Never Beg Fire from Stubborn Stone

In the fifth year of our marriage, my husband, Zachary Hayes, decided to cut a piece of skin from his own thigh to save his first love's mother. He summoned me to the hospital, forcing me to sign the surgery consent form. "For the past five years, I've given you the status of Mrs. Hayes. Now, it's time for you to be of use." I signed the paper and walked away without looking back. After all, the limited-edition handbag he gave me was just something his first love didn't want. And when he spent Christmas Eve with me, the only person on his mind was her. Five years of devotion ended up being nothing but a joke. I was done fighting, and I was done waiting. Only thirty days remained until our divorce. Zachary, I'm returning you to the one who got away! As for me, I will take off this apron and reclaim my dream of painting. Chloe Evans POV In our fifth year of marriage, all it took was a single word from Zachary Hayes's first love for him to decide to strip a patch of skin from his own thigh. He summoned me to the hospital for one purpose only: to use my status as his wife to sign the Family Consent Form for Living Donor Skin Grafting. When I rushed over, I was still holding the thermos of soup I had woken up before dawn to brew for him. Only to run right into Zachary holding a tearful, pitiable Rachel Vance in his arms. A depth of tenderness I had never seen before swirled in his eyes. "Sign it." A document was thrust before my face. Zachary stood in front of me, his voice as chilling as ice: "Rachel's mother suffered severe burns and urgently needs a living donor graft." "My indicators happen to be an exact match. Hospital policy requires the spouse's signature to proceed with the surgery." My fingers gripped the thin sheet of paper so tightly that they nearly tore through it. "You're going to carve out your own flesh to save her mother?" My voice trembled. "Zachary, harvesting skin from your thigh leaves massive scarring, not to mention a severe risk of infection. Have you lost your mind?" "I called you here to sign, not to critique my decisions." Zachary's brow furrowed abruptly, a flash of volatile irritation surfacing in his gaze. "I told you on day one of our marriage that Rachel is the only one in my heart. For the past five years, I've given you the honor of being Mrs. Hayes. Today, it's time for you to be of use." Time for me to be of use. A sudden laugh escaped me, though inside, there was only bitter ache. So being his wife served no greater purpose than this—not to share a life together, but to sign my name as his guarantor when he risked life and limb for another woman. Five years ago, we entered an arranged marriage. Carrying an unspoken crush from my girlhood, I married into the Hayes family. Yet on our wedding night, all that awaited me was a cold Secret Marriage Agreement. [The groom's heart belongs elsewhere. Upon the completion of five years, this agreement shall automatically expire.] That was the year Rachel Vance went abroad. Zachary spent night after night drowning himself in alcohol at private lounges. He pinned me to the bed, treating me as a stand-in, possessing me with rough indifference. Gasping another woman's name against my ear. He had a delicate stomach, so over those five years, I always rose before dawn to prepare his remedies and meals, never once feeling tired. Five years of devotion had made Zachary bring back expensive jewelry for me from business trips. On stormy nights, he would hold me tight from behind, kissing me and whispering that I had worked hard. I once naively believed that even a stone could be warmed by my touch. Until six months ago, when Rachel Vance returned to the country. Only then did I truly understand that some hearts in this world are iron that can never be thawed. When Rachel Vance had a fever, he could abandon a multi-billion-dollar project and fly back overnight. With just a casual remark from Rachel Vance saying she wanted to see the sea, he left me stranded at home, delirious with a high fever and vomiting from exhaustion, just so he could escort his first love to an island to watch the sunrise. And now, he didn't even bat an eye at carving out a piece of his own flesh. "Zachary, please don't force Ms. Evans..." Rachel Vance whimpered in his arms, her eyes rimmed red as she tugged feebly at his cuff, tears spilling over. "It's all my fault for being so useless. If this upsets Ms. Evans, I'd rather let my mother die." "Don't talk nonsense." Zachary lowered his head to wipe the tears from Rachel Vance's cheek. "I told you, as long as I'm here, no one will ever make you suffer." I watched the scene unfold in silence. In that singular