Chapter 2

Alexander seemed to be running out of patience. He strode in; his expensive cashmere slippers made no sound on the thick Turkish carpet, yet every step felt like it landed straight on her nerves. He stopped by the bed but did not come closer, keeping a deliberate distance. Then he flicked his wrist.

Just like before. The off-white folder, still holding a trace of warmth from his fingers, or maybe that was only in her head, flew toward her face.

Evelyn didn't flinch. The edge brushed her cheekbone again. The pain was sharper this time, more real than the one in her memory. Papers scattered. A few landed in her open palm. It was a divorce agreement. Those bold black letters burned into her vision.

"Sign it," Alexander said. His voice was calm and flat, with no emotion at all, as if he were stating a done deal. "I'll give you three million dollars."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over her pale face and her slightly trembling fingers. He probably thought it was fear or heartbreak.

He frowned almost imperceptibly, as if this whole scene was a waste of his time. Still, he added generously, "You can stay in this house for now, until you find somewhere else. As for the rest, name your price, as long as you don't go overboard."

How generous of him. As if the last three years of her life had been nothing more than a job, and she was just an employee he was eager to get rid of, willing to pay extra severance to make the problem go away.

Evelyn lowered her eyes and looked at the few sheets in her hand. They were light as air, yet heavy as a mountain. The paper was smooth and fine, the kind top law firms used. The terms were probably airtight too, protecting every Alexander's interests. As for her, aside from that "generous" three million dollars and this bit of charity, she would walk away with nothing, not even her dignity.

In her last life, that three million dollars and his so-called kindness had crushed her completely. It made her feel as if even her feelings had been given a price tag, turning everything she had given into the biggest joke of all.

But now...

She slowly, very slowly, lifted her head and met Alexander's gaze.

He was bracing himself for the usual meltdown—tears, hysterical questions, maybe even her swallowing her pride and giving in, just like every time after their fights or silent treatments. He even had that annoyed, barely tolerant look ready for when she started crying.

But none of that came.

Evelyn raised her head. Her face was still ghostly pale, as though she might shatter at any moment. And her eyes, which had always been filled with love, worry, pleading, and tears when she looked at him, were now terrifyingly calm like a frozen lake, deep and still, with something dangerous moving beneath. There were no tears in them anymore. Only a cold, sharp chill.

Alexander froze for a second. Her reaction was not what he expected.

Then he saw the corner of Evelyn's mouth lift, just slightly. It was not a smile. There was no warmth in it at all. If anything, it felt like a blade slicing through the air, sending a chill straight down his spine.

Before he could figure out what that look meant, Evelyn moved.

She sat up. The motion was a little slow but steady. She picked up the scattered pages from her lap and the bed, stacking them neatly and smoothing out the creases. Her fingers were long and pale, and now they did not tremble at all, as if she were handling something important.

Alexander watched her, his frown deepening. The faint surprise and growing impatience inside him sharpened. What was she doing? Buying time? Or trying to stay calm so she could bargain? He held back and said nothing, his gaze turning colder. He wanted to see what game she thought she was playing.

Evelyn finished stacking the papers and pressed the edges flat with her fingertips. Then she held the stack with both hands and looked up at him again.

This time, she caught the look in his eyes—that faint, almost invisible certainty that she would start negotiating, that quiet arrogance.

Then, she ripped the papers. The sharp sound tore through the silent bedroom like thunder, breaking the heavy stillness in the air and shattering the cold, composed mask Alexander always wore.

Evelyn's face stayed blank. Her eyes were cold, like the dead of winter. Her hands were steady as she pulled the stack apart. The high-quality paper let out a soft tearing sound, splitting cleanly down the middle.

She did not stop. She ripped again, and two pieces became four. Four became more. She tore them slowly, deliberately, as if she wanted to rip apart every tear, every bit of pain, and every ounce of despair and anger from her past life along with those thin sheets that had once felt like chains around her neck.

The sound of paper tearing was sharp and repetitive, echoing in the silent room. Each rip landed like a slap across Alexander's face, freezing his expression.

The scraps drifted down like lifeless snow, scattering across the gray-blue sheets, the expensive handmade rug, and finally landing near his spotless cashmere slippers.