Chapter 4

I froze for a moment, then looked up at him.

Xander stared straight ahead, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather. "I'm not talking about the divorce. I'm talking about regretting these three years. If you want to cry, curse, or smash something, you still have time. Tonight, I'll pretend I didn't see anything."

I stared at his profile, feeling a prickling in my nose, like I might cry.

In the end, all I did was smile.

"Forget it," I said, leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes. "It's just not worth it."

It truly wasn't worth it anymore.

Giving Julian everything when I loved him, then falling apart when I left. It was just embarrassing.

I'd been pathetic for three years already.

After nearly half an hour on the road, the car pulled up outside a high-rise downtown.

This was my old place before I got married—quiet neighborhood, good security, minimalist, just the way I liked it.

Three years ago, when I married Julian, I barely took anything with me, thinking wherever Julian was, that would be home.

Now, after everything, here I was again.

Xander walked me up to the door and keyed in the code.

The lights flicked on, showing a spotless living room.

A fresh bouquet of white camellias rested on the table, with a glass of warm water beside it, as if someone had expected me tonight.

I stood in the doorway, feeling a bit out of it.

Xander wheeled my suitcase inside and said in a flat tone, "The guest room's been cleaned, and the bedding in the master bedroom's been changed. There's food in the fridge. Heat it if you're hungry. The stylist and assistant will be here at ten tomorrow morning."

I slipped off my shoes and asked softly, "Why the rush?"

"Rush?" He glanced up at me, his eyes calm to the point of being cold. "You've already wasted three years on Julian. How much longer do you want to keep wasting?"

His words left me speechless.

After a moment, I muttered, "You know, you're starting to sound just like my Grandfather."

Xander barely tugged at the corners of his mouth, the first sign of warmth I'd seen from him all night.

"If he hears you're finally getting divorced, he'll probably celebrate with an extra helping at dinner tomorrow," he said.

Just hearing my Grandfather's name made my heart soften a bit.

Three years ago, I had a big fight with my family over getting married.

I never really cut them off, but guilt kept me from visiting much.

My Grandfather never said a word, but I bet he'd been stewing about it all this time.

Thinking about it, I paused for a moment, then said softly, "Tomorrow...let me go back to the family home first."

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "It's about time."

With that, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway and glanced back at me.

"Sylvia," he said.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"From now on, don't waste a single tear on anyone in the Dyer family," Xander said, his tone calm but each word landing with force. "They're not worth it."

The door closed softly behind him.

I stood there quietly for a long time, then slowly crouched down, burying my face against my knees.

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.

I thought I wouldn't cry.

But right then, tears slipped out before I even realized it.

Not because I couldn't move on.

It was just the relief of finally being done.

The marriage I'd struggled to keep alive for three years. Tonight, it was over for good.

I wasn't sobbing or making a sound, just letting the tears fall, like I was letting all the bitterness and pain from the last three years drain out with them.

Then, out of nowhere, my phone started ringing.

I glanced down. Julian's name popped up on the screen.

I stared at his name, and just like that, the tears stopped.

He actually called me?

Typical Julian—he probably thought I'd gone too far tonight and wanted to put me in my place.

Or maybe he just wanted to make sure I'd found somewhere to crash and would come crawling back to him tomorrow, all calm and ready to beg.

I wiped the tears from my face and answered the call.

On the other end, it was so quiet I could almost hear him shuffling papers.

After a couple of seconds, his deep voice finally came through.

"Where did you end up?" he asked.

I sat on the cold floor and chuckled softly.

No concern, no apology. Not even a little.

His first words were more like an interrogation than a greeting: "Where did you end up?"

It was like I wasn't his ex-wife at all, just an accessory, waiting for his orders.

"Mr. Dyer," I said, leaning against the couch, my voice steady. "We're divorced now."

The line went dead silent.

He probably hadn't expected me to call him that.

After a moment, his voice dropped a notch. "Sylvia, stop being dramatic."

I closed my eyes, honestly finding it almost funny.

Even now, he still thought I was just throwing a tantrum.