moment, every ounce of grievance, heartbreak, and resentment from the past five years was like a stack of burnt-out firewood—collapsing in a sudden, silent roar into ash. Heartbreak, it turned out, came with no sound at all. I threw no tantrums, caused no scene; I couldn't even shed a single tear. "Give me the pen," I said, my voice so flat and calm it sounded foreign even to me. Zachary paused slightly, seemingly surprised that I, usually so meek and humble, would agree so readily. Without the slightest hesitation, I steadily penned my name on the spouse line. Every letter I wrote felt like a resounding slap across the face of the pathetic fool I had been. After signing the final stroke, I handed the consent form back to the nurse, and in the same motion, tossed the thermos into the nearby trash can. The scalding broth splashed out, splattering all over the floor. Zachary's expression shifted slightly. He cast a cold glance at me, then turned and walked toward the operating room. A second before the heavy doors slid shut, standing under the sterile white fluorescent lights, I suddenly looked up and called his name: "Zachary." The man halted in his tracks, turning his aloof, aristocratic profile toward me, his eyes brimming with haughty warning. I looked at him steadily, the corners of my lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile: "I wish you two eternal happiness." Then, the doors of the operating room clicked shut behind him, cutting off everything from view. On the corridor wall, the red "In Surgery" light snapped on. I pulled out my phone, and the screen lit up with a message sent five minutes earlier by Attorney Stewart: [Ms. Evans, the legal contract termination procedures for the five-year term are fully prepared. There are only thirty days left until the complete expiration of the contract.] I locked the screen and turned to walk into the shadows at the end of the long hallway. Zachary, thirty days from now, we will be nothing to each other.Chloe Evans POV The red light above the operating room doors stayed on. The air conditioning in the hallway blew warm air, yet my hands and feet felt freezing cold. On the bench across from me, Rachel Vance sat with reddened eyes, glancing toward the operating room every so often. After a long stretch of silence, Rachel Vance suddenly spoke: "Ms. Evans, I'm truly sorry for causing you two trouble again." I didn't answer, merely looking at her. Rachel Vance dabbed at the corner of her eyes, as if drifting into a memory. "I was actually quite surprised. After all this time, Zachary is still the same." She paused, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. "For my birthday last year, he flew overseas and waited in line for hours just to buy a limited-edition handbag I once mentioned offhand that I liked." "He remembered all along. But I was still mad at him back then, so the moment he gave it to me, I threw it back in his face and didn't even let him through the door." My fingers clenched tight, my nails biting into my palms. I remembered Zachary saying last year that he had a three-day business trip abroad. When he returned, he carried a handbag and tossed it to me with utter carelessness. I had been overjoyed for days, keeping the bag tucked into the deepest corner of my closet, too reluctant to even carry it outside. So it was just something Rachel Vance had discarded, which he casually dumped on me. Rachel Vance continued, "And the Christmas before last, I had a fight with my boyfriend at the time and posted a depressing status. When Zachary saw it, he took a red-eye flight and stood beneath my apartment all night long." "The snow was falling so heavily that night. He just stood there, never coming up to knock." My heart felt as if a hand had seized it in a vice grip. I remembered that Christmas Eve—Zachary had been unusually passionate, leading me to believe he finally held some genuine affection for me. When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was already cold. I had assumed an urgent matter came up at work. It turned out he was in a rush to see Rachel Vance. "These five years..." Rachel Vance's tears began to spill again. "I gave him the cold shoulder out of spite, but he sent me a long email every single day, without fail." I suddenly found it hard to breathe. How many late nights had I walked past his study, seen the light on, assumed he was working late over documents, and specifically brought him food? All that time, he was writing emails to Rachel Vance. I had always thought that during the years she was gone, Zachary had at least genuinely wanted to make our marriage work. Only now did I realize it was all just my own wishful thinking