Chapter 3

I squinted at my phone screen, still groggy. It was 3 a.m.

Veronica was home this late? That was a surprise.

In the past, whenever Ethan had one of his so-called “stomach episodes,” Veronica would drop everything to stay by his side all night, fussing over him like he couldn’t survive without her.

Now, standing at the foot of my bed, Veronica didn’t look pleased. Her face was dark with frustration as she complained:

“Jackson, I come home this late, and you don’t even text to check on me? You don’t wait up? Don’t you think you’re being a little too cold?”

I’m the one being cold?

I rolled my eyes internally.

I used to call her late at night to check on her, worried about her safety. She’d accuse me of being controlling, of not trusting her.

I used to wait up for her, preparing midnight snacks, giving her foot massages, doing everything to make her feel cared for. Her response? “You must have too much time on your hands. Maybe I should give you more work to do.”

Now that I’d stopped catering to her every whim, she was still unhappy.

Women’s hearts—truly impossible to understand.

I grunted a half-hearted acknowledgment and reached for the lamp, ready to go back to sleep.

But Veronica wasn’t done. She nudged me, then leaned against me like a rag doll, her voice turning soft and whiny.

“Jackson, I’m so tired today. Aren’t you going to get up and run me a foot bath?”

The faint scent of Ethan’s cologne clung to her clothes. It was nauseating.

Once, I would’ve jumped at the chance to pamper her without being asked. I’d have stayed up all night if it meant she’d sleep soundly.

Now, I couldn’t be bothered.

I pushed her off me, my tone sharper than usual, thanks to my interrupted sleep.

“I’m tired. Handle it yourself.”

Veronica froze, clearly shocked that I’d actually pushed her away.

For a few moments, she just stared at me, her fingers gripping the strap of her purse so tightly they turned white. Then, her face twisted with anger.

“Jackson, all this because I missed one dinner with you? You’re seriously treating me like this? Unbelievable!”

She scoffed, her voice dripping with venom.

“You think I wanted to come home?!”

With that, she stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I heard the jingle of keys as she left the house.

In the past, I’d have chased after her, begging her to stay, apologizing for upsetting her.

But now?

I calmly turned off the light and went back to sleep.

When I woke up, sunlight filled the room, and I felt more refreshed than I had in years.

I’d planned to make myself breakfast, but as I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Veronica still at home.

Usually, if I didn’t grovel to make up after a fight, she’d give me the silent treatment and leave for work early.

But today, she was sitting on the living room couch, carefully tying a ribbon around a sleek, expensive-looking gift box resting on her lap.

Hearing me approach, she glanced up and stood, walking toward me with the box in hand.

Before I could say anything, she grabbed my wrist and snapped the clasp of a watch around it.

The cold metal against my skin made me flinch.

Veronica held my wrist up, inspecting it from different angles like she was admiring a piece of fine art.

“Perfect fit,” she murmured, smiling in satisfaction. “Subtle, classy—suits you perfectly.”

I recognized the watch immediately. It was a new release from a luxury brand, worth well over a million dollars.

But before I could even process what was happening, Veronica unfastened the watch and wiped it meticulously with a handkerchief, as if my touch had tainted it.

Placing it back in the gift box, she muttered to herself, “Good thing your wrist size is the same as Ethan’s. If it fits you this well, it’ll look amazing on him.”

I looked at her, my lips curling into a bitter smile.

Of course. Ethan was the one who loved flashy watches. This wasn’t for me—it never was.

Veronica threw on her coat and grabbed the box, her steps light and cheerful as she headed for the door.

Before she could leave, I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. I pulled a folder from my bag and handed it to her.

“Veronica,” I said calmly, “I need you to sign this.”

She frowned, not even glancing at the document.

“Can’t it wait until I get to the office? I’m in a hurry.”

I held the folder out to her again.

“It’s not work-related. It’s important. It’ll only take a minute.”

Veronica let out an exasperated sigh, snatching the file from my hands.

“You’re always making things difficult,” she grumbled, flipping it open.

The moment her eyes landed on the first page, her fingers froze.

Her expression shifted, disbelief flashing across her face.

Because staring back at her was a divorce agreement.