Chapter 1

After failing to seduce her religious husband for the 99th time, Lilibeth Quimby called her brother.

"Lory, I've decided to get a divorce," she said.

A long silence stretched across the line before Lorenzo Quimby's deep voice came through. "I told you, didn't I? Clifford is too much of a saint for you to drag down from his pedestal."

Tears glistened in Lilibeth's eyes, but she forced a smile. "Yeah. I was a fool to think I could change him."

"Come to Gindara," Lorenzo suggested lightly. "There are plenty of men here, and they're just as handsome as Clifford, if not better. I can't believe he doesn't know how to appreciate my sweet little sister. You know what? Leave him. Let him grow old alone."

Lilibeth softly replied, "Okay. I'll head over once I've sorted out the paperwork."

After hanging up, Lilibeth took a deep breath and walked down the hall. The meditation room was at the end.

Just as she passed it, a muffled groan came from inside. The door was ajar, and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Unable to help herself, Lilibeth peeked inside.

A faint haze of candle smoke curled through the air.

Kneeling before the altar, Clifford Sinclair wore a white robe that hung loosely around his shoulders, prayer beads coiled around his wrist. But his body moved slowly, deliberately.

Beneath him lay a life-sized doll. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the doll's features. It had doe eyes, delicate lips, and a small mole just below the left eye.

The life-sized doll was an uncanny replica of Clifford's adoptive sister, Tiffany Sinclair.

The sight of it made Lilibeth bite down on her lip, hard enough for the metallic taste of blood to fill her mouth.

This was the third time she had caught Clifford like this. The first time, she had run. The second time, she hadn't slept a wink.

But tonight, she felt nothing.

How pathetic. It turned out Clifford wasn't without desires. It was just that he had never felt that way about her.

Leaning against the cold wall, Lilibeth's mind drifted back to the night they first met.

She had been 20 years old. That evening, Lorenzo had taken her to a banquet, eager to introduce her to his closest friends.

Clifford had worn a crisp white suit with mother-of-pearl cufflinks and prayer beads wrapped around his wrist. While the other men in the room had downed alcohol, he sat quietly, sipping tea.

Lilibeth had watched as his slender fingers curled around the teapot handle before pouring steaming liquid into his cup.

Out of nowhere, Clifford had looked up. The second their eyes had met, her heart skipped a beat.

Seeing Lilibeth's dazed expression, Lorenzo had flicked her forehead.

"Don't even think about it. You can fall for anyone but him," he had warned with a chuckle.

Then, he had added, "Every man in our circle drinks, smokes, and fools around. But Clifford? Well, he grew up in a clergy house. He doesn't indulge in anything."

Yet, Lilibeth hadn't believed a word of it. She had always been reckless and refused to accept that there was a man in the world who could resist temptation.

And so, she had begun to pester Clifford. She had gone as far as to try every trick she knew to flirt with him.

Once, she had climbed onto his lap while he was deep in prayer. But he had simply picked her up with one arm and set her aside.

Another time, she had spiked his tea. After finishing the entire cup, Clifford had calmly remarked, "Next time, go easy on the herbs. Too much of that can upset your stomach."

Her boldest stunt had been sneaking into his meditation room when he had been in seclusion once. She had sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but one of his white shirts.

When Clifford had walked in, Lilibeth had deliberately swung her legs over the edge. To her dismay, he had turned on his heel and walked out.

The next day, he had sent someone to deliver a box of brand-new shirts to her.

"Take these. Stop stealing mine," Clifford had said.

At that point, even Lorenzo couldn't stand it anymore. "For goodness' sake, have some dignity!" he had scolded her.

However, Lilibeth had shot back defiantly, "I'm doing the world a favor. A man that good-looking shouldn't be a priest!"

She had spent four years trying to win him over, exhausting every trick she knew. Sadly, no matter what she did, she never managed to stir even the faintest desire in him. By then, Lilibeth's hope had begun to wear thin.

