Chapter 2 · Outlive Him

I spent three days in the hospital, with a private caregiver looking after me the whole time.

All paid for with Lucas's bank card.

Back then, Sophia was so scared of spending his money that she'd jot down every little expense, just so Lucas wouldn't call her out for wasting cash.

But now?

I swiped that card like there was no tomorrow.

The day I got discharged, I went for a full check-up—and while I was at it, dropped by psych for a consult.

The doctor glanced at my results, adjusted his glasses, and said, "Looks like you've got some mild psychological issues, plus a bit of PTSD. Did something happen recently?"

"Probably just found out my husband's a total scumbag," I replied.

I tucked the diagnosis away in my bag.

I was in a great mood.

If people with mental issues could get away with murder, then messing with a scumbag like him was a walk in the park.

When I got back to that cramped, rundown walk-up apartment, the first thing I noticed was the rich aroma of chicken soup filling the air.

But it wasn't for me.

In the living room, Isabella was sitting on the couch, spoon-feeding Lucas soup.

Lucas's mother, Margaret Grant, watched them with a doting look, as if they were her perfect little family.

Margaret sneered, "Back from playing dead, are you?"

Her smile vanished. "Since you're not dead, go wash the dishes in the kitchen! Isabella was kind enough to visit you and even made you soup, while you just lounged around in the hospital enjoying yourself!"

Isabella set down the bowl and stood up, looking like a startled little rabbit.

"Sophia, don't take it the wrong way. I just thought Lucas looked exhausted lately, so I..."

"Oh, so you thought you'd spoon-feed him like a baby?" I snapped.

I slipped off my shoes, walked over to the coffee table, and eyed that greasy chicken soup with obvious disdain.

"Sophia, if you really don't want me here, I won't come over anymore..." Isabella's eyes looked teary.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive," I shot back.

I grabbed the bowl of soup.

With all three of them watching, I casually flipped my wrist.

Splash!

I poured the piping hot chicken soup all over Lucas's brand-new leather sofa, and a few drops even splattered right onto his crotch.

He'd spent over five thousand dollars on it, just to impress people.

"My sofa!" Lucas jumped up, his face contorted with distress. "Sophia, have you lost your mind?"

"My hand slipped," I replied, completely unbothered.

I tossed the empty bowl into the trash. "Ms. Carter, you're divorced—don't you know better than to get caught in compromising situations?"

"How dare you talk to her like that!" Margaret stormed over, ready to shove me. "Isabella is our guest! What right do you have to boss anyone around? This house is in Lucas's name!"

"Oh, really?"

I sidestepped her shove, giving her a cold look.

"Lucas might've put down the down payment, but I've been the one paying for the renovations and the mortgage for the past five years. And when Lucas racked up a mountain of debt starting his business, I sold my family's land back home to pay it off.

"Without me, you guys would still be homeless under a bridge."

"Now you want to burn your bridges and toss me aside? Sorry, you missed your chance."

Margaret was so stunned by my presence that she froze, not daring to touch me.

Lucas scrubbed at the sofa, yelling, "Sophia, what do you want from us? Do you have to make such a scene and humiliate everyone?"

"What do I want?" I repeated, my voice icy.

I walked right up to Isabella.

She was wearing a white dress today, looking innocent and charming.

That dress? I had it custom-made last week, and as soon as it arrived, Lucas gave it to her as a gift.

"Take it off," I said flatly, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Isabella froze, staring at me. "What?"

"The dress. Take it off," I said, expressionless. "I paid for it."

"Sophia! You're out of line!" Lucas barked, stepping protectively in front of Isabella.

"It's just a dress! Is this really worth making a scene over?" he snapped.

"Absolutely," I shot back.

I pulled out my phone and showed him the receipt. "I spent four thousand dollars on this custom dress at the mall just last week. Lucas, do you even have any shame left?"

"Fine, I'll consider it a loan!" Lucas shouted, his face turning red with embarrassment.

"Fine, write me an IOU," I said, my voice cold as ice.

I dug out a pen and paper from my bag and slapped them onto the table. "Go on. Write it."

The tension in the room was thick.

Isabella bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears as they started to fall. "Lucas, this is all my fault... I shouldn't have taken it..."

"Look what you've done to Isabella!" Lucas was furious, shooting me a death glare. "Sophia, I'm done! We're getting divorced right now!"

Margaret chimed in, "Divorce her! Kick her out! After a divorce, who would want damaged goods like her?"

Everyone expected me to break down, beg for mercy, and admit fault like I always used to.

After all, Sophia loved Lucas so much that she had zero self-respect.

Instead of breaking down, I just smirked, pulled out a chair, sat down, and poured myself a glass of water.

"Not divorcing," I said, cool as ice.

Lucas blinked, completely thrown. "What did you just say?"

"I said, I'm not divorcing," I repeated, my tone flat and unshaken.

I blew on my water and said coolly, "According to marriage law, a man can't file for divorce while his wife is pregnant."

"You're pregnant?!"

The three of them shouted in unison.

Lucas's face was a sight to behold—shock, suspicion, panic, and then a weird, almost gleeful excitement.

"You're pregnant? Is it a boy or a girl?" Margaret's face changed instantly as she rushed over, eyes locked on my stomach.

"No idea yet," I said coolly. "Doctor says the pregnancy's a bit shaky, so I really can't afford any drama."

