Seek Warmth on the Forked Path

Married to Caleb Sterling for three years, I guarded a loveless marriage while enduring three years of his hatred. He was convinced that I had cut the brake lines of Chloe Sterling's race car, crippling her for life. To avenge the woman he loved, he married me, yet he never once touched me. For three years, we tormented each other, fighting to the bitter end. Until, for Chloe's sake, he left me battered and bleeding. Finally, my heart turned to ash, and I took the initiative to ask for a divorce. This time, I was done loving him. Yvonne POV I had been married to Caleb Sterling for three years, and he had never once touched me. He married me because he believed I had tampered with Chloe Sterling's race car, leaving that woman bedridden for three years. This marriage was his execution ground, and I was the prisoner in his hands. We had waged war for three years. Once, I smeared chili oil over his racing seat and got caught red-handed. "Yvonne, what is wrong with you?" "What's wrong with you? Who told you to swap my coffee with salt water yesterday?" Without a word, Caleb threw my entire case of skincare products straight out the second-floor window, smashing every bottle and jar to pieces. "Caleb Sterling! I had someone bring those back from abroad!" "I'll pay you back. Tenfold." He didn't even look back. Crouched in the corner fixing tires, the mechanics didn't even lift their heads. A drama like this played out three times a week. On the day of the season launch event, sponsors, media, and team shareholders packed the hall. Caleb stood on stage in a custom-tailored suit, presenting the new season's goals. I walked up from the back row and snatched the microphone right out of his hand. "When Caleb Sterling was seventeen, in order to seize the team's succession rights, he intentionally rammed his teammate off the track on the final lap of the points race." "That teammate fractured his cervical spine and was forced into permanent retirement. Caleb paid him off and kept a lid on it until today." Dead silence fell over the room. Flashes erupted frantically as reporters surged forward. The moment the press conference ended, he shoved me into the passenger seat of his race car and locked the doors tight. "Caleb Sterling, what are you doing! Let me go!" "Shut up." The engine roared to life. The car surged onto the test track, the speedometer needle soaring past two hundred kilometers per hour. He yanked the steering wheel violently. The tires let out an ear-splitting screech, and my head slammed hard against the window, turning my vision a bloody red. "Are you crazy?! You're going to kill us both!" "Kill you?" He sneered. "You're not worth it." A sudden brake sent me flying forward, the seatbelt biting deep into my collarbone. The car whipped sideways. My shoulder slammed into the door repeatedly, my forehead cracked against the dashboard, and blood trickled down past my eyebrows. Mid-drift, his phone rang. The urgent voice of a nurse crackled over the Bluetooth speaker: "Mr. Sterling, Ms. Sterling's vitals are suddenly destabilizing. Her heart rate has dropped below forty. Please come immediately!" Caleb slammed his foot on the brake. White smoke poured from the tires as the car screeched to a halt in the middle of the track. The momentum slammed my forehead against the dashboard once again. He unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed the door open, and stepped out, not sparing me a single glance from beginning to end. "Get her to the clinic." Tossing those words to the mechanic running toward him, he spun around and sprinted toward the parking lot. Leaning against the passenger seat, I felt blood seep into my eye. Three years, and he couldn't even spare me a single glance. I thought back to many years ago. Back then, I was just a high school girl with a ponytail, saving up six months of allowance to buy a grandstand ticket to watch him race for the first time. He drove a beat-up, second-hand car, taking corners with a reckless abandon. The entire grandstand was chanting his name, and I cheered along with them. From that day on, I followed him wherever he went, traveling a hundred thousand kilometers. I thought that one day he would finally see me, but the only person he ever saw was Chloe Sterling—the sponsor's daughter who would hand him a bottle of water whenever he crossed the finish line. During a test race three years ago, Chloe drove a car Caleb had personally tuned and crashed off the track, losing all sensation below her neck. In her pit station, Caleb found a severed brake line. Right next to it sat my toolbox. He never gave me a chance to explain. Three months later, he married me. At the wedding, he whispered in my ear, "What you owe Chloe, you will spend a lifetime paying back." I had wanted to explain. I parted my lips, but the hatred in his eyes forced the words back down my throat. Over the past three years, I had lost count of how many times I tried to explain, but he never listened to a single word. When I woke up in the team clinic, I had seven stitches in my forehead. I waited for the nurse to leave, pulled out the IV needle, threw