Quinn Lancaster stood at the entrance of the civil affairs bureau, her fingers trembling as she dialed the familiar number. "Brother, I can't do this anymore." A soft sigh came from the other end of the line. Byron Lancaster’s voice was calm. "It was bound to happen. A man like Xavier Sinclair was born to burn incense before Buddha." She tilted her head up, staring at the blinding sunlight as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. "Book a flight. I’ll be waiting for you in Munich." Byron’s tone softened. "There’s a medical conference here—full of promising young talents." After hanging up, Quinn turned toward the parking lot. As she passed the villa, an inexplicable force made her pause. The door to the meditation room was slightly ajar. The scent of sandalwood seeped through the gap, mixed with ragged, shuddering breaths. Through the narrow opening, she saw Xavier’s pristine monk’s robes bunched messily around his waist. Prayer beads coiled around his straining wrists, clicking softly with each movement. Beneath him was a silicone doll. That face—she knew it too well. Sophia Sinclair. His so-called sister. Quinn clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. This was the third time this month. The first time, she had fled in horror. The second time, she had lain awake all night. Now, she only felt numb. So he wasn’t devoid of desire—just completely uninterested in her. She remembered their first meeting. It had been at one of Byron’s cocktail parties. Amid the glittering crowd, Xavier had stood out in his moon-white robe, prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, quietly brewing tea in the corner. "Don’t even think about him," Byron had warned her. "The Sinclair heir grew up in a monastery. He’s practically a monk." But she hadn’t listened. She had tried sitting in his lap while he chanted sutras—only to be lifted away with one hand. She had spiked his tea—he merely remarked that too much wolfberry made it too heating. She had even lain in his bed wearing his shirt—he walked out without a word and sent her a whole new wardrobe the next day. Everyone laughed at her for chasing the impossible. Until that snowy night, when he appeared outside her apartment, shoulders dusted with snowflakes. "Let’s get married," he said. No ring. No vows. Yet she had been overjoyed, believing she had finally reached him. For two years of marriage, they had never shared a bed. Every time she got close, he would pull away at the last moment. Then, three days ago, she followed him into the meditation room—and discovered the truth. He had married her to suppress his obsession with his adopted sister. Inside the room, Xavier let out a choked groan. "Sophia..." His voice was raw as he kissed the doll’s neck. Quinn turned and walked away without a sound. The next morning, Xavier was impeccably dressed, ready to leave. The black suit hugged his tall frame, as if the man who had lost control the night before had never existed. "Wait." Quinn stopped him. He didn’t look up. "I have a meeting." "Give me the Maybach keys." She reached into his suit pocket and pulled them out. "I need the car today." Xavier finally met her gaze. "Where are you going?" She smiled. "To do something... you could never bring yourself to do." The divorce papers were hidden in her handbag.