But things had taken an unexpected turn. On her birthday, she had received a call from Clifford late at night.

"Come downstairs," he had simply said.

Still in her pajamas, she had rushed outside to find him standing in the snow, his shoulders dusted with white.

"Let's get married," Clifford had stated.

There had been no ring, no confession—just those three words.

Even so, Lilibeth had been so overjoyed that she had thrown herself into his arms. "I finally won you over, didn't I?"

Clifford hadn't hugged her back. Instead, he had hummed softly in response.

Looking back now, Lilibeth realized just how indifferent he had been.

Two years of marriage, and not once had he touched her. No matter how she had tried to seduce him, he would always walk away at the last moment and retreat to his meditation room.

At first, Lilibeth had thought Clifford just needed time. After all, he had lived like a priest for so many years.

Then, three nights ago, she had finally seen the truth with her own eyes.

Lilibeth had refused to back down and followed Clifford into the meditation room. Only then had she realized that he had desires too. Yet, they had never been for her.

The woman Clifford wanted was, in fact, his younger sister, Tiffany. She was an orphan his family had taken in when she was a child.

Every prayer, every string of beads he wore, and even their marriage—it was all his way of suppressing what he truly felt for Tiffany.

From that moment on, whatever had been left of Lilibeth's hope had shattered.

Inside the meditation room, Clifford finally stilled.

"Tiff…" he murmured in a hoarse voice. Seconds later, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the doll's neck. "I love you."

The words were barely above a whisper. However, to Lilibeth, each one struck like a blade, carving deeper into her already broken heart.

At last, tears streamed down her face. Soon after, she strode away without a word or a backward glance.

…

When Lilibeth woke the next morning, Clifford was already dressed and ready to leave.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his tall, lean frame. The prayer beads still circled his wrist. It was as if the man who had unraveled the night before had been nothing but her imagination.

Just as Clifford was about to step out the door, Lilibeth called out, "Wait a second."

"I have a meeting today. Please stop bothering me," he replied coolly. He didn't even bother to glance her way.

The words cut through Lilibeth like a dull blade, grinding away at what little hope she had left.

So, that was it. To him, she was nothing more than a nuisance, always in his way.

Suddenly, she let out a chuckle and said, "You've got it all wrong. I just wanted keys to the Maybach. I drive that one better. You should take another car from the garage."

At last, Clifford met her gaze. But his tone remained distant as he questioned, "Are you going to take care of something?"

"Yeah," Lilibeth responded with a nod.

"What?" he asked again.

She didn't answer. Instead, she reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the keys.

The corners of her lips curled into a smile as she said, "Something that will make you happy."

And that was leaving Clifford for good.

Chapter 2

Without saying a word about the divorce, Lilibeth walked away. She then got into the car and drove straight to the embassy.

Applying for permanent residency in Gindara wasn't complicated, especially with her family background.

The Quimby family had moved their businesses overseas a few years ago. In turn, Lilibeth's parents and Lorenzo had relocated with them. She was the only one who stayed, and it was because of Clifford.

But now, she was leaving too.

"The process should take about a week," the staff member said with a polite smile.

Lilibeth nodded, took the receipt, and left the embassy.

It was finally coming to an end. For six whole years, she had tried to win Clifford over, convincing herself she could pull him down from his pedestal. In the end, she realized he had never been hers to begin with.

Lilibeth had given up so much for him. She had become a vegetarian, suppressed her desires, and even toned down the boldness that had once defined her.

Every little thing she had done had been an attempt to get closer to Clifford. And yet, she had never come close to touching the deepest corners of his heart.

She glanced down at the receipt in her hand. Though a faint smile tugged at her lips, a bitter ache spread through her chest.

"Forget it, Clifford. I know you don't love me, but plenty of others do," she murmured.

…

That evening, Lilibeth went to a nightclub with a group of friends. Since she had married Clifford, places like this had become foreign to her.

