Rachel had been involved with a shrewd, middle-aged man who abandoned her when his wife found out, leaving Rachel to face the wife's wrath. Not long ago, Rachel was cornered and beaten by the wife at a mall, making local headlines. Shortly after, she received a court summons, forcing her to return all the money the man had transferred to her during their affair. With nowhere to turn, Rachel latched onto an elderly, divorced man. Rumor had it that he was promiscuous and had contracted a disease, but no one told Rachel. Her future seemed bleak.

Clint, meanwhile, fell into despair after losing his job and turned to drinking. These bits of gossip barely held my attention and were quickly forgotten.

Draven, however, became a persistent problem, frequently contacting me to hint at favors he wanted. I rejected every attempt. When Draven realized he couldn't interfere with my siblings (Andre had people watching over them), he targeted my mother's grave, threatening to desecrate it unless I agreed to his terms. I was furious; I shook with anger. After a long silence, I made a decision: I would move my mother's grave to Washington and sever all ties with Draven and the entire Frida family.

That evening, I discussed it with Andre. He gently stroked my hand and said, in an even tone, as if discussing the weather, "Leave it to me."

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't answer, instead pulling me onto his lap. "Frida, if I take drastic action, will you think I'm cruel?"

"No," I replied without hesitation. "I'd love nothing more than for him to have a miserable life."

"Alright, then, as you wish."

Andre kissed me lightly, then said, "But Frida, I never do things without gaining something in return." His kisses grew deeper. "You know what I want."

Of course, I knew. Despite being married for so long, Andre rarely let me rest, except during my periods. But I didn't mind—I even enjoyed it.

"Andre, let's go to bed…"

"No, right here. Just take this." Andre's hands gripped my waist. "Frida… you know my legs don't work, so this time, it's up to you."

I raised my arms to wrap around his shoulders and softly murmured my agreement, leaning into his kiss.

I heard nothing about Draven again for a month. Two weeks prior, his already crumbling company went bankrupt. Shortly after, he discovered his wife had been secretly cheating on him. The revelation infuriated him so much that he suffered a stroke, leaving him bedridden for the rest of his life, barely clinging on. The once-threatening Brown family had completely fallen apart, like a festering wound that had finally burst, unable to disgust or harm me any longer. A wave of relief washed over me when I heard this.

At that moment, Andre came home to take me out for dinner. But halfway through the drive, something was off. A strange smell—petrol—made me uneasy. I frowned and turned to look at Andre. He was already looking at me. Our eyes met, and we immediately understood each other's thoughts. I held my breath and pressed the button to roll down the window. As expected, the windows were locked. I turned to look at the driver—a replacement, as Andre's regular drivers were unavailable (one had a family emergency, the other had food poisoning). Andre's expression darkened. "Who sent you?"

The driver didn't respond, only accelerating. Behind us, the car carrying Andre's bodyguards sped up, trying to force our car to stop. Andre had alerted them the moment he noticed something unusual. The driver slammed on the gas, taking a downhill road at the next fork. The two cars engaged in a high-speed chase, neither gaining the upper hand. The petrol smell inside the car made my mind increasingly foggy. I instinctively clung to Andre's hand.

"Don't be scared, Frida. I'm here," he reassured me, gripping my hand tightly.

As soon as he finished speaking, the car crashed into a large rock. Before I lost consciousness, I could feel Andre holding me tightly, shielding me with his body.

I woke up to Andre calling my name. When I regained some awareness, my head still throbbed with pain.

"Frida, are you feeling any better now?"

I looked at him groggily and instinctively asked, "What about you? Are you hurt?" Worried about his immobile legs, I anxiously scanned him from head to toe. His suit was gone, his shirt was disheveled, and his watch was nowhere to be seen. His normally neat hair was slightly messy.

"I'm fine, not hurt at all. Don't worry, I have a tracker on me. Someone will come to rescue us within an hour. Don't be afraid—I'm here."

Even in this situation, Andre remained calm and composed, which helped ease my anxiety. I forced myself to sit up and take stock of our surroundings. We were in an abandoned warehouse, empty and dilapidated, with rusty parts and wooden debris scattered on the floor. From outside, I could faintly hear voices, but they were too quiet to make out. I struggled to stand and walked to the door, only to find it locked from the outside. The windows were high, and I could barely reach them even on tiptoes. There was nothing to help me climb.

Just as I was fretting, two strong hands lifted me steadily. A startled cry caught in my throat. It was Andre. He wasn't supposed to be able…

I suppressed my shock and questions, peering through the narrow gap in the window and describing everything I saw outside to him. Andre quickly pinpointed our location. He set me down gently and lowered his voice. "Someone will find us in no more than fifteen minutes. Trust me."

I nodded, then glanced at his legs. On our wedding night, I had noticed that his legs showed no signs of muscle atrophy. Back then, I assumed it was due to proper care and didn't think much of it. Not wanting to reopen old wounds, I had never asked him about his condition. But now, it was clear—his legs were fine. Thinking back to his unwavering calmness, I began to piece things together. Andre must have noticed my suspicions.

"I'll explain everything when we get back," he said. "For now, let's focus on staying safe and waiting for the rescue." He pulled me close, holding me tightly. "Frida, trust me."