Chapter 2

I'd known Edward Foster for years. He was Bennett Holdings' longtime legal counsel and, back in college, an upperclassman at the same university, just in a different department.

Over the past three years, he'd seen me take the heat for Charles at board meetings and work until four in the morning for Bennett Holdings' IPO project. He never once asked whether I was happy in my marriage. Whenever my stomach acted up, he'd toss medicine onto my desk and say, "Director Evans, your life matters more than any project."

Later, when I got pregnant, I resigned as finance director and stayed home to protect the baby. He still messaged me from time to time, reminding me to go in for my checkups. But I never expected him to be the first person to show up when I was at my worst.

By the time Edward pushed open the hospital room door, dawn was just breaking outside. He wore a black coat and carried a bag of hot porridge. The second he saw how pale I was, his steps clearly faltered.

"What about the baby?" he asked.

I looked at him and said softly, "Gone."

Edward stood there without speaking for a long while. A few seconds later, he set the porridge by my bedside and lowered his voice. "Where's Charles?"

I let out a small laugh. "He's off celebrating Olivia's birthday." Edward's gaze darkened. He rarely showed emotion, but I clearly saw the hand at his side clench until his knuckles turned white.

He didn't ask anything else. He simply pulled a document from his briefcase. "I've already drafted a basic version of the divorce agreement for you. Take a look."

I lowered my eyes to those few pages. Black words on white paper, neat and cold. It was as if someone had laid every ugly account from the last three years right in front of me.

I suddenly asked him, "Edward, do you think I'm unbelievably stupid?"

He looked at me, his voice deep and steady. "You're not stupid. He's just not worth you." My nose stung. From the miscarriage until now, I hadn't shed a single tear, but that one sentence made my eyes burn.

Edward didn't look at me. He only pushed the papers and pen toward me. "Grace, sign it once you've made up your mind. And this time, don't leave anyone an out."

I lowered my head and signed my name on the last page of the divorce agreement. The second I finished, a strange feeling hit me, as if the Grace who had endured for three years had finally died on yesterday's operating table.

At ten in the morning, Charles finally showed up. When he pushed the door open, he still smelled faintly of sweet frosting, and there was a long chestnut curl caught on the collar of his coat. It wasn't mine.

He stood by the bed. When he saw my pale face, he frowned. "What did the doctor say?" I didn't answer. I just looked at him. My stare made him uncomfortable. He lifted his hand, wanting to touch my forehead, but I turned my head away. His expression darkened at once.

"Grace, even if you're upset, there should be a limit." He probably sensed something was off, because he finally softened a little. "I didn't mean not to come last night. Olivia was drunk, Lily was making a fuss, and later my phone got switched to silent."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"But you did answer my call." The expression on Charles' face froze. I looked at him and repeated it word for word: "You told me, 'Stop using the baby to make a scene.'" The room fell silent.

Charles was quiet for a few seconds, then said at last, "I didn't know it was that serious then." I laughed.