She wore a black spaghetti-strap dress, and the hem swayed with each step, revealing her long legs. Even the way she carried herself felt different. It was as if she were gaining the confidence she had lost.

"Beth, what's gotten into you tonight?" her best friend, Amelia Lowe, asked.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she grabbed Lilibeth's hand. "Ever since you fell for that aloof priest, you've been all about him. You haven't set foot in a place like this in ages!"

Lilibeth took a sip of her drink, smiling as her vision turned slightly hazy.

"Who cares about him? Tonight, I'm going to enjoy myself."

With that, she turned and made her way onto the dance floor. Her body moved to the rhythm, as if something inside her had finally been set free.

Then, her gaze drifted over to the male escorts nearby. With a smirk, she reached out and lightly ran her fingers across one's abs. The escort let out a low chuckle in response.

Right then, Amelia rushed over and yanked her back. "Beth, are you out of your mind? You just touched a male escort's abs and danced all over them. Aren't you worried Clifford will lose it?"

"He's not even here," Lilibeth retorted.

"That's not—" Amelia hesitated before leaning in closer. "I was going to tell you earlier. Clifford is in the booth at the back. He's been watching you this whole time."

Lilibeth froze upon hearing that. Moments later, she slowly looked up.

Through the shifting lights, she spotted him immediately.

Clifford sat in the corner booth. He was dressed in a black suit that looked out of place against the wild scene around him. His slender fingers rested on the rim of his glass while his unreadable gaze locked onto her.

Lilibeth had no idea how long he had been watching her.

At that moment, the music cut out, and she overheard one of his friends chuckling.

"Clifford, Lilibeth's been dancing there for a while now. She even put her hands on another guy. If she were my wife, I would've flipped. How are you just sitting here?"

But Clifford's expression didn't change. He took a sip of his tea before replying coolly, "She knows her limits. She won't cross the line."

His answer struck her like a knife, sharp and painful.

She knew her limits, huh? Was he so sure she loved him too much to do anything reckless? Or did he simply not care?

Or perhaps it was both.

Clifford's friend clicked his tongue and said, "I have to hand it to you. Your level of composure is something else. But seriously, what would it take to actually make you ang—"

His voice cut off abruptly before rising in pitch. "Hey, Clifford! Where are you going?"

Lilibeth instinctively lifted her gaze just as Clifford stood up, his eyes locked onto something across the dance floor.

For the first time, she caught a flicker of jealousy in his usually indifferent expression.

Lilibeth followed Clifford's line of sight, and sure enough, she spotted Tiffany.

Dressed in white, Tiffany stood at the edge of the dance floor, exchanging contact information with a man.

Without hesitation, Clifford strode over and seized her wrist. "Who said you could come to a place like this? And who gave you permission to hand out your number to a stranger?" he demanded.

Tiffany was caught off guard, and a chill ran down her spine at his biting tone. But before long, tears welled up in her eyes.

"Why can't I be here? Why can't I give my number to someone else?" she shot back. "Didn't you stop caring about me? If that's the case, then what I do is none of your business!"

Clifford's knuckles turned white from how tight his grip was. His voice dropped lower as he hissed, "Since when did I stop caring about you?"

Tiffany's voice cracked with a sob as she replied, "That's a fact! You avoid me every day and won't even look at me! Cliff, you used to treat me like I was your entire world. Why did everything change overnight?"

Clifford swallowed hard at those words. "That's because…" he mumbled, sounding like he was suppressing his emotions.

Nearby, Lilibeth watched the scene unfold, and her heart faltered.

She knew very well Clifford couldn't say the truth out loud.

How could he admit he loved Tiffany so much that he had to stay away? That every time he saw her, he would lose control?

Worse, how could he explain that his obsession ran so deep, he had never once touched his wife of two years? That instead of sleeping with her, he had commissioned a life-sized doll that looked exactly like Tiffany, using it to relieve his longing for her in the dark?

