Chapter 3

"Have you lost your damn mind?!"

Clara’s fury flared instantly. She stabbed an accusatory finger toward my face.

"We’ve been married for ten years! Chloe is eight years old! And you’re throwing a divorce around like it’s a joke?!"

I leaned back on the leather sofa, crossing my legs with a relaxed chuckle.

"Didn't you just demand that Julian become your husband? I'm granting your wish."

"If we don't get divorced, how can you two cheating scumbags be together out in the open?"

Hearing the word 'scumbags,' Clara completely lost her composure. She stormed right up to me, screeching:

"What did you just call me?! How dare you!"

"I will say it one more time: Julian and I have a purely platonic connection! There is nothing dirty going on!"

"And what do you mean 'out in the open'?! I told you, this is strictly a medical emergency to save his life!"

Looking at her furious, righteous indignation, I almost burst out laughing.

"Do you really want me to pull the private investigator's logs? Do you want to see the receipts for all the cozy little family trips you’ve taken with Julian and Chloe over the past three years?"

"You two play house every single day while ignoring this home. Platonic? Do you even believe your own lies?"

Clara looked like she was about to scratch my eyes out. But before her nails could reach me, Julian threw his arms around her, pulling her back into a protective embrace.

Playing the peacemaker, he sighed softly.

"Clara, please, calm down. Mr. Hayes is a man—his pride is wounded. It's completely understandable that he's lashing out."

"Mr. Hayes, I swear I have no ulterior motives. I just want to survive. If my staying alive ruins your marriage, then... forget it. I’ll just accept my fate and die."

The second she heard him talk about dying, Clara melted, clutching Julian tightly against her chest.

"No! I will never let you die!"

Over her shoulder, Julian flashed me a sickeningly arrogant smirk.

Clara spat toward my feet, her voice trembling with hatred.

"You cold-blooded, heartless monster."

"You want a divorce? Fine! Let's sign the damn papers today!"

With that, she yanked open her desk drawer, pulled out a small glass box, and hurled it at my chest.

Inside was a dried, woven grass ring.

It was the ring I had proposed to her with ten years ago. Back then, we were broke. I worked three jobs just to keