice."

"Sure, it's your freedom, but she's a patient!" Tristan emphasized. "And because you caused her to end up in a wheelchair, her emotions are already fragile. Shouldn't you take her feelings into consideration?"

Harriet closed her eyes and let out a bitter laugh. "Since your precious Lark is so fragile, I should stay far away from her. Who knows when she'll get hurt again and blame me?"

"Harriet, you..."

Harriet hung up the phone and blocked Tristan's number.

She got dressed and went downstairs to make herself a bowl of noodles before heading to the cemetery.

The rain was still falling softly as Harriet stood in front of Cleo's tombstone for a long, long time.

By the time she returned to Cloud Bay, it was already evening. As she walked in, she saw Tristan sitting on the couch in the living room.

Harriet was surprised; usually, when Tristan went to be with Lark, he'd stay the whole day until she fell asleep.

Not wanting to question his unusual behavior, she ignored him and headed straight upstairs.

"Stop."

Tristan's cold, deep voice came from behind her.

Harriet halted.

Tristan stood up and walked toward her, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "Harriet, you've grown bold, haven't you? Hanging up on me and blocking my number?"

Harriet tried to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist. "I'm talking to you. Did prison make you deaf?"

Harriet's heart twisted painfully as she looked up at him. "Yeah, I went to prison. My life is ruined forever. Isn't that enough for you?"

Tristan saw her swollen eyes and frowned. "You've been crying? Did you visit your grandmother's grave?"

Harriet held back her tears. "I couldn't be there for her funeral. Do I need your permission to visit her now?"

Tristan's expression darkened, "Harriet, I insisted you go back to prison that day because I didn't want you to be too upset."

"Didn't want me to be upset?" Harriet laughed bitterly. "You can't even lie convincingly with such a poor excuse?"

She pulled her hand free. "Tristan, I'm exhausted. Let's get a divorce."

Harriet returned to the master bedroom and pulled out an old suitcase, beginning to pack.

She refused to take anything the Lancaster family had given her after the wedding, so there wasn’t much to pack.

"Harriet, are you done with this tantrum?" Tristan's impatient voice came from behind her. "It was only a year in prison. Besides, I made sure you weren't mistreated. What more do you want?"

Harriet paused in her packing and turned to face him. "You did make arrangements. My meals were different from the other inmates—always liver or spinach, foods to boost my blood because I had to be ready to donate blood to Lark at any time."

Tristan frowned. "In the end, you're still upset about Lark. Harriet, donating blood to Lark was to save her life. You studied medicine; you should have a doctor's compassion. And I compensated you."

"Doctor's compassion?" Harriet laughed bitterly. "Have you ever seen a doctor nearly bleed themselves dry to save a patient?"

"And your idea of compensation is this?" She pointed to a wall lined with expensive handbags worth millions—a dream for many women.

"Every time I donated blood, you bought me a bag—and they were always the ones Lark didn't want, right?"

Every bag she received had been picked over by Lark, and then Tristan would buy one of the leftovers for Harriet. They were extravagant but impractical for everyday use.

She had never asked for the bags, but they all thought exchanging blood for a bag was a good deal for Harriet.

Harriet smiled faintly. "I won't take any of these bags because I never wanted to sell my blood."

Tristan rubbed his temples. Since their marriage, Harriet had always been compliant—occasionally sulking but never defiant and certainly never speaking to him so decisively.

Tristan grabbed her shoulders, his tone softening slightly. "I know you're upset after getting out of prison. Can we stop this? Let’s go eat—I had the cook make your favorite dishes."

Harriet pushed his hands away, grabbed her suitcase, and headed for the door.

In the next moment, she was lifted off the ground, held securely in Tristan’s arms.

Before she could resist, he gently laid her on the soft bed.

Tristan leaned over her, holding her hands firmly above her head. 

His familiar masculine scent enveloped her as he whispered in her ear, "Mrs. Lancaster, can we stop being angry? I'll make you happy tonight, okay?"

Harriet’s heart raced. 

In the past, whenever she was upset, Tristan would seduce her until she calmed down. 

He found it amusing and would pull her into bed whenever she seemed unhappy. 

He was dominant in bed, always pushing Harriet to the brink of tears, making her agree to anything he said.

Tristan's breathing grew heavier as he kissed her lips and started unbuttoning her shirt.

Harriet suddenly snapped back to reality, struggling to break free. "No... I don't want to..."

"You don't want to?" Tristan looked down at her, his eyes filled with desire. "You're saying no now, but soon you'll be clinging to me, asking for more."

Harriet's face turned crimson, as if it could bleed.

Tristan smirked and kissed her neck. "I missed you this past year. I worked late almost every night to keep myself under control"

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, night had fallen and rain continued to drizzle, while the temperature in the room steadily rose.

After three years of marriage, Tristan knew Harriet's body well, skillfully teasing her.

Harriet's body trembled with tension. She tried to maintain her composure and break free, but Tristan seemed determined to pull her into his world.

"Harriet, give me..."