on my coat, and walked out of the compound. I hailed a cab straight to the hospital where Chloe was staying. The VIP ward door was left ajar. Peering through the crack, I saw Caleb sitting by the bedside, one hand holding Chloe's and the other gently brushing the stray hairs from her forehead. The expression on his face was one I had never seen in all my three years with him. It was tenderness. The kind of emotion that only spills from a man's eyes when he is looking at the woman he loves. Standing outside the door, my hand lifted, only to fall back down. I didn't push the door open. Instead, I turned and walked out of the hospital entrance. Outside, the sky was overcast and the wind blew hard, making the wound on my forehead throb with pain. I reached into my pocket, touching the medical report from a secret checkup I had taken the previous week. My fingers lingered on the envelope for a long time, but in the end, I didn't pull it out. Standing at the hospital entrance as the wind whipped my hair into a tangled mess, I pulled my coat tighter around myself.Yvonne POV I pushed open the door to the VIP ward. Caleb was sitting by the bed holding Chloe's hand. When he saw me enter, his face darkened. "Who let you in?" Leaning against the doorframe, the gauze on my forehead still seeping blood, my voice was completely flat. "Caleb Sterling, let's get a divorce." He froze for a second. "What did you say?" "A divorce. I've had enough of this life, and I'm done serving you." Caleb stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly chuckled, though the amusement never reached his eyes. "Yvonne, what game are you playing now?" "I'm not playing any games. Haven't you always wanted a divorce? Now that I'm asking for it, are you actually surprised?" After a moment of silence, he let go of Chloe's hand and stood up. "Fine." That very afternoon, we went to the court and submitted the divorce papers. Once all the proceedings were finished, the divorce would officially take effect. After signing his name, Caleb tossed the pen back onto the desk and looked at me coldly. "Don't regret this." Without a word, I signed as well. By the time we stepped out of the courthouse, dusk was already falling. Standing on the steps, I suddenly felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I went back to the villa to pack my luggage. My clothes only took up a third of the closet; the rest was completely empty. Hanging on the wall was our wedding photo. I wore a white veil, and he was in a suit, with a fist's width of space left between us. Back then, I had smiled so brightly, thinking I was marrying for love. Only later did I realize he had married me purely to punish me. In three years, the number of times he had entered my room could be counted on one hand. Every time I took the initiative to approach him, he would look at me as if I were something filthy, telling me not to touch him. That was how every ounce of my warmth had been worn away, bit by bit. I zipped up my suitcase and took one last look at the room. There was nothing left to hold onto. Carrying the suitcase downstairs, I ran right into the front door opening. Caleb walked in, followed by Chloe. Chloe had already been discharged. Dressed in a white dress, she clung to Caleb's arm, already carrying herself like the lady of the house. Three years ago, the doctors said she would never stand again from the neck down. Yet now, the hand she wrapped around his arm was remarkably steady. I stared at that hand for two seconds, saying nothing. The three of us locked eyes in the living room. Chloe spoke first, her voice soft and sweet: "Yvonne, are you leaving?" Ignoring her, I hauled my suitcase toward the front door. "Wait," Chloe called out, stopping me. "You can leave, but I need to see inside that suitcase. What if you took something you shouldn't have?" Caleb stood beside her in silence, silently giving his consent. I stopped in my tracks and turned around. "Say that again?" My gaze remained fixed on Chloe. She looked a little guilty, but she forced herself to stand her ground. "I said, your luggage needs to be inspected. Everything in this house belongs to Caleb. You can't just take whatever you want." I set down the suitcase and walked over to Chloe. Half a head taller than her, I looked down at her. Then, I raised my hand and slapped Chloe across the face. A crisp, loud *smack* echoed through the room. Clutching her cheek, Chloe stared at me in sheer disbelief. Caleb's expression changed instantly, and he took a step forward. "Yvonne!" I withdrew my hand and shook out my wrist, my gaze as cold as ice. "That slap was to let you know that I don't give a damn about anything in this house. So you'd better not mess with me." I grabbed my suitcase, pulled open the door, and walked out. The door shut behind me, locking the two people inside and three years of marriage completely in the past.Yvonne POV Instead of checking into a hotel, I took a cab straight to the team's headquarters. My helmet, racing suit, and a few pairs of racing shoes were still stored in the pit garage. I pushed open the door, flipped on the lights, and began packing. Just as I zipped