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped Lilibeth's lips.

Just as she turned to leave, Tiffany's tearful voice rang out. "Cliff, can we go back to how things used to be? I want the old you, the brother who only had eyes for me!"

"I'm married, Tiff. My life can't revolve around you anymore," Clifford answered, his voice deep and hoarse.

"Does that mean if your wife disappeared, we could go back to how we were before?"

Having said that, Tiffany lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with something unhinged.

Lilibeth, on the other hand, had just picked up her bag and was ready to leave. That was when she saw Tiffany grab a bottle from the table and march toward her.

In the next second, the bottle smashed against Lilibeth's head. The sound of shattering glass echoed loudly in her ears, and soon, warm liquid trickled down her forehead.

"Beth!" Amelia's scream cut through the chaos.

Lilibeth stumbled back. Before she could steady herself, Tiffany raised another bottle.

"Go to hell!" she shrieked.

The second blow landed even harder. This time, Lilibeth lost consciousness. She lay in a pool of blood as the chaos and screams filled her ears.

Chapter 3

The pain was what woke Lilibeth. The sharp sting of antiseptic hit her nose, and the harsh white glare of fluorescent lights overhead made her eyes burn.

She instinctively lifted a hand to shield them. However, the IV in the back of her hand tugged painfully, making her wince.

"You're finally awake," a nurse said.

She was in the middle of changing Lilibeth's bandages. When she saw Lilibeth open her eyes, she let out a breath of relief before adding, "What kind of grudge does someone have to hold to go this far? They smashed two bottles on your head, and you needed over 30 stitches."

Lilibeth reached up, her fingers grazing the gauze wrapped around her head. Her voice came out hoarse as she asked, "Where's the person who brought me in?"

"You mean your best friend? She stayed with you all night but had to rush off this morning because of an emergency at work. She asked me to tell you she's hired a caregiver to look after you."

Lilibeth went still. So, Clifford wasn't the one who had brought her here.

Where was he, then?

With that question lingering in her mind, she picked up her phone. As soon as her finger brushed the screen, a new Instagram notification popped up.

Tiffany's caption read, "Cliff's still got a way of getting through to me."

The video showed her pouting and holding out her hand. In a coquettish voice, she whined, "Look! I cut my finger smashing that bottle!"

Then, the camera shifted to Clifford. He crouched before her, gently peeling open a bandage and wrapping it around her finger with care.

Seconds later, he lowered his head to press a soft kiss on it. "There. All better now," he muttered in a husky voice.

Lilibeth stared at the screen. Suddenly, the pain in her head surged, and her fingers went numb. It was as if someone had torn open the wound and doused it with alcohol.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and then dialed 911.

"Hi, I'd like to report an assault."

…

That night, Clifford pushed open the door to Lilibeth's ward.

He wore a black jacket, and his expression was solemn, barely contained anger simmering behind his cold eyes.

"You called the cops? You reported Tiff for assault?" he questioned.

Lilibeth met his gaze. "I did. She attacked me. That's a crime."

Clifford's expression darkened further upon hearing that. "I know it was wrong of her to do that, but I've already punished her. This should be over now," he growled.

Lilibeth let out a cold laugh, then shot back, "Punished? Oh yeah? And how exactly did you punish her?"

"She has a wild streak. So, I've grounded her for the day. She's not allowed to leave the villa."

Lilibeth blinked in disbelief. A beat later, she burst into laughter—so hard that her stitches throbbed with every breath.

"I got over 30 stitches in my head, and all you did was ground her for one day?" She continued, "Clifford Sinclair, are you punishing her or protecting her? You're just afraid I'll go after her, aren't you?"

His gaze darkened with something unreadable. "What nonsense are you spouting? Of course, it's a punishment. Also, I've already withdrawn the report. Don't waste time going to other stations. No one in Jolsville is going to take the case."

