Qianshan Twilight Snow Only Shadows Towards

For the ninety-ninth time, the critical condition notice for her husband landed in Shirley’s hands. She couldn’t stop herself—her palm cracked across Heather’s cheek.

“Christopher and I are not divorced yet. Know your place.”

Heather froze, then screamed, hysterical. “How dare you hit me! Christopher said I could do whatever I wanted!”

“He said he’d love me enough to die for me, so let him die! Let’s see any of you try to save him!”

Snatching up a fruit knife, she stabbed wildly toward Shirley. Not a soul moved to intervene.

Because compared to the so-called “Mrs. Christopher,” Heather was the one Christopher truly cherished.

The man paranoid enough to sleep with a blade under his pillow had allowed Heather to use him as a test subject—for candle burns, drowning games, plastic bag suffocation.

The man who detested the color pink had let her cover his face in lipstick kisses and Hello Kitty stickers.

So even as she slashed Shirley until she bled, no one dared lay a finger on her.

“Heather!” Christopher’s voice cut through the chaos as a nurse wheeled him out. His face was pale. “Your face… what happened?”

Tears pooled in Heather’s eyes. “I just wanted to see you die for me, but Shirley wouldn’t let me. She tried to kill me…”

Christopher’s sharp gaze snapped to Shirley. “You laid a hand on her? Heather is like this because of you! You promised to take care of her for life!”

Shirley bit her lip until she tasted copper.

On her twentieth birthday, her foster father, Gabriel, had brought home Heather—his biological daughter, missing for fifteen years.

Shirley had taken her abroad. In the moment it took to glance at a text, Heather vanished.

They found her half a month later, but from then on, Heather grew stranger.

She threw kittens off balconies. She locked classmates in bathrooms.

Doctors diagnosed a severe empathy deficit, triggered by trauma. She couldn’t grasp the consequences of her actions.

Consumed by guilt, Shirley brought her to the Christopher family, hoping their resources could help.

And though Heather had rarely targeted others in recent years, she never spared Shirley.

With Christopher’s indulgence… Shirley was just so tired.

Her eyes reddened; the hand pressed to her wound trembled. “Since you’re fine, we’ll finalize the divorce tomorrow.”

She turned to go, but Christopher’s voice halted her.

“You hurt her and think you can walk away? What about your promise?”

He signaled a bodyguard to restrain Shirley, then spoke gently to Heather. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”

Though Shirley’s injuries were far worse, Christopher acted as if he didn’t see them, drawing Heather close instead. “Anyone who bullies you will pay tenfold.”

Shirley broke, her scream raw. “Christopher, *I* am your wife! You promised me once—you’d always be my shield, that you’d never let anyone hurt me!”

He’d once crossed half the country to buy her a cup of bubble tea.

During an earthquake, he’d shielded her with his body, breaking three ribs.

Back then… she was everything to him…

At her words, Christopher’s eyes glazed over for a fleeting second before turning to ice.

“Those promises died the day you killed our child and my mother.”

Now, all he felt was hate.

Shirley’s sobs cut off, her face deathly pale.

Restrained and helpless, she could only endure as slap after brutal slap rained down.

*Smack! Smack! Smack!*

…

The assault only stopped when Heather’s arm grew tired.

Shirley’s face was swollen, bruised. The moment the bodyguard released her, she crumpled.

Heather blinked, feigning innocence. “Is it wrong for a little sister to hit her big sister?”

Christopher took her reddened palm, his touch both doting and pained. “Your world doesn’t have right and wrong. Do as you please. I’ll handle the consequences.”

“Even if I play with you until you die?”

“Of course. How would you like to play tonight?”

The sound of a messy, passionate kiss filled the corridor. Everyone else stared at their shoes.

Shirley’s tightly controlled, ragged sobs finally cut through their heated breaths.

Heather pulled up her fallen shoulder strap, whining sweetly, “Why is big sister crying so loudly?”

The man’s voice was a contemptuous sneer.

“She cries because she still has hope. She wants my comfort. True despair is silent. Like when I lost my mother and child—I couldn’t even shed a tear.”

Arm around Heather, Christopher walked away. As he passed Shirley, his low voice seemed to rise from hell itself.

“This is your deserved retribution. Divorce? Don’t even dream of it.”

The words were a final dagger, plunging into her already shattered heart.

Everyone in Rivermouth knew the truth. Those ninety-nine divorce threats were a pathetic joke, proof of how desperately Shirley loved him.

The fact it never happened in ninety-nine attempts was Christopher’s punishment for her betrayal.

She remained slumped on the cold floor for a long time. Finally, with trembling fingers, she dialed her biological father.

“Dad…”

Silence, then a shaky breath. “Moon… what did you call me? You’re finally willing to acknowledge me? To come back?”

Shirley rubbed her sore nose. “Arrange a fake death. In a month, I want to return with a new identity.”