my helmet into the bag, footsteps sounded behind me. Chloe stood at the doorway, the clear imprint of five fingers still visible on her face, her eyes dark and malicious. "Yvonne, you actually dared to hit me?" Without turning around, I continued shoving gear into my duffel. "I hit you. What else are you going to do about it?" Chloe lunged forward and grabbed me by the hair. Wincing in pain, I reached back and seized her collar, and we tumbled into a brawl. We fought our way from the pit garage out into the corridor, knocking over a tool cabinet and scattering socket wrenches across the floor. We rolled toward the stairs leading to the second-floor viewing terrace, toppling a table. Glasses shattered, and paperwork went flying everywhere. Like a madwoman, Chloe threw herself at me again. I ducked to the side, and together we slammed hard against the guardrail at the edge of the terrace. The railing had fallen into disrepair over the years, its bolts rusted loose. Under our combined weight, it snapped down the middle with a deafening crash. Together, we plummeted from the second floor. Below us lay the asphalt of the pit garage, hard as iron. Drawn by the commotion, Caleb Sterling bolted out of his office just in time to see us falling through the air. Almost by pure instinct, he lunged forward, throwing his arms wide— And caught Chloe Sterling. Pulling her tightly against his chest, he took two steps back to absorb the impact, immediately looking down to check if she was hurt. I slammed violently onto the asphalt ten feet away, tumbling halfway across the ground before the back of my head struck the surface. The cut on my forehead from before burst open from the impact. Blood quickly seeped out, pooling into a small dark stain against the black asphalt. Still cradling Chloe in his arms, Caleb's gaze swept over me where I lay on the ground, pausing for less than a second. "Call an ambulance," he told the mechanics running over. My vision blurred at the edges. The last thing I saw was him carrying Chloe toward the medical room, never sparing me another glance. By the time I woke up in the hospital, night had already fallen. Five stitches in the back of my head, three on my forehead, and every inch of my body ached as if I’d been run over by a semi-truck. I opened my eyes to find Chloe sitting on the chair beside my bed, her arm bandaged, her lips curved into a triumphant smile. "You're awake?" I stared at her, saying nothing. "Have you been wondering all this time who cut the brake lines during that test race?" Chloe leaned in closer, dropping her voice, her smile widening with malice. "It was me. I cut them myself and tossed the cutters right beside your toolbox. Don't you know Caleb by now? Once he makes up his mind about something, he never listens to any explanations." She leaned back against the chair, casually filing her nails. "I lay in a bed for three whole years, across a hundred and twenty races. He stayed by my side for every single one of them, and he hated you for every single one of them." She settled back into her seat. "Yvonne Vance, you'll never beat me." Lying on that hospital bed, my entire body began to tremble. Three years of wrongful blame and relentless torment had all been orchestrated by this woman. Beneath the blanket, my hand clenched, brushing against the handbag sitting on the nightstand. I reached inside and wrapped my fingers around the mini tire pressure gauge—its metal casing featuring a pressure dial on one end and a sharp metal probe on the other. I sat bolt upright in bed. Still filing her nails, Chloe was caught completely off guard. I seized her arm and drove the sharp metal probe viciously into her flesh. "Ah—!" Chloe let out a piercing shriek. Blood gushed from her arm, staining her white hospital gown crimson. I didn't let go. I locked eyes with Chloe, my gaze burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. "This one is for me."Yvonne POV Chloe's screams drew people from down the hall. Caleb Sterling was the first to burst in, slamming the door open so hard it knocked over an IV stand near the entrance. I was straddling Chloe, holding the tire gauge firmly against her throat. The sharp metal tip had already punctured her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Her arm was still bleeding freely, soaking half the bedsheet in red. "Yvonne Vance." Caleb's voice trembled. He didn't charge forward. Instead, he stood by the door, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Let her go. Whatever this is about, take it out on me." His voice was quiet, so gentle—a tone I had never heard from him before. For three years, all I had ever received from him were shouts and curses. And now he was speaking like this, entirely for another woman's sake. "If you want her life, take mine instead." Caleb took a step forward. "Just let her go. I'll give you my life, all right?" I stared at him, the gauge never wavering in my hand. "Caleb Sterling, make her say it herself," my voice came out raw and hoarse. "Make her tell you who really cut the brake lines in that test race." Chloe trembled beneath me. "It was me... I cut them myself... and left