Chapter 2

I stood in the center of the master bedroom, the open suitcase on the bed gaping like a mocking mouth, taunting my five-year marriage.

In the closet, my clothes took up only a small corner, mostly simple basics.

Shane always disapproved of me wearing bright colors, claiming they were inappropriate.

Absentmindedly, I took the clothes off the hangers, folded them, and placed them in the suitcase.

My fingers paused when they touched a navy blue dress. That was the dress I planned to wear for our first wedding anniversary.

That night, Shane had promised to have dinner with me. I'd spent four hours getting ready, but he was called into a last-minute meeting and didn't come home until after midnight. The dress never got its chance.

I shook my head and buried it at the very bottom of my suitcase.

The vanity held only a few skincare products, most of the space dominated by Shane's collection of men's colognes.

I picked up an almost empty bottle of serum. It was a birthday gift from Molly Scott last year that I'd hoarded like treasure.

In hindsight, showing myself any kindness felt like a rare indulgence in this marriage.

In the bathroom, my toothbrush stood all alone in its cup, right next to Shane's electric one.

I hesitated for a moment, but still tossed mine into the trash can. If I was leaving, I might as well make it final.

As I packed up the study, my fingers lingered over the bookshelf.

Most were Shane's business books. Only a few design textbooks tucked away in the corner belonged to me.

They were from my college days. I'd never had the heart to throw them out, still clinging to the hope that one day I might revive my design dreams.

"How ridiculous," I muttered to myself, shoving the textbooks into my bag.

For five years, I willingly gave up my career for Shane. Then I became his secretary and catered to his every need, foolishly believing that would earn me his love.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated and Shane's name glaringly flashed on the screen.

I didn't answer and continued sorting through the documents and important files in the drawer.

The phone rang persistently before finally stopping. Then a text appeared: [Enough with the drama. Come back and stop acting like a child.]

I stared at the screen and let out a bitter laugh.

So in his eyes, I didn't even have the right to get angry.

For the past five years, I've never lost my temper with him. No matter how much he ignored or neglected me, I just endured it all.

But now, just because I signed the divorce agreement he handed me, he thought I was being dramatic.

I muted my phone and shoved it into my pocket.

The kitchen was my final stop.

Post-it notes still clung to the fridge, each one bearing Shane's schedule for next week.

One by one, I peeled them off, crumpled them in my fist, and tossed them into the trash.

In the cupboard sat a box of coffee I'd long treasured. It was a special gift from my college roommate who brought it back from abroad. I'd never had the heart to drink it.

Now, I carefully wrapped it up and placed it in my suitcase.

By the time I dragged my last suitcase to the door, night had completely fallen.

I stood in the foyer, taking one final look around this luxurious yet cold villa.

Five years ago, when I first moved in, I naively believed this place would become a haven of love for Shane and me.

As I walked away, there wasn't even a hint of longing in me.

I set the house keys down on the entryway table.

As the door clicked shut behind me, a strange sense of relief washed over me, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from my shoulders.

The taxi wound through the night as I gazed out the window at the streaming neon lights. Suddenly, I didn't know where I should go.

My parents were far away down south, back in my hometown. I didn't want to worry them.

All the hotels were fully booked.

After much hesitation, I dialed Molly's number.

"Hello? Stella?" Molly answered, her voice thick with sleep but instantly alert. "It's so late. What's wrong?"

"I... got divorced." Even as I said it, I could hardly believe the words myself. "Can I stay with you for a few days?"

There was a two-second silence. Then I heard Molly bolt upright in bed. "Text me the address. I'm coming to get you now."

"No need, I'm already in a taxi."

"Then just come straight to my place. You know the code. I'm getting up now."

Molly's voice held no hesitation, just genuine, unguarded concern.

My eyes welled up as I hung up the phone.

My friendship with Molly was one of the most precious treasures from my college years.

After graduation, she started as a marketing director at a multinational company, but she never treated me any differently even after I became Mrs. Griffin.

The taxi pulled up to a high-end apartment building.

Dragging my luggage behind me, I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 28th floor.

Molly's apartment was a penthouse duplex with a breathtaking view, every inch of it earned through her hard work.

As soon as I punched in the code and opened the door, I was immediately pulled into a warm, tight hug.

"Oh my, what happened?" Molly let go of me and looked me up and down. "You look like a complete mess."

I glanced down at my white shirt, where the red wine had dried into a dull, brownish stain.

My hair was a tangled mess after a long, exhausting day, and my eyes must have been puffy and red.

I managed a weak smile. "It's a long story."

Without a word, Molly took my hand and led me to the bathroom. "Shower first. I'll grab you clean clothes. Then you're telling me everything, no holding back. "

Hot water cascaded over my body, washing away the red wine stain on my skin, but the lingering grime in my heart proved much harder to cleanse.

I dried off and changed into the silk pajamas Molly had laid out. They were soft to the touch and carried a faint hint of lavender.

