Chapter 2

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking from the agreement back to my face. "What did you say?"

"I said, divorce," I replied, making sure he heard every word. "I don't want a single cent of your money. I'm walking away with nothing. From today on, we owe each other nothing."

Jonathan laughed bitterly, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He shoved Olivia aside, strode over to me, and grabbed my chin. "Emily, do you think you can decide our relationship?"

I met his gaze, calm as ever. "What will it take for you to agree to the divorce finally?"

He suddenly tightened his grip, a faint ache spreading through my jaw.

Then, as if something crossed his mind, he let go, leaned back lazily on the sofa, and lit a cigarette. "So, do you want a divorce? Alright."

He blew out a smoke ring, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Return every dollar you've used all these years, including 300 thousand dollars for the wedding ring.

"Once the money's in my account, I'll sign the papers immediately."

"Alright," I answered without a moment's hesitation. Without another word, I turned and headed upstairs.

Behind me, I could hear Jonathan and Olivia talking.

Olivia giggled, teasing, "Mr. Blake, aren't you worried Mrs. Blake might really leave you?"

Jonathan chuckled, his voice full of confidence. "Not a chance. She'll never be able to pay back that much money."

Yeah, he was right. I only had 16 bucks left to my name.

Ever since I sold the wedding ring, Jonathan had put the word out all over Brighton: anyone who dared to hire me was basically declaring war on the Blake Group.

No one would stick their neck out for a gold digger like me to go up against the top dog of the Blake family.

Back in my room, I opened the drawer and pulled out a thick stack of expense forms.

Each one was a funding request I'd filed with David over the past year.

There were eighty-seven forms, every single one like a dull blade, wearing down my already numb heart.

My tears fell, one by one, onto the forms. Shaking, I added up the numbers on all eighty-seven forms.

It was 13,442 dollars. Looking at that number, I couldn't help but laugh.

So, that was my whole year.

I put all the receipts and info together in a PDF and sent it to Jonathan.

Jonathan, from that moment on, I was done with you.

There was nothing left between us but debt.

*****

That night, I sent out over a hundred resumes. As I thought, not a single one got a reply.

In the end, I registered as a delivery worker on a food delivery app. At least here, nobody knew I was Mrs. Blake.

When I arrived at the bar, the coffee bag was still in my hand. As I checked the order details, the recipient's phone number made my fingers turn icy. It was Jonathan.

I stood outside the bar, trying to find someone else to take the order.

Ten minutes passed, and no one accepted it.

I couldn't afford the late fee.

I took a deep breath, grabbed the coffee, and pushed open the door to the VIP room.

The room went dead silent, and a dozen pairs of eyes looked at me with disdain.

Olivia was the first to laugh, leaning against Jonathan. "See? What did I say? Mrs. Blake is really getting a taste of real life."

"Emily, if you're strapped for cash, say the word. There's no need to be out here working in the sun and wind. Jonathan might actually feel sorry for you."

"Yeah, my bar still needs a cleaner. If you don't mind getting your hands dirty, Emily."

Episodes like this had happened to me countless times over the past year.

Every single time, Jonathan watched coldly, letting them insult me without ever stepping in.

After all, without his permission, who would dare mock me?

I didn't pay them any mind and put the coffee down. "Mr. Blake, your coffee. Hope you enjoy." With that, I left the VIP room.

I hurried out. My next delivery was about to be late.

Even though I rushed, I was still five minutes late.

I bowed repeatedly, apologizing, "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

The man was wearing a loose linen shirt, his hands still smudged with paint.

He glanced at me, out of breath, but didn't take the delivery. Instead, he asked, "How much do you make in a day delivering food?"

I paused, then answered honestly, "About one or two hundred dollars."

"I'll give you 600 dollars an hour if you model for me."

I took a wary step back.

He caught it immediately, and flashed an apologetic smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out.

"I'm a painter. I've been looking forever for the right model, and you have something special. It's what I've been searching for."

Just as I was hesitating, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from the delivery platform: [Your account has been permanently banned due to irregular activity.]

I clenched my fist so hard my nails bit into my palm. I knew this had Jonathan written all over it.

I looked up at him and said, "Okay, I'll do it."

His eyes lit up. "Come on in."

That was when it hit me. He was Lucas Bright, the world-renowned prodigy in the art world. Each of his paintings was worth 300 thousand dollars.

He kept painting until the early hours of the next morning.

When he finally put down his brush, he let out a long sigh of relief.

He looked at the canvas, his eyes sparkling. "That's exactly the vibe I was looking for."

Then he turned to me with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, once I start painting, I totally forget about time.

"Let me get your contact info so we can keep in touch."

"Sure."

As I walked out of the studio, my phone buzzed with a notification that 20 thousand dollars had hit my account.

Watching the sun rise, I felt there was a glimmer of hope after all.

When I opened the front door, Jonathan was slouched on the couch.

Cigarette butts littered the floor at his feet, and he stared at me with a dark, brooding gaze.

His voice was rough. "Where were you last night?"

I couldn't be bothered to answer and headed straight for the stairs.

He got up and followed, grabbing my wrist so hard it felt like he might snap my bones.

He leaned in, took a deep breath, and his whole vibe turned dangerous. "Is that cologne I smell?"

He slammed me against the wall, his hand gripping my throat as he kissed me fiercely. "Emily, did you dare to let another man touch you?

"I'll kill you and that idiot who dared mess with you."

A wave of humiliation hit me, and I sank my teeth into his lip, hard.

He forced himself on me, ignoring all my struggles and protests. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

I didn't know how long it was before he finally stopped.

Still breathless, he reached out gently and wiped the tear from my cheek. His voice was low and hoarse. "Emily, get that idea out of your head. Divorce is not happening."