the cutters by her toolbox..." Caleb's expression shifted. But Chloe immediately burst into hysterical sobs. "She forced me! She stabbed me with a needle, she's trying to kill me! Caleb, save me!" She turned the tables in a heartbeat, tears and snot streaming down her face, looking entirely pitiful. In that single second, the look in Caleb's eyes changed completely. From hesitation and shock, it curdled into freezing fury. He stopped pleading. Lunging forward, he kicked me squarely in the chest. The force sent me flying backward, slamming hard into the wall before sliding down to the floor. The coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth, and the agony in my chest left me gasping for air. He didn't spare me a glance. He helped Chloe up first, inspecting her wounds and slamming down on the call button to summon a doctor. Once he had done all that, he turned around, walked over to a tool bag resting in the corner, and pulled out a tire iron. Solid steel, half a meter long, with a flat, chisel-tipped end. Grip firm on the bar, he strode over to stand above me. Slumped against the wall, I looked up at him, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. I didn't dodge, and I didn't beg for mercy. Caleb swung the tire iron, driving the flat steel tip savagely into the back of my shoulder. With a sickening thud, iron tore into flesh. My body arched violently in agony, a muffled groan tearing from my throat as darkness rushed across my vision. Blood poured out instantly, soaking through my clothes and running down my back. "This is what you owe Chloe." Caleb's voice was dead cold, like ice. He yanked the tire iron free, tossed it clattering to the floor, and turned to guide Chloe out of the room. He never called a doctor for me. He never looked back. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the room. I leaned against the wall, the wound on my shoulder bleeding continuously. I tried to stand, but my legs had no strength left. I reached out, desperate to grab hold of anything—the bed railing, the tire iron on the floor, whatever I could find. Yet my fingers caught only empty air. They curled weakly in midair, then dropped limp to my side. Consciousness drained away from me like a receding tide. In my final moments of clarity, my mind drifted back to years ago, to the very first time I had watched Caleb Sterling race from the grandstands. Crossing the finish line, he had waved toward the crowd. Back then, I had foolishly believed he was waving at me. Turns out, he wasn't. My eyes drifted shut. The room fell into total silence, save for the sound of blood dripping onto the floor—drop by drop.Yvonne POV I thought I had died. My mind was submerged in absolute darkness. No light, no sound, not even the feeling of pain. Then, the sharp smell of antiseptic hit my senses. Opening my eyes, I stared at a plain white ceiling. The wound on my shoulder had been dressed, wrapped tight in gauze. I was lying in a hospital bed, entirely alone. The nightstand was completely bare. No flowers, no fruit, not even a glass of water poured for me. Out in the hallway, the hushed voices of two nurses drifted through the door. "Mr. Sterling has been keeping vigil in the VIP suite for three days straight without leaving her side once. Ms. Sterling really is blessed." "What about the one in the general ward? I heard Mr. Sterling stabbed her himself..." "Shh, keep your voice down. Mr. Sterling gave orders: no special care needed, just make sure she doesn't die." Lying in that bed, listening to every word, my face remained blank. *Just make sure she doesn't die.* That afternoon, I began vomiting blood. Crouched over the bathroom sink, I threw up until half the basin was coated in a blinding, terrifying red. The doctor came to examine me, his expression gravely grim. "Ms. Vance, your stomach cancer has reached the terminal stage. You need to be admitted for aggressive treatment immediately." "How long do I have left?" The doctor went silent for a moment. "Three months, at most." "Forget it." I pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand, pressing down to stem the bleeding. "I'm refusing treatment." Stepping out of the hospital, the sun was shining brightly, casting a gentle warmth over my skin. I took a cab out to the cemetery on the outskirts of the city and chose a quiet corner plot that got plenty of sunlight. Next, I went to purchase the simplest wooden urn I could find and signed the end-of-life proxy: keep everything minimal, no funeral service, scatter my ashes into the sea. The staff looked at me with open pity, but I paid them no mind. With everything settled, a strange sense of peace settled over my chest. I headed to my family's old auto repair shop. It was the only piece of my parents I had left in this world, tucked away in an alley inside the old quarter, modest and unpretentious. I pushed the door open, only to be greeted by total devastation. My parents' tools had been smashed to pieces and scattered across the floor—wrenches, socket sets, and hydraulic jacks lay mangled and warped out of shape. Old photographs on the wall had been torn down and trampled underfoot, my