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When the divorce papers were pushed across the table, the private room went dead silent. Rowena Stevenson looked down. Her fingertips felt a little cold as she stared at the signature line on the last page. "Sign it." Leopold Hopkins leaned back in his chair, voice flat, like he was discussing some trivial business deal. "Three properties, 3 million. That's enough to last you the rest of your life." The Hopkins family was sitting there in the room. His mother sipped her coffee without even looking up. "Rowena, I'm not trying to be mean, but you've been with Leopold for three years, and there's still not a peep from your belly. Our family can't let you sit in that spot forever." Beside her, Leopold's aunt let out a sneer. "A woman's fortune is in her womb. No luck there? Then don't hang around." Rowena didn't say anything. She just looked quietly at Leopold. Three years of marriage, and he still had that cold, untouchable face. She'd had a fever of a hundred and four—he was overseas closing a deal. She had a stomach bleed in the middle of the night, took a cab to the ER by herself, called him three times. He texted back: "In a meeting. Don't make a scene." She'd thought about leaving before. She just thought if she warmed his heart long enough, it might actually warm up a little. Guess she was wrong.