In the living room, Molly had warmed up some milk, with a box of chocolates on the coffee table.

"Here, eat something first," she said, sliding me a mug of milk. "Now tell me what the hell that bastard Shane did."

I took a sip of warm milk. As it slid down my throat, I felt a bit of courage returning.

Then I told Molly everything, from the red wine incident at the restaurant to the divorce agreement.

My voice trembled slightly when I mentioned the moment of signing, but I quickly steadied it.

"That bastard!" Molly slammed her hand on the table and called out. "I'm going to confront him tomorrow."

"Don't," I said quickly, grabbing her hand and shaking my head. "He's not worth it."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

I took a deep breath and said, "I want to start fresh. I want to find a job, get my own place, and finally live for myself."

Molly's eyes lit up. Then she added, "Now that's the Stella I remember. Back in college, you were the design prodigy of our department. If it weren't for Shane..."

"Yeah, if it weren't for him," I said bitterly. After graduation, I had an offer from a top design firm but gave it up to support Shane's startup. I put my career on hold to become his assistant.

"I'll contact a headhunter for you first thing tomorrow," Molly said excitedly. "But for now, just get some rest. The guest room's all made up for you."

As I lay in the soft bed, I thought I'd be tossing and turning all night, but to my surprise, I drifted off almost instantly.

This was the first time in five years I hadn't waited for Shane, nor worried whether he'd come home drunk and need me to take care of him.

I slept soundly, without a single dream.

Meanwhile, in the VIP suite at Elyseel Restaurant, Shane glanced at his watch. The clock had just struck one in the morning.

Lily pressed close, tracing slow circles on his chest with her fingertips. She purred, "Mr. Griffin, why don't you come over to my place tonight?"

Shane frowned, a sudden weariness washing over him. "No, I'm going home," he replied, his tone flat.

"Afraid your wife will get angry?" Lily cooed with a mocking giggle. "Didn't you already sign the divorce agreement?"

Shane stood up, adjusting his suit with a dismissive air. "She can't be serious. She'll come back and beg me tomorrow," he said confidently.

Shane stepped out of the restaurant into the chill night air.

He slid into the car and gave the driver his home address. On the way, he checked his phone. There were no messages or missed calls from Stella.

This wasn't like Stella. She'd always text to check in when Shane was running late.

The villa lay in darkness. Shane frowned, entered the passcode, and opened the door. An eerie silence greeted him. Stella's usual nightlight was off, leaving no sign she was waiting up as always.

"Stella?" he called out, but only silence answered.

Flipping on the lights, Shane immediately noticed several pairs of Stella's usual shoes were gone from the entryway.

He hurried upstairs, only to find the master bedroom door swung wide open, her side of the closet empty.

On the vanity, all her skincare products had vanished, leaving behind only a few solitary perfume bottles.

In the bathroom, even her toothbrush was gone.

Shane stood at the bathroom door, suddenly gripped by an inexplicable unease.

Did Stella move out?

This wasn't like her at all.

Throughout their five-year marriage, no matter how neglectful he had been, she never uttered a word of complaint, let alone walked out on him.

He took out his phone and dialed Stella's number.

The phone kept ringing, but no one picked up.

"Enough with the drama already," Shane muttered to himself, then fired off a text: [Bring my navy suit to the office tomorrow morning.]

After sending the text, he strode into the study and poured himself a glass of single-malt whiskey.

The whiskey burned slightly as it slid down his throat.

Shane glanced around the study. When his eyes landed on the bookshelf, he suddenly realized something was missing. Stella's design books were gone.

He scoffed under his breath, "How childish."

Setting down his whiskey glass, Shane strode toward the master bedroom.

The suitcase's indentation remained on the bed. As he smoothed the sheets, his fingers touched a damp spot. Was it a tear stain? He couldn't tell for sure.

He lay down on the bed. The mattress felt oddly firmer than usual.

He tossed and turned, plagued by a nagging sense that something was amiss.

Normally, around this time, Stella would quietly slip in, gently tuck him in, and adjust the air conditioning to just the right temperature.

Trying to reassure himself, Shane muttered, "She'll be back tomorrow." With that thought, he closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, in a luxury suite at a five-star hotel on the other side of the city, Yale Zimmer was receiving a briefing from his assistant.

The assistant said, "Confirmed, Shane and Stella signed their divorce agreement today."

With a calculating smile playing on his lips, Yale swirled the wine glass and said, "Interesting. Find out Stella's current whereabouts and her college major."

"Yes, Mr. Zimmer," the assistant replied respectfully before withdrawing.

Yale strode to the floor-to-ceiling window, surveying the city's glittering skyline.

The rivalry between Griffin Group and Zimmer Enterprise had lasted for years. Now, with Shane making critical missteps, Yale saw the perfect opportunity to strike.

Meanwhile, Stella, the woman Shane had long neglected, might just become the most unexpected wild card in this power struggle.