**Chapter 7: The Price of a One-Sided Love** In two years of marriage, "divorce" was a word Carrie had guarded like a sacred oath. She was not a woman who wielded ultimatums like weapons, nor did she play games with the heart. Yet, as the word finally escaped her lips, Kristopher remained untouched. His face was a mask of cold indifference, dismissing her soul-crushing turmoil as if she were merely a child throwing a tantrum over a triviality. Every step he took sent a fresh jolt of agony through her injured leg, the pain throbbing beneath the layers of white gauze. "Put me down," Carrie commanded, her voice trembling but firm. Kristopher didn’t pause. His gaze dropped to her bandaged limb, his brow knitting into a faint, skeptical furrow. "What happened to your leg, Carrie? Is this some elaborate new ploy to lure me back home?" A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her throat. To him, her suffering was nothing more than a performance—a desperate script written to recapture his fleeting attention. In his eyes, she was a woman so starved for his presence that she would resort to self-inflicted drama just to see him frown. Staring blankly ahead, she shielded her pride with a lie. "It’s a beauty treatment," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "It’s not supposed to get wet." "A beauty treatment?" Kristopher echoed, his tone casual, almost bored, as he carried her toward the exit. He didn’t press for details, as if her vanity was the only thing about her that made sense to him. He was a large man, his presence overwhelming. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Carrie could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the hard, rhythmic movement of his chest muscles. Once, this closeness would have made her heart race with longing; now, it only stirred a suffocating tension. She had resolved to end this—to cut the ties that bound her to a man who didn't see her. "Since when have you been so concerned with such minor things, Mr. Norris?" her voice sharpened, dripping with a sarcasm she had never used before. For a moment, Kristopher looked surprised. The bite in her tone was new, almost amusing to him. He adjusted his grip, his expression calm. "You’re my wife, Carrie. It’s only natural I’d be concerned about your well-being." "Is it?" The word was a whisper of pure grief. "It seems to me you’ve never truly regarded me as a wife. I think if I were to die tomorrow, you wouldn't even realize it until the silence became inconvenient." The accusation hit the air like a physical blow. She thought of the afternoon—of her desperate, unanswered calls while she lay in pain, while he was lost in the arms of his first love. He had been too consumed by the past to hear her cries in the present. Kristopher’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features before he let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. "Carrie, what is this sudden outburst? Is this all because I was tied up this afternoon and missed your call? Perhaps I’ve been too indulgent with you lately. It seems it’s made you a bit too presumptuous." Carrie froze in his arms, the word *presumptuous* ringing in her ears like a death knell. At that moment, the harsh reality of their union laid itself bare. In his eyes, this wasn’t a marriage of souls; it was a transaction. She was a partner who had traded her freedom for the cold security of his name and wealth. It was meant to be an exchange of conveniences, a contract signed in ink, not blood. But Carrie had committed the ultimate sin in their arrangement: she had, quite foolishly, fallen deeply in love with him. And in the treacherous terrain of the heart, the one who falls first is the one who loses everything. As he carried her into the night, she realized she wasn't just losing a husband—she was finally waking up from a two-year dream that had turned into a nightmare.