Lilibeth's hands balled into fists, gripping the sheets so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

There were so many things she wanted to say. But in the end, only two questions made it out.

"Clifford, I pursued you for six years. What am I to you, really? If you never cared, why did you marry me?"

Clifford's frown deepened at her words. "Who says I don't care?"

After a pause, he added, "This ends here. I'll stay at the hospital for a few days to take care of you. Once you're discharged, I'll make it up to you. But stop making a scene."

He made it sound like the offer was some kind of gift.

Lilibeth almost laughed again. Of course.

She was the one who had pursued him. She confessed her feelings, begged for a relationship, and pleaded with him to sleep with her. Clifford had never once come to her willingly.

Now that he had agreed to stay by her side, she was supposed to be grateful.

Chapter 4

True to his word, Clifford stayed by Lilibeth's side at the hospital for the next few days.

He showed up on time every day, bringing her oatmeal and changing her bandages. He even held her hand in silence when she woke in the middle of the night from the pain.

If this had been the old Lilibeth, she would have been giddy with joy. But now, all she felt was emptiness.

It turned out that six years of loving someone could unravel in a single moment.

…

On the day she was discharged, Lilibeth had barely stepped into the parking lot when she spotted Tiffany sitting in the passenger seat of Clifford's car.

The moment Tiffany saw her, she glared at Lilibeth, her expression tight with irritation.

"Tiff, did you already forget everything I told you?" Clifford asked with a frown.

Only then did Tiffany bite her lip. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she reluctantly muttered, "I'm sorry, Lilibeth. I lost my temper the other day.

"Ever since you and Cliff got married, he hasn't wanted anything to do with me. All his attention's been on you, and I let that get to me. But it won't happen again."

Clifford then turned to Lilibeth and calmly said, "Tiff wants to stay with us for a few days. I hope the two of you can get along."

…

On the way home, Clifford and Tiffany sat up front.

Lilibeth, on the other hand, leaned against the window as she watched the scenery blur past in silence. Still, she could make out Clifford's profile from the corner of her eye.

He had always been reserved and composed. But now, his gaze kept drifting toward Tiffany.

Tiffany's head hung low, eyes glued to her phone. Suddenly, she let out a soft chuckle. "Cliff, do you think this guy's cute? He just sent me a friend request on Facebook."

Clifford's grip on the steering wheel tightened at those words.

"Delete it," he coldly ordered.

"Why?" Tiffany pouted. "I'm in my 20s. Can't I date whoever I want?"

"I said delete it." There was no room for argument in Clifford's tone.

Tiffany pursed her lips but did as he said. A second later, she mumbled, "You're worse than a boyfriend."

Clifford said nothing. However, Lilibeth saw his jaw clench.

He was jealous.

…

Back at the villa, Lilibeth skipped dinner and went straight to her room.

From behind the closed door, she could hear the clinking of silverware, Tiffany's giggles, and the soft background music from the movie. It was the kind of warmth she and Clifford had never shared in their two years of marriage.

She buried herself under the blanket, a wave of pain spreading through her chest.

After what felt like an eternity, the sounds from outside faded into silence. Thirsty, Lilibeth got up to fetch a glass of water. But the moment she opened the door, she froze.

Moonlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling window. Clifford was crouched beside the couch, quietly watching Tiffany as she slept.

He had always been untouchable, like something sacred. Yet, at that moment, he was gazing at the one thing he worshipped.

Right then, Tiffany stirred. Still half-asleep, she wrapped her arms around Clifford's neck and murmured, "Don't leave me, Cliff. You're the only one who still cares about me…"

Then, without meaning to, she pulled him down toward her.

Their lips brushed. In an instant, Clifford's pupils contracted, and his breath hitched.

In the next heartbeat, as if the last thread of his restraint had finally snapped, he leaned in and kissed her hard.

