The window in the master bedroom was slightly ajar. The sound of the drizzling rain outside mingled with the woman’s sobs on the bed. Under the warm yellow light, the man’s profile was handsome and stern, his deep eyes seemed as if they would devour the woman in his arms. Eleanor Winslow lay on the bed, her beautiful face flushed with a captivating crimson. Adrian Grant’s voice was hoarse and seductive, making one’s heart tremble when he whispered by the ear. He held her tightly in his arms. That treasure-like gesture made Eleanor irresistibly hope— Could he possibly have some affection for her? Just then, a sudden phone ring pierced the air, unbearably shrill. Eleanor caught a glimpse of the caller ID on the phone and froze. The man patted her lower back. He followed her gaze and saw the caller ID: Mia Winslow! The man’s actions came to an abrupt stop, and he answered the call. Whatever was said on the other end, Adrian Grant had already regained his composure. "I’ll be right there." He extricated himself and left. Eleanor’s body remained in its original position, stunned. Though her body was still warm, her heart turned colder with every moment. "Adrian Grant, you’re going out?" Eleanor saw him swiftly changing clothes, her mouth speaking before her brain. Trying to hold him back. "Mm." Adrian Grant grabbed his phone and walked out without sparing a glance at Eleanor. Summoned at will and dismissed at whim. Eleanor felt that at this moment, her naked self was like a prostitute, her heart pricked by a dagger repeatedly. Both painful and ironic! She pulled the silk blanket over herself, her voice cold and soft with a lingering hoarseness: "Adrian Grant, you’re leaving ? Aren’t you afraid Mia Winslow will smell me and get jealous?" Adrian Grant’s motion to open the door paused, he turned his head, caught Eleanor’s downward gaze... The man’s exceedingly handsome face under the halo revealed the callousness of someone in a high position, his gaze indifferent, as if the person who had been intimately entwined with her minutes ago wasn’t him. Eleanor met his eyes, her radiant and soft face alluringly tense, her gentle smile clearly a provocation and satire. "Eleanor, Mia’s hand injury has relapsed. She initially suffered multiple tendon and nerve tears in her palm, nearly rendering it useless—" Adrian Grant looked down at her, his reminder chilly, "It was your doing." Eleanor’s hand under the blanket unconsciously clenched into a fist, her eyelashes trembled slightly, and the smile she forced faded. "Adrian Grant, you’re not a doctor, what can you do? She calls her brother-in-law in the middle of the night, takes you from your wife’s bed, isn’t that inappropriate?" The man returned in a few strides, bent down and pinched Eleanor’s chin, his thumb unconsciously stroking her skin: "Eleanor, if you still want it, I’ll come back to make it up to you, don’t make a fuss, okay?" "I find you filthy!" Google seaʀᴄh novel⚑fire.net Eleanor slapped his hand away, turning her head aside, feeling utterly insulted. When Adrian Grant heard "filthy," he wasn’t angry, if anything, his eyebrows raised slightly. "Adrian Grant!" Eleanor took a deep breath, gambling, "If I say, I wish you would stay tonight, you—" Before she finished speaking, the man interrupted: "Eleanor, you’re not qualified." Eleanor’s eyelashes trembled, she tilted her head to meet his coldness: "I’m Mrs. Grant, not qualified?" Adrian Grant as if hearing a joke, tore off his veneer of gentlemanly politeness, and said: "Eleanor, need I remind you how you became Mrs. Grant?" The lingering scent of the man in the master bedroom made Eleanor feel suffocated, suffocated until her heart ached. An hour later, Eleanor saw Mia Winslow’s Weibo update: [Even a little pain is bearable with a loved one by your side; happiness can be no more than this] The picture was of a man standing by the window, his back tall and straight, broad shoulders, narrow waist, enticing. Even without seeing the man’s face, Eleanor recognized him, it was her husband—Adrian Grant! Eleanor’s chest throbbed with pain, feeling particularly ironic and amusing. Three years ago, she was set up, out of control for a night with him. Discovering by the Grant Family elders, out of regard for appearances, they forced Adrian Grant to marry her. As for her, eager to escape the Winslow Family’s control, she readily married him. Because Adrian Grant was the person she had secretly loved for years! Adrian Grant returned, traces of an all-nighter evident on his handsome face. Eleanor nestled on the sofa, her eyes downcast on the thin files in her hand. She casually wore a slip dress, its straps revealing expanses of snow-white skin, her skin dotted with crimson plum blossoms, sparking boundless imagination. Her jade-white adorable bare feet against the cold gray floor, heating the onlooker’s breath. Adrian Grant was about to remind her to wear shoes when Eleanor suddenly looked up at him. Outstanding appearance, tall height and legs, self-disciplined and courteous, born into a wealthy family, wielding power—Aethelgard’s most coveted bachelor by all socialites, none other than Adrian Grant! "Back so soon, Mia Winslow’s injury wasn’t serious?" Eleanor hugged her knees, her gentle face resting on them. Adrian Grant did not answer. Evidently unwilling to discuss Mia Winslow’s matters with her. "Adrian Grant," Eleanor’s voice carried a mixture of coldness and gentleness, her sweet almond eyes clear and pure, "Do you have a bit of love for me?" A fleeting look of surprise crossed Adrian Grant’s eyes before returning to his customary indifference. "What do you mean?" as if she had asked a silly question. Eleanor spread her hands, feigning nonchalance: "I just knew, you don’t love me." Eleanor continued, "Adrian Grant, let’s divorce." Three years of marriage hadn’t changed Adrian Grant’s feelings for her, why should she force it anymore? The man’s hand had just touched her foot, felt a chill, and upon hearing these words abruptly paused, his previously mild demeanor instantly growing cold, the surrounding temperature plummeting. He looked up at her, his gaze exceptionally cold, akin to a night storm, his voice particularly frigid: His oppressive presence too strong, Eleanor was frightened, subconsciously curling her feet. Unable to draw them back, instead, the man grabbed her slender ankle. The warmth of his palm and the chill of her skin stimulated, both of them together looking at that one place. Eleanor recalled how last night he had held her ankle , lifting it up... Her earlobes uncontrollably blushed with shame, and with a crafted stern little face she said, "Let go!" The man remained unmoved, his grip tightened: "Eleanor, do your role as Mrs. Grant well, don’t be unreasonable." Eleanor found it amusing. If she was truly being unreasonable, she should have last night desperately held him in this villa, and Mia Winslow wouldn’t have had the chance to flaunt. Eleanor twisted her wrist, handed the prepared divorce agreement to him, "Let’s divorce, I’m tired."