Chapter 2
Outside the company building, a familiar figure stood in the rain.
With shoulder-length hair and a petite frame, it was Dahlia Winters, the girl who always fumbled around the printer.
She didn't have an umbrella, and her thin white shirt was soaked through, clinging to her skin.
Xavier's car screeched to a halt right in front of her.
Eliza watched as her husband didn't even have time to grab his umbrella before rushing out of the car, and her breath caught in her throat.
Xavier pulled Dahlia into his arms.
Through the curtain of rain, Eliza couldn't make out their expressions.
But she saw Dahlia's hands clutching the back of Xavier's suit, and she saw him lean down to whisper something in her ear.
She saw Dahlia's shoulders shaking violently, like she was crying, and Xavier's hand gently stroking her hair.
"Mrs. Delacroix? Mrs. Delacroix?" The driver's voice sounded distant, and only then did Eliza realize she'd been staring in that direction for far too long.
The rain smeared across the window, blurring her view, but that scene was etched deep in her memory.
"Let's go home," she heard herself say.
Back at the villa, she headed straight for the master bedroom upstairs, closed the door, and collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.
"Liar," Eliza whispered, her voice sounding especially clear in the empty room.
Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face, trailing from her temples into her hairline.
Eliza didn't lift a hand to wipe them away; she just let them soak her pillow.
Xavier had always been the kind of husband people envied. He showered her with affection and never held back.
Every morning before heading out, he'd kiss her on the forehead and say he loved her.
On her birthday, he'd book out an entire restaurant and set up elaborate surprises just to make her smile.
Night after night, he'd hold her in his arms until she drifted off, whispering that she was his whole world.
But now, Eliza had witnessed with her own eyes her husband embracing another woman.
Eliza longed for a love that was truly hers, exclusive and undivided. If that love was ever tainted by someone else, she'd rather walk away than settle for anything less.
She wiped away her tears, sat up, and walked over to the safe in the study.
The password to the safe was their wedding date.
On the top tier of the safe lay a manila envelope, with Xavier's neat handwriting on it. "Promise to Eliza."
Inside the envelope was just a single sheet, a divorce agreement. The terms were brutally straightforward: Xavier would voluntarily give up all their shared assets.
Dated Christmas Day, three years ago, his signature was already there, the ink long dry.
Once, while Eliza was curled up in his arms, she asked what he'd do if he ever fell for another woman.
Xavier looked her in the eyes and said, "Never."
But Eliza, ever the skeptic, just teased him, saying she didn't believe in promises made with words alone.
So, half an hour later, Xavier wrote up this divorce agreement.
'Xavier's words echoed in Eliza's mind: "If I ever betray you, just sign this and leave me for good."'
She'd always believed she'd never have to use that piece of paper.
But now she realized that forever could end in the blink of an eye.
When Eliza opened her eyes, daylight was streaming in.
She instinctively reached for the spot next to her. It was cold, no warmth at all.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 9:17 AM, and her phone screen was spotless, no unread messages, nothing.
For the first time since they'd gotten married, Xavier had stayed out all night without so much as a word.
She sat up, her temples throbbing.
As she splashed cold water on her face, Eliza stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes were still puffy, but the look in them had turned icy.
"Mrs. Delacroix, would you like the car prepared?" the butler asked quietly from the stairs.
"To the office," Eliza said.
The sun was shining brightly outside the car window, as if last night's downpour had never happened.
The Delacroix Group building sparkled in the sunlight.
Eliza took a deep breath and stepped through the revolving doors.
The receptionist greeted her with a professional smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Delacroix."
"Is Mr. Delacroix in?" Eliza asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Mr. Delacroix is in a meeting right now. I'll let him know you're here," the receptionist replied.
"No need to call Mr. Delacroix," Eliza said coolly, raising her hand to stop the receptionist from reaching for the phone. "I'll wait for him in his office."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked straight toward the private elevator.
Xavier's office door was firmly shut, but it wasn't locked.
Eliza opened the door and walked in. The office looked exactly the same as usual.
Their wedding photo was displayed on the desk. Xavier had his arm around her waist, his smile bright and sincere.
Eliza looked away and settled onto the leather sofa in the lounge area, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the armrest.
On the coffee table, there was a half-drunk cup of coffee, still warm. The mug was one Eliza had gifted Xavier, and on the rim, a faint lipstick stain stood out.
Eliza stared at the mark, her breath hitched. Today, she'd put on an orange-tinted gloss, but the stain was unmistakably red.
Footsteps and voices sounded from the hallway outside.
"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital? You really don't look well," Dahlia said, her voice thick with concern.