from start to finish. Seeing that Rachel Vance was about to say more, I abruptly stood up. My face was as pale as paper, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "I have something to take care of. I'll take my leave." Without waiting for Rachel Vance's reaction, I turned on my heel and walked away. My pace grew faster and faster, until it felt like I was running for my life. Back home, I silently packed my bags, waiting only for the day the contract expired. Over the next few days, I saw updates about Zachary on Rachel Vance's social media feed daily. The surgery was a complete success, yet without resting even half a day, he immediately arranged the highest-tier VIP suite for Rachel Vance's mother. He brought in top medical teams from overseas and personally reviewed every single treatment plan. In the latest photo Rachel Vance posted, Zachary sat beside the hospital bed, an IV needle still taped to one hand, while he carefully peeled grapes with the other, pitting the fruit and arranging it neatly in a small bowl. The caption read only: "I'll never meet anyone who treats me this well again." My chest ached sharply. A tear dropped onto the screen, blurring Zachary's tender profile in the photograph. I remembered that over the past five years, that was exactly how I had treated him. Knowing he had a delicate stomach, I woke up before dawn to cook for him. Whenever I handed him fruit, it was always peeled, deseeded, and cut into bite-sized pieces. Yet now, he was doing every single one of those things for someone else. I sniffled, wiped the tear from my eye, and told myself silently: It's fine. Once I let him go, I will love myself properly.Chloe Evans POV A week later, Zachary came home unexpectedly. I was somewhat surprised. Shouldn't he be watching over Rachel Vance like a shadow? "There's a Hayes family dinner tonight. Change your clothes and come with me," he dropped flatly, his tone brook no argument. I didn't ask questions. I quietly changed into a proper evening gown and followed him out the door. Pleasantries bounced across the dining table. Gradually, the conversation steered toward Zachary and me. "You've been married for five years now. Isn't it time to think about having a baby?" "Exactly. Zachary is the CEO now; the Hayes family needs an heir." "Chloe, you really need to step it up." I lowered my eyes and listened in silence, my fingers absently turning my wine glass. Zachary, who had remained quiet all along, suddenly spoke up. "We're in no rush to have children." A single sentence, delivered softly, yet it instantly silenced the entire table. Everyone exchanged glances, but none dared to push further. After all, Zachary was now the head of the Hayes family. The atmosphere grew stiff to the extreme, and the dinner eventually ended in an awkward, eerie quiet. As everyone was leaving, Zachary's mother, Eleanor Hayes, stood up, her sharp gaze sweeping over me. "Chloe, come to the study for a moment." Anyone could tell she was pulling me aside to lecture me about having a child. Zachary frowned. "If you have something to say, say it to me." Just as Eleanor Hayes opened her mouth, Zachary's phone rang. "What's wrong?" he answered. Eleanor Hayes scoffed, ignoring him entirely, and directed her words at me: "Follow me." I pressed my lips together and silently followed behind. The moment the study door clicked shut, Eleanor Hayes's face darkened completely. "Kneel." I slowly dropped to my knees on the freezing marble floor. "Do you know what you did wrong?" Eleanor Hayes looked down at me from above. I kept my eyelashes lowered and did not reply. *Smack!* Eleanor Hayes slammed her palm onto the desk. "Your mistake was that when Zachary said there was no rush for children, you didn't even try to persuade him!" She yanked open a drawer, pulled out several syringes and a stack of lab reports, slamming them hard onto the desk: "These are fertility injections, along with test results from the private hospital's reproductive medicine department. Starting today, you will take these injections on schedule, and you will sleep with Zachary. This only ends when you're pregnant." In the past, I probably would have accepted them in silence. This time, however, I lifted my face, my voice soft yet unwavering: "I won't take these injections." Eleanor Hayes's pupils constricted. "What did you say?" "I said I won't take them. If he doesn't want children, I support him." Over these past five years, every time we were intimate, Zachary took precautions. On the rare occasions things spiraled out of control, he made sure I took morning-after pills immediately under his watchful eye. Besides, I had already decided to leave; there was