parents' faces smeared beyond recognition. The trophies on the shelf were shattered into fragments—trophies my father had earned in mechanic competitions all those years ago. The entire floor was blanketed in shattered glass and splintered wood. Standing in the doorway, I trembled from head to toe. "Oh, look who's here. Yvonne Vance?" Chloe Sterling's voice drifted out from the back. She stepped out from the inner room, draped in an expensive coat, her high heels clicking and crunching over the broken glass. Behind her stood two hired laborers, heavy hammers in hand. "What are you doing here?" My voice shook uncontrollably. "This shop belongs to me now," Chloe smiled faintly. "Caleb told me this piece-of-trash garage was mine to take." She raised a hand, waving dismissively at the workers. "Keep smashing it. Don't stop until there's nothing left standing." The thudding crash of hammers echoed through the cramped shop, blow after heavy blow, landing like strikes against my own heart.Yvonne POV At Chloe Sterling's words, the fury buried inside me for three long years erupted into a roaring blaze. I charged forward like a woman possessed, seizing Chloe by her hair. My hand cracked across her face over and over until her cheeks swelled bruised and purple, blood leaking from the corner of her lips. Frantic, Chloe clawed at her pocket trying to pull out her phone, but I slapped it out of her grip, sending it smashing into the wall where the screen shattered to pieces. Reaching into my handbag, I whipped out the mini tire pressure gauge, its sharp metal probe glinting coldly beneath the shop lights. The moment Chloe caught sight of the spike, all color drained from her face, and she scrambled backward in sheer terror. I grabbed her left hand, pinning it flat against the concrete, and rammed the metal probe mercilessly straight through her palm. "Ah—!" A bloodcurdling shriek tore from Chloe's throat as the spike pierced straight through her hand, blood surging out and splashing across the floor. Terrified out of their minds, the workers dropped their hammers and ran for their lives. Hurried footsteps echoed at the entrance. Caleb Sterling rushed in with a group of people. The moment he saw the pool of blood on the floor and Chloe Sterling's mangled hand, his face warped with horror. He lunged forward, shoved me aside violently, scooped Chloe into his arms, and spun on his heel toward the door. "Get her to the hospital! Now!" At the doorway, he halted and looked back at me, his eyes brimming with arctic malice. "Just you wait." Ten minutes later, he returned, flanked by two team security guards. I was still standing in the same spot, my hands stained with Chloe's blood. "Yvonne Vance, why do you always have to target Chloe?" Caleb asked from the doorway, his tone detached, as if inquiring about something entirely unrelated to him. I stared at him and laughed, laughing until tears welled in my eyes. "How did she offend me? Look at this place!" I pointed at the utter wreckage around us. "This is the only thing my parents left behind for me! You gave it to her, and you let her smash every single keepsake they had!" Caleb remained deadpan. "It's just a worthless dump. If it's trashed, it's trashed. It wasn't worth a dime anyway." My laughter stopped dead. I stared at him as if looking at a total stranger. "That was my parents' life's work!" Caleb gave a flick of his hand to the guards behind him. "Pin her down." Two guards surged forward, flanking me and grabbing my arms, pinning me until I couldn't move an inch. Parked right outside was a race car that had just been shut off, its exhaust pipes still billowing scorching heat. "Bring her over." The guards dragged me to the rear of the car. Caleb grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my face down toward the exhaust pipe. A wall of blistering, high-temperature exhaust fumes hit me, thick with the acrid stench of gasoline. "Ah—!" A bloodcurdling scream ripped from my throat. My airway and esophagus burned as if set ablaze. I thrashed wildly, but the guards held me in a vice grip. The toxic fumes flooded down my throat, triggering a violent fit of coughing. A mouthful of blood sprayed out, followed by a second, and then a third. The blood splattered against the scorching exhaust pipe with a harsh sizzle, drying instantly in the heat. My body went limp. When the guards let go, I collapsed onto the ground, gasping desperately for air, every ragged breath tasting of iron and blood. Caleb stood over me, his gaze void of even a flicker of warmth. "This is what you owe Chloe." He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading at the end of the alley. I lay prone on the ground, blood continuing to spill from the corners of my mouth. I wanted to crawl, but my limbs refused to obey. The world before my eyes began to blur. The last thought that crossed my mind was the memory of my father in this very shop, teaching me how to tell wrenches apart. Back then, I was still so small. His hands were warm, and the shop was always bright. Now, everything was gone. My eyes fluttered shut as blood trickled from the corner of my lips, dripping onto the asphalt.