When Sana woke up, two full days had passed. She lay in bed with her eyes open, her mind a complete mess.
She tried to sit up, but her body was so weak that she had no strength at all.
"Awake?"
A cold, emotionless voice echoed through the room.
Sana's entire body trembled as painful memories surged back like a tidal wave, suffocating her. She lay frozen on the bed, unable to move.
Enrique glanced at her with clear eyes, then put down the documents in his hand. He stood up and walked to the bed, reaching out to wipe her forehead as if nothing had happened.
"Bang!"
Sana slapped his hand away, staring at him with intense loathing. Her whole body shook. "Don't touch me! You devil! You'll go to hell!"
"Really? Then let's go to hell together."
Enrique withdrew his hand and looked down at her. His deep eyes turned cold again.
"Enrique, don't you feel any guilt? If you hadn't forced my family into a corner, my father wouldn't have died of a sudden heart attack! You executioner—you'll be punished!"
His cold gaze made her uneasy. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him like a madwoman.
Enrique took two steps back to avoid the pillow. A trace of indifference appeared on his austere face. "Your father's death has nothing to do with me. He brought it upon himself. No one else is to blame. You should rest."
With that, he turned and walked away.
His back was straight and dignified, cold as ever. Before Sana could utter the word divorce, the door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang.
A chill spread through her.
She wanted a divorce!
She picked up the phone on the bedside table and began dialing Enrique. After being hung up on three times, the fourth time went straight to a busy tone.
He was clearly refusing to answer.
Sana gripped the phone tightly, threw back the quilt, got out of bed, and began packing her luggage.
She wanted a divorce! She could never stay with this devil again!
"Madam, your fever just went down. Please have some porridge first. Sir said.." Mrs. He entered with a bowl of porridge, but before she could finish, she froze at the sight of Sana dragging a suitcase toward the door.
"Madam, what are you doing…" Mrs. He was shocked. How could the madam be trying to leave when she was still so ill?
Sana turned her face away and tightened her grip on the suitcase handle. She had lived in this villa for seven years. The person she saw most often was Mrs. He, kind, warm, and always good to her.
"I'm divorcing Enrique Kim. I can't live here anymore. Sister: He, take care of yourself."
Without another word, she pulled her suitcase and walked out of the villa, never looking back.
Divorce?
Mrs. He was stunned. Sir had just told her to make porridge for his wife—not that she was leaving. And she was still sick!
She quickly set the porridge down and ran out after her, but Sana was already gone.
At that moment, Enrique had just arrived at the company. Sana's high fever and coma had delayed a lot of work, so as soon as he arrived, he called a meeting with department heads.
While the marketing director was presenting quarterly sales data, Enrique's phone rang.
When he saw the villa's landline flashing on the screen, his eyes narrowed. He raised his hand to pause the meeting. Blocked on his cellphone, so she tried the house phone? Sana, you really don't give up, do you?
"What is it?" he asked coldly, irritated in his voice.
"Sir! Madam left with her luggage! I couldn't stop her! She said… she said she wants a divorce!" Mrs. He sounded frantic.
Enrique, who had been leaning back in his chair, suddenly froze. His grip on the phone tightened, and a layer of ice seemed to settle on his handsome face—sharp and cold as a blade.