no way I would carry his child now. "Say that again?" Eleanor Hayes's voice spiked shrilly. "I won't take them," I repeated. "How dare you!" Trembling with rage, Eleanor Hayes snapped toward the door: "Smash that porcelain tea set for me!" The servant dared not refuse the order and smashed a porcelain tea set onto the floor. An ear‑piercing crash echoed through the room. Eleanor Hayes pointed at the jagged shards: "Kneel on those! You stay there until you come to your senses!" I didn't argue. I shifted over and knelt onto the broken porcelain. The sharp shards dug into my knees bit by bit, acute agony shooting up my leg bones. My wrist, bracing against the floor, was sliced open, beads of blood welling up. I tried to shift my weight, but the moment my knees moved, the porcelain burrowed deeper into my flesh. A sharp gasp escaped me from the pain, leaving me unable to utter a word. The marble floor was bone-chillingly cold; the frigid air traveled from my knees straight up my spine. My teeth began to chatter, yet I bit my lower lip hard, refusing to let out a single whimper. Cold sweat drenched my clothes in an instant. I gritted my teeth and endured in absolute silence. Outside the study's floor-to-ceiling windows, Zachary was still on the phone in the garden. His back was turned to the building, his posture relaxed, occasionally letting out a low chuckle. Clearly, he was having a delightful conversation with Rachel Vance. While I knelt on jagged porcelain in excruciating agony, he remained completely oblivious.Chloe Evans POV Eventually, the pain numbed my entire body, and my consciousness began to drift downward. The last image I saw was Zachary's back as he held his phone in the garden, his shadow stretched long under the streetlamp. Before darkness completely swallowed my vision, only one thought remained in my mind. This is the last time I will ever suffer pain for him. Never again. When I regained sensation, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose. Someone was speaking beside my bed—it was the hospital director's voice, laced with cautious deference: "Mr. Hayes, Mrs. Hayes's wounds on her knees and shins are very deep." "Use the most expensive medicine, bring in the best doctors," the man's voice rang out, devoid of warmth. "She cannot be left with scars." "Understood, we will do everything we can." Footsteps receded into the distance. Then, a hand rested against my forehead. I forced my eyes open with great effort. Zachary sat by the bedside, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. "You're awake? Does it hurt?" I tried to shift my legs, and the wounds immediately flared with sharp pain. "I'm fine," my voice was weak. "The nurses are here. If you have things to do, go ahead." I thought he would leave. But he didn't. He settled into the chair, his gaze somewhat conflicted. "When my mother treated you like that, why didn't you call for me?" Remembering how he looked talking on the phone with his back turned, a faint smile tugged at my lips. "You looked busy." After a beat, I asked softly, "If I had called you then, would you really have hung up the phone and come inside?" "Yes." He answered without a moment's hesitation. I froze. That wasn't the answer I had anticipated. "I've already dealt with the matter at home," he continued. "From now on, no one will dare harass you about having children." "Okay." I averted my gaze. "Then you can go back to your work." "Why are you always chasing me away?" he asked, displeased. I looked up with slight surprise. "Aren't you always busy?" Between all the company affairs, and Rachel Vance. "I'm not busy these days." He reached out to pull up the blanket that had slipped down. "I'll stay here with you." I never expected him to say that. Over the next few days, Zachary actually stayed in my hospital room every single day. He was the one adjusting the bed height, feeding me all three meals spoonful by spoonful, and he wouldn't even let the nurses change my dressings, insisting on doing it himself. One night, the pain from my wound kept me tossing and turning. Zachary sat on the edge of the bed and gently patted my back rhythmically, as if soothing a child, until my breathing finally evened out. In my daze, feeling the warmth of his palm, there was a fleeting moment when I almost reached out to take his hand. But the moment my fingertips brushed his cuff, I pulled back. I remembered it all too well. The last time I had been burning up with fever and rambling in delirium, clutching his sleeve and refusing to let go, he had pried my fingers away—gently, but without the slightest hesitation. Such gentleness and patience made me think, for a split second, that we had gone back to the old days. The days when we were closest to being a real married couple. Yet I snuffed out that thought immediately. I had already decided to leave, and I would never look back. After recovering for a week, my wound had mostly healed. That day, Zachary was crouching by the bed removing my gauze when I accidentally pulled at the wound, making me gasp sharply in pain. His hand froze instantly. I looked up, locking eyes with his deep, bottomless gaze. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his body slowly leaned toward me. We were so close that we could feel each other's breath. *Clatter.* It sounded like something crashing to the floor, shattering the charged, intimate atmosphere into pieces. We turned toward the door at the same time. Rachel Vance was standing there, her lips pale, tears brimming in her eyes. The fruit basket in her hands had crashed onto the floor, oranges and apples rolling everywhere.Chloe Evans POV Rachel's eyes were rimmed with red, her voice trembling. "Did I... interrupt something?" Zachary shoved me away almost by instinct: "Rachel, don't go! Let me explain—it's not what you think!" He pushed so hard that I was caught completely off guard, tumbling right off the edge of the bed. The back of my head struck the sharp corner of the nightstand with a sickening thud. With a buzzing hum ringing in my ears, warm liquid immediately trickled down my neck. "Then I won't bother you two," Rachel sobbed, covering her face as she ran away. "Rachel!" Zachary bolted after her, never once looking down at me lying on the floor. I lay on the icy floor, blood smearing across half of my face as my vision began to darken. A laugh suddenly escaped my lips. But as I laughed, tears mingled with blood and streamed down. By the time a nurse found me, I had already passed out again from excessive blood loss. Right before I lost consciousness completely, I heard the nurse screaming shrilly, "Head trauma! Get a doctor, quick!" And the man who had promised he would stay never came back. I had stitches on my head and spent a few more days in the hospital bed. Zachary didn't show up once. I guessed he was probably busy placating Rachel, so I had the sense not to call or text him even once. On the day I was discharged, the butler called to ask about the arrangements for Mr. Hayes's birthday banquet. Clutching my phone, I stayed silent for a long time. In previous years, Zachary's birthdays—from the menu and floral arrangements to the guest list—had all been handled by me alone. The Hayes family seemed prestigious and grand on the outside, but it was actually as cold as an icehouse. His parents couldn't even remember that their own son was allergic to mangoes, ordering cakes with mango slices every single year. The first time I spent his birthday with him, I caught him hiding on the terrace secretly popping allergy pills. "Why don't you just tell them?" My heart had ached for him back then. "It's pointless," he had said indifferently. "The only thing they care about is financial reports." Ever since that year, I took over all of his birthday banquets. Everything was curated to his tastes so he would never have to face a table full of food he hated. "Mrs. Hayes? Are you still there?" the butler prompted on the other end. Snapping back to reality, I took a deep breath. "I'll handle it." This would be the last time. Once we divorced, there would naturally be another woman to organize his birthdays. I prepared everything step by step as usual, but this time, I summoned the butler before me and gave instructions with meticulous detail: "Order a chestnut-flavored cake. Not a single trace of mango." "Use white hydrangeas for the flowers. Red roses annoy him." "Cross rum off the wine list. It gives him headaches." "Remember all of this. When you organize it in the future, don't make any mistakes." The butler blinked in surprise. "Won't you be handling it in the future, ma'am?" I lowered my gaze and offered no answer. I wouldn't even be Mrs. Hayes anymore; what right would I have to host his birthday? On the night of the banquet, the venue was decorated with breathtaking luxury. Dressed in a misty-blue evening gown, I greeted guests at the entrance, only to see Zachary walk in from afar with Rachel Vance on his arm. Rachel wore a pink tulle dress, clinging completely to Zachary's arm. I understood. It seemed Rachel had already been coaxed back into high spirits. All night long, Zachary's eyes never left Rachel for a second. When her hem was ruffled by the breeze, he immediately gestured for someone to adjust it; when she tasted a dish she loved and her eyes curved into crescent moons, he smiled right along with her—wearing