Chapter 2
Samuel stared at the mess on the carpet, his brows furrowing deeper, undisguised disgust flashing in his eyes.
Samuel said, "Get out. You don't deserve to stay in this house any longer."
Samuel's voice was as cold as ice.
Samuel added, "You don't deserve to be my wife."
Every word from Samuel felt like a death sentence to me.
The pitiful scraps of my dignity cracked under his heel.
Samuel meant I didn't deserve him.
Those words cut deeper than being left with nothing.
Samuel dismissed not only me, but everything I'd given these past five years.
A chill shot up from my feet to my head, leaving my limbs numb and icy.
I couldn't feel the plush carpet beneath me, or catch even a hint of that faint milky sweetness in the air.
It felt like the whole world had shrunk to just Samuel and that damned divorce agreement.
My vision blurred, and a dull ringing filled my ears.
I forced myself upright, legs quaking.
I couldn't collapse, at least not in front of him.
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress that sickly, metallic taste rising in my throat—acid reflux or whatever the hell it was.
My body felt sluggish and foreign, as if it no longer belonged to me.
I looked at Samuel, the man I'd loved with all my heart for over five years.
He was still as gorgeous as ever, with that same icy demeanor.
But to me now, he was nothing but a blur of frigid indifference.
The more I loved before, the more it hurt now.
The pain was so intense that it brought an eerie calm.
It was despair and numbness.
I knew now that nothing I said or did would change a thing.
In that moment, it felt like my heart just died.
No heart-rending agony, just a bleak wilderness spreading within my chest.
I slowly bent down, avoiding his gaze.
I picked up the divorce papers scattered on the floor.
My fingertips met the chill of the paper, and a strange, almost liberating feeling washed over me.
My movements were slow and mechanical, like a marionette.
"Good," said Samuel with a trace of satisfaction.
He was probably pleased with my compliance.
He probably expected me to cry, make a scene, or throw a tantrum.
Just like all those times before, when I tried every trick just to get him to notice me.
But I didn't.
I flipped through the agreement, page by page.
The terms were brutal, stripping me of almost everything.
No assets for me.
No emotional distress compensation for me.
Even my pre-marriage design drafts were vaguely categorized as "marital assets", subject to further negotiation.
Anyone could see this was just legalized robbery.
Samuel was really heartless.
He didn't even leave me a shred of dignity.
My eyes finally came to rest on the signature line.
Samuel's signature was already there, bold, unyielding strokes radiating his ironclad resolve.
Just like him.
I lifted my head and met his gaze with unsettling calm.
No love remained in my eyes. No pleading. Not even hatred.
Just emptiness, like a gaping black hole.
I said, my voice so calm that it surprised even me, "Samuel.
"It's been five years.
"I've been playing Vivian, your idealized first love, and trying to become the perfect wife.
"Now, Vivian's back.
"As your stand-in, can I finally clock out now?"
There was no accusation, no anger in my voice, just a cold, detached tone, as if I were stating a simple fact.
Samuel seemed taken aback by my reaction, and his eyes flickered.
But in a blink, Samuel's face hardened back into that customary icy mask, with barely concealed scorn.
Samuel said, "Just looking at you makes me sick."
His words fell like a final verdict.
It was laced with lofty disdain that shattered my last illusions.
The frigid air hung heavy.
Only the faint crinkling of paper in my clenched fist broke the silence.
And I seemed to hear my heart plunging into the abyss.
I was still clutching those flimsy sheets of paper in my hand, their weight pressing down on my fingertips like lead.
Samuel's words—"Just looking at you makes me sick"—still hung in the air like icicles, stabbing my ears with razor-sharp cruelty.
I could see the disgust in Samuel's eyes, so sharp and clear, like needles piercing the barely healed wounds in my heart, each jab precise and merciless.
The doorbell pierced the suffocating silence.
It was as sudden as a thunderbolt.
Samuel didn't even spare me a glance before turning away to answer the door.