I patted my still-flat belly, shooting a look at Isabella, whose face was ashen. "So, Ms. Carter, for the sake of me and the baby, kindly make yourself scarce and leave."

Chapter 2

I spent three days in the hospital, with a private caregiver looking after me the whole time.

All paid for with Lucas's bank card.

Back then, Sophia was so scared of spending his money that she'd jot down every little expense, just so Lucas wouldn't call her out for wasting cash.

But now?

I swiped that card like there was no tomorrow.

The day I got discharged, I went for a full check-up—and while I was at it, dropped by psych for a consult.

The doctor glanced at my results, adjusted his glasses, and said, "Looks like you've got some mild psychological issues, plus a bit of PTSD. Did something happen recently?"

"Probably just found out my husband's a total scumbag," I replied.

I tucked the diagnosis away in my bag.

I was in a great mood.

If people with mental issues could get away with murder, then messing with a scumbag like him was a walk in the park.

When I got back to that cramped, rundown walk-up apartment, the first thing I noticed was the rich aroma of chicken soup filling the air.

But it wasn't for me.

In the living room, Isabella was sitting on the couch, spoon-feeding Lucas soup.

Lucas's mother, Margaret Grant, watched them with a doting look, as if they were her perfect little family.

Margaret sneered, "Back from playing dead, are you?"

Isabella set down the bowl and stood up, looking like a startled little rabbit.

"Sophia, don't take it the wrong way. I just thought Lucas looked exhausted lately, so I..."

"Oh, so you thought you'd spoon-feed him like a baby?" I snapped.

I slipped off my shoes, walked over to the coffee table, and eyed that greasy chicken soup with obvious disdain.

"Sophia, if you really don't want me here, I won't come over anymore..." Isabella's eyes looked teary.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive," I shot back.

I grabbed the bowl of soup.

With all three of them watching, I casually flipped my wrist.

Splash!

I poured the piping hot chicken soup all over Lucas's brand-new leather sofa, and a few drops even splattered right onto his crotch.

He'd spent over five thousand dollars on it, just to impress people.

"My sofa!" Lucas jumped up, his face contorted with distress. "Sophia, have you lost your mind?"

"My hand slipped," I replied, completely unbothered.

I tossed the empty bowl into the trash. "Ms. Carter, you're divorced—don't you know better than to get caught in compromising situations?"

"How dare you talk to her like that!" Margaret stormed over, ready to shove me. "Isabella is our guest! What right do you have to boss anyone around? This house is in Lucas's name!"

"Oh, really?"

I sidestepped her shove, giving her a cold look.

"Without me, you guys would still be homeless under a bridge."

"Now you want to burn your bridges and toss me aside? Sorry, you missed your chance."

Margaret was so stunned by my presence that she froze, not daring to touch me.

Lucas scrubbed at the sofa, yelling, "Sophia, what do you want from us? Do you have to make such a scene and humiliate everyone?"

"What do I want?" I repeated, my voice icy.

I walked right up to Isabella.

She was wearing a white dress today, looking innocent and charming.

That dress? I had it custom-made last week, and as soon as it arrived, Lucas gave it to her as a gift.

"Take it off," I said flatly, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Isabella froze, staring at me. "What?"

"The dress. Take it off," I said, expressionless. "I paid for it."

"Sophia! You're out of line!" Lucas barked, stepping protectively in front of Isabella.

"It's just a dress! Is this really worth making a scene over?" he snapped.

"Absolutely," I shot back.

I pulled out my phone and showed him the receipt. "I spent four thousand dollars on this custom dress at the mall just last week. Lucas, do you even have any shame left?"

"Fine, I'll consider it a loan!" Lucas shouted, his face turning red with embarrassment.

"Fine, write me an IOU," I said, my voice cold as ice.

I dug out a pen and paper from my bag and slapped them onto the table. "Go on. Write it."

The tension in the room was thick.

Isabella bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears as they started to fall. "Lucas, this is all my fault... I shouldn't have taken it..."

"Look what you've done to Isabella!" Lucas was furious, shooting me a death glare. "Sophia, I'm done! We're getting divorced right now!"

Margaret chimed in, "Divorce her! Kick her out! After a divorce, who would want damaged goods like her?"

Everyone expected me to break down, beg for mercy, and admit fault like I always used to.

After all, Sophia loved Lucas so much that she had zero self-respect.

Instead of breaking down, I just smirked, pulled out a chair, sat down, and poured myself a glass of water.

"Not divorcing," I said, cool as ice.

Lucas blinked, completely thrown. "What did you just say?"

"I said, I'm not divorcing," I repeated, my tone flat and unshaken.

I blew on my water and said coolly, "According to marriage law, a man can't file for divorce while his wife is pregnant."

"You're pregnant?!"

The three of them shouted in unison.

Lucas's face was a sight to behold—shock, suspicion, panic, and then a weird, almost gleeful excitement.

"You're pregnant? Is it a boy or a girl?" Margaret's face changed instantly as she rushed over, eyes locked on my stomach.

"No idea yet," I said coolly. "Doctor says the pregnancy's a bit shaky, so I really can't afford any drama."

I patted my still-flat belly, shooting a look at Isabella, whose face was ashen. "So, Ms. Carter, for the sake of me and the baby, kindly make yourself scarce and leave."