Chapter 5

Moonlight spilled across the living room floor. Lilibeth stood behind the door, peeking through the narrow crack. She saw Clifford leaning in to kiss Tiffany.

His breathing was ragged, and his slender fingers gripped her waist with urgency. It was as if he were unleashing six years of buried self-restraint into that moment.

"Tiff…" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

There was a tenderness in his tone that Lilibeth had never heard before.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually, Clifford seemed to snap out of it.

He gently wiped the corner of Tiffany's mouth, which was still wet from his kiss. Then, he slipped the prayer beads back over his wrist and regained that distant, priest-like composure.

Nearby, Lilibeth's nails dug into her palm. The pain was the only thing anchoring her in place. She turned abruptly, shut the door without a sound, and crawled under the covers, burying herself completely.

Outside, the sound of footsteps grew fainter. She knew Clifford had gone back to the meditation room.

Moments later, Lilibeth closed her eyes. Yet, her mind drifted back to all the times she had tried to seduce him over the years.

Once, she had worn revealing nightwear and "accidentally" tripped while he was reading scriptures, only for him to catch her with the book still in his hands.

Another time, she had brought him a towel while he was in the shower. To her dismay, he had opened the door with one already wrapped snugly around his waist.

On yet another occasion, she had pretended to be drunk and collapsed onto him. But he had simply pushed her back with a single finger to her forehead.

Not once had Clifford faltered. In the end, all of her efforts had been in vain.

Now, Lilibeth finally understood. When a man truly cared, just one word from the right woman could unravel him completely. Tears streamed down her face, but she quickly wiped them away.

It didn't matter anymore. After all, she wasn't someone nobody wanted.

From now on, Clifford could love Tiffany all he wanted. As for Lilibeth, she would find her own happiness.

…

The next morning, Lilibeth came downstairs to find Clifford and Tiffany having breakfast.

Tiffany touched her lips and grumbled, "Cliff, are there mosquitoes in your house? Why did I wake up with my lips all swollen?"

Clifford's hands froze midair before he replied in a low voice, "I'll have the maid bring you some ointment later."

Meanwhile, Lilibeth accepted the gift box he handed to her and opened it. Inside was a rare antique, easily worth millions of dollars.

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but her voice dripped with mockery as she said, "You really spared no expense, huh?"

Hearing that, Tiffany leaned over to look. "Wow, Cliff. I didn't know you treated Lilibeth this well. I always thought you were all holy and boring. Guess you do know how to spoil your wife," she teased, a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Lilibeth looked up at Clifford. Only then did she notice that his gaze had darkened. It seemed like he had no intention of explaining that the gift was meant to make up for Tiffany smashing bottles over her head.

In truth, he had never cared what Lilibeth liked and never once bothered to buy her anything.

Clifford simply hummed in response before standing up. "I'm heading to the office now. I've got work to do."

Before leaving, he turned to Tiffany and added, "Be on your best behavior. You're free to explore the place, except the meditation room."

"Why not?" Tiffany asked, puzzled.

Clifford brushed it off with a casual excuse, but Lilibeth knew the truth. That room contained the secret longings he had tried so hard to suppress.

…

After breakfast, Lilibeth returned to her bedroom. She couldn't bear to be in the same room as Tiffany for another second.

But when she woke from her nap, she found that her hair had been cut. It was uneven, as if someone had just taken a pair of scissors and chopped away.

Furious, she rushed out of the room and found Tiffany lounging on the couch, giggling as she toyed with a lock of Lilibeth's hair.

One look was all it took for Lilibeth to understand. "You cut my hair?" she questioned, her voice trembling.

Tiffany looked up with a serene smile plastered across her face.

"Yeah. I've got a craft project for school, so I figured I'd make a wig." She held up the hair and continued, "Your hair's the best, Lilibeth. It's so dark and shiny."

At that sight, something went cold inside Lilibeth. She couldn't hold back anymore.

In the next second, she lunged forward and slapped Tiffany hard.