a gentle expression I had never seen before. Throughout the entire evening, he didn't spare me a single glance. I quietly stood in the corner tending to guests, looking no different from a butler. When it came time to open presents, the guests presented nothing but lavish, exorbitant gifts. The bottle of rare, out-of-print whiskey I had gifted was brought out by the butler on a silver tray. "Mrs. Hayes has exquisite taste! This vintage is nearly impossible to find!" "It suits Mr. Hayes's sophisticated aura perfectly!" "No one understands Mr. Hayes better than Mrs. Hayes!" Zachary glanced at me, clearly satisfied, and muttered a lukewarm, "Thank you." Yet when it was Rachel Vance's turn to present her gift, the room suddenly fell dead silent. It was a handmade tie with crooked, uneven stitching that anyone could tell was made by a total beginner.Chloe Evans POV "What era are we living in? People still gift hand-stitched ties?" someone couldn't hold back a snicker. "With that kind of synthetic fabric, Mr. Hayes might break out in hives if he ties it around his neck, don't you think?" "Who even is this woman? How did someone dressed so shabbily sneak in?" Rachel's face drained of color, and she took a half-step back. Zachary's expression darkened instantly. "I love this gift very much," he said. His voice wasn't loud, yet the room immediately fell quiet. "Things money can buy aren't rare. What truly matters is the thought put into it." The moment the words left his mouth, he reached out, grabbed the box containing my bottle of whiskey, and, without even blinking, tossed the entire box into the trash can beside him. The dull thud of the box hitting the bottom was painfully jarring in the quiet hall. After two seconds of dead silence, the mood of the room shifted in an instant. "Mr. Hayes is so right! Handcrafted gifts carry genuine warmth!" "This tie is so unique, ten thousand times better than those mass-produced goods!" "Ms. Vance is truly thoughtful!" I stood rooted to the spot, my blood running cold all at once. I had scoured auction house after auction house, comparing over twenty bottles before finally gritting my teeth to buy that whiskey. And now, it was lying among trash, solely to elevate someone else. To be honest, this wasn't the first time. He could turn down multimillion-dollar contracts for Rachel, yet he couldn't remember what day my birthday was; he could stay awake by Rachel's side all night while she had a fever, yet he wouldn't even place a phone call when my fever raged at thirty-nine degrees. If Rachel said she craved a dessert, he would fly halfway across the globe to buy it. When I asked to have a simple meal with him, he always claimed he had no time. Every single time, he chose Rachel Vance—just like how he had thrown away my gift today without the slightest hesitation. I raised a hand to press against my chest. Where my heart had once pounded wildly for him, it was now as still as stagnant water, unable to muster even a ripple. It turned out that loving someone could truly be drained away, piece by piece. All the fluttering beats and hopes had been worn away entirely by his endless stream of choices. For the rest of the night, the room's entire spotlight remained on Rachel. The very people who had mocked her for being cheap were now crowding around her, showering her with flattery. Standing in the corner, I tugged my lips into a faint smirk. This was the high-society circle: a single glance from Zachary Hayes could dictate everyone's adoration. Once we divorced, Zachary would certainly bring Rachel into the Hayes family anyway; parading her tonight was nothing more than an early announcement. The banquet ended, and the guests left one by one. I stood by the entrance seeing them off, wearing a flawless, impeccable smile. As though I were still that irreproachable Mrs. Hayes. When the last guest departed, I had just exhaled a breath of relief. I turned around, only to see Zachary and Rachel standing by the entrance. Heavy rain had started pouring outside, and chilling gusts carrying the damp stench of rain rushed into the foyer. Rachel shrank back, letting out a loud sneeze. Zachary frowned, quickly shedding his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "Cold, aren't you?" Rachel shivered visibly. Zachary's gaze landed on me. I was wearing a dark gray woolen coat, finely woven, shimmering softly under the chandeliers. "Take off your coat and give it to Rachel." His tone brooked no argument. My fingers clenched tightly, and my face went a shade paler. "This belonged to my grandmother." "Enough," Zachary cut me off. "Rachel's just going to wear it for a bit. Do you really have to be so stingy?"