Chapter 3

Time ticked by slowly. I lay awake in the dark, sleep nowhere in sight. My mind buzzed with thoughts of what was to come.

At 3 a.m., my phone vibrated. It was a message from Desmond: [The 100 million has been transferred to your Sumonlia account. Simon will receive a bank notification at 9 a.m. tomorrow. By then, he'll notice the money missing.]

I replied, [Good. Is the divorce agreement ready?]

[Ready,] Desmond responded. [According to the law, there are no joint assets. The 100 million you inherited before marriage is considered personal property.

[Simon profited from your funds over the past three years and should return both the principal and profits. But he only gave you a fraction. Therefore, transferring the 100 million is completely legal.

[As for the properties, the Serenity Garden under your name is worth 75 million. Only your name is on the deed, so Simon has no claim over it.

[The Moran Manor and shares in the Moran Group, you won't get any of that. But you don't need them anyway.]

After reading his messages, I typed back, [Enough. All I want is what's rightfully mine. Anything else, I don't care about.]

Then I asked, [What about Sylvia?]

Desmond paused for a few seconds before sending a long message: [Found her. Sylvia, 26, works as a jewelry designer.

[On the surface, she appears self-sufficient, but 80% of her studio's investments come from Simon.

[In the last three years, Simon has invested 20 million into her studio under the guise of company funding.

[She owns three properties and two luxury cars, all purchased by Simon. Also, she had a miscarriage. I got the medical report. The child was indeed Simon's.

[Pregnant for two months, she lost the baby due to intense physical activity.]

Seeing this, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That was exactly one month ago, on our third wedding anniversary.

I remembered preparing a table full of dishes at home, waiting for him to return. He came in at ten, saying he had business dinners.

I said it was okay, I'd heat up the food. He declined, saying he'd already eaten, then went straight upstairs.

I sat alone in the dining room, staring at the cold dishes until dawn. So that night, he was with Sylvia. And they were expecting a child.

Opening my eyes, feeling the sting of tears but refusing to let them fall. What good would crying do? Could it win back his heart? No. So why bother?

I continued reading Desmond's message: [Cecilia, I know you're hurting right now.

[But I must warn you. Sylvia isn't as innocent as she seems.

[On the surface, she's the fragile first love, but underneath, she's cunning.

[For three years, she's been circling around Simon, aiming to push you out.

[Now with the miscarriage, she'll use the child as leverage. Be careful.]

I replied, [I understand. But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving soon. They can do whatever they want; it's none of my concern.]

After sending the message, I powered off my phone, hid it away, and continued sitting in the darkness.

*****

My stomach churned painfully. I hadn't eaten all day, but I didn't care. Tomorrow, I'd be free. Just endure a bit longer.

Time dragged on. Footsteps approached outside the door, this time not James, but Simon. He stopped outside.

Speaking through the door, he said, "Cecilia, reflect inside. Sylvia is still in the hospital, emotionally unstable. She doesn't want to see you.

"So stay in there a few more days. Once she feels better, I'll let you out."

Leaning against the wall, listening to his words, a bitter smile crept onto my lips.

Stay a few more days? Did he think he was my master? Lock me up when he wanted, let me go when he wanted? How ridiculous.

I didn't respond. He waited outside for a while, seeing my silence, then added, "Consider it a vacation. Use the time to think about how far you've gone today.

"Sylvia lost the baby, and instead of showing sympathy, you hit her. Cecilia, are you made of stone?"

I laughed out loud. "Simon," I said calmly, "what right do you have to say these things to me?"

He hesitated. "What did you say?"

"I said," I repeated, "what right do you have? You're my husband. You've been keeping a mistress and got her pregnant. Now you lock me up for reflection? Do you even deserve it, Simon?"

Silence fell outside the door. After a long pause, his voice grew colder. "Don't forget, Cecilia, I've supported you for three years. The house you live in, the money you spend, it's all from me. What right do you have to criticize me?"

Closing my eyes, I said, "Fine. You're right. From today, we're even. I won't take a penny of your money. This marriage ends here."

He sneered, "Do you think you can end it just like that? Don't forget, your father owed my mother his life. You married me to repay that debt. Want to leave? Dream on."

With that, his footsteps faded away.

Opening my eyes, staring into the darkness, my smile deepened.

Simon thought he could trap me. He was wrong. This time, I was the one walking away. And the one begging would be him.