They chatted almost every day. And every time Tristan told me he was out socializing, he was actually on his way to see Faye.

But that wasn’t the only betrayal I uncovered.

I made another discovery—one that shattered the last remnants of trust I had left.

The notebook I had used to record my years of medical knowledge—the one containing unique theories and findings that could revolutionize medicine—was missing. That notebook had been my life's work, a collection of medical truths I had painstakingly practiced and refined. If I had applied for a patent, it would have been worth hundreds of billions.

It disappeared on the third day after I married into the Sinclair Family.

I searched the entire estate, desperate to find it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Tristan had told me it must have been misplaced during the move. At the time, I believed him.

I never expected that he had given it to Faye.

I gripped my phone tightly, my heart numb with disappointment. Without hesitation, I sent a message to a contact I had prepared long ago.

"Draft a divorce agreement for me."

Then, with a deep breath, I booked a flight. Three days from now, I would leave—disappearing to the other side of the world.

That evening, we had dinner at a high-end restaurant, a place we had dined at countless times before. Tristan played his usual role—the doting husband. He poured water for me, peeled shrimp with practiced ease, and even wiped the corners of my mouth with a napkin. He was so attentive, so consumed with caring for me, that he barely touched his own food.

In the past, this devotion had made my heart ache for him. After a long day of work, he would still focus all his energy on me, doing everything he could to make me comfortable. Especially after I became pregnant, it was as if my only responsibility was to exist—he took care of the rest.

I used to think it was love.

But now, I know better.

Everything he did—every tender gesture, every whispered promise—was never about me. It was about my child.

Because to him, I was nothing more than a vessel.

And my child’s umbilical cord blood was the only thing that truly mattered.

That should have been the end of it.

But just then, a child at the next table suddenly collapsed, his body convulsing violently as he fell off his chair. White foam frothed at his mouth, his limbs jerking uncontrollably.