Chapter 524 He Used Tough Methods to Take Her Back!
Night fell, and silence settled over everything.
Though they were in an upscale club, the usual indulgences of wine, women, and wealth seemed distant now. Time itself appeared frozen, leaving only his silhouette gazing out into the darkness.
Calliope turned her head slightly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the moon hung low in the western sky—much like their dying love.
Her heart ached with a bittersweet pain. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, her body stiffened as she slowly walked forward, step by step, away from him.
"Calliope."
Octavius called her name.
He strode forward quickly, his fingers wrapping around her delicate wrist in a desperate grip. He couldn't let go, couldn't bear to release her, couldn't stand the thought of her belonging to another man.
Pain flooded his chest—only her turning back could ease his suffering.
But she didn't turn.
Calliope looked down at his hand encircling her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-tight.
After a long moment, she whispered, "Let go."
Octavius refused.
Calliope yanked her arm back with force, her skin burning red from the friction, but she didn't care. No matter how much it hurt, she had to leave.
When she stepped into the elevator, tears streamed down her face, but she wouldn't let Octavius see them. She didn't want him to know how much hope that marriage had once given her—or how deeply it had wounded her.
It was over. Everything between them was over.
Calliope stared up at the red digital numbers, tears still falling. This would be the last time she cried for Octavius. From now on, he would be nothing more than a stranger.
Octavius stood motionless in the opulent surroundings he knew so well, yet everything felt hollow and empty.
He refused to give up.
He began appearing wherever his ex-wife went, even during her dates with Pembroke, positioning himself at nearby tables without interrupting. Though Calliope found his presence insufferable, she couldn't very well make a scene in public.
In late October, she dined with the Driscoll family, including Pembroke's sister Elowen. The Driscolls were remarkably open-minded people who respected their son's choice despite Calliope's previous marriage. Wedding plans were already being discussed for the following spring.
The dinner went wonderfully well.
Afterward, Elowen left for a photo shoot, Pembroke drove his parents to the airport, and Calliope found herself alone. Octavius hadn't appeared for several days—presumably he'd returned to Harmony City—so she didn't give it much thought.
She paid the bill using Pembroke's card. Her young lover was fiercely territorial; though they weren't officially engaged, he'd already handed over his salary card for her to manage, keeping only twenty thousand a month for pocket money.
Initially, she'd been happy to accept this arrangement, but when she checked the account, she discovered over sixty million dollars inside, with another two million deposited just that month.
Calliope felt uncomfortable about the amount, but when she tried to discuss it, Pembroke had pulled her close like an affectionate puppy, then thoroughly conquered her in bed until she agreed to keep the card.
Deep down, she felt genuinely happy. This was what mutual devotion without obstacles felt like—so reassuring and peaceful.
She left the restaurant with a light step, walking toward the parking garage. Just as she reached for her car door handle, a strong arm seized her and pushed her into a black sedan parked opposite. A tall, warm male body pressed against her as a deep voice instructed the driver: "To the Villa."
Calliope froze in shock.
When she recovered, she asked incredulously, "Octavius! Have you lost your mind?"
"Perhaps I have."
Calliope grabbed the door handle, trying to jump out, but the car was locked. She turned to glare at the perpetrator. "Octavius, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
The interior was dim, but Octavius's crisp white shirt stood out starkly. His dark eyes studied her with the stern intensity that only mature men possessed—dangerously attractive.
"What do I think I'm doing?" He unfastened his cufflinks with deliberate slowness, rolling his sleeves to his elbows and revealing muscular forearms. A partition rose between the front and back seats, creating a private space.
Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms.
As if to deliberately humiliate her, he switched on the overhead light, flooding the space with harsh brightness.
"Octavius!"
Calliope's body went rigid as she desperately tried to escape, but the difference in their strength was undeniable. She could only struggle helplessly as he held her captive, his eyes boring into hers while he whispered coldly against her ear, "Planning to marry him? Met his parents today?"
"None of your damn business."
Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she spoke through gritted teeth.
Her entire body felt frozen. How could she face Pembroke after this? While she wasn't obsessed with purity, she still had basic dignity and shame.
In that moment, she hated Octavius with every fiber of her being.
She bit down hard on his shoulder blade, sinking her teeth deep until she tasted blood. When she finally released him, the wound was raw and bleeding.
Octavius looked down at her, his voice surprisingly gentle, "Feel better now?"
Then he continued, "Calliope, I will never let you go. Even if you hate me, despise me, I'll keep you by my side. I won't let you be with another man, and I certainly won't let you become Mrs. Driscoll. You belong to me, Octavius. You're my wife, and that will never change."
Calliope stared at him in bewildered silence.
The black sedan glided smoothly through the streets. Though the space was cramped, it was sufficient for the man's purposes. He basked in the joy of reclaiming what he'd lost, completely oblivious to the fact that he was destroying the woman's entire life.
He believed that his return should be enough—that she had no reason to refuse him. After all, he was so much better than Pembroke in every way.
But he didn't understand that when a woman stops loving, no amount of advantages can win her back. After love dies, only revulsion remains—revulsion for the person, for his body, for his touch.
Octavius remained ignorant of this truth.
The car circled Evergreen City for hours before finally stopping at dusk, when the sky blazed with sunset colors. The orange-red sun cast its glow on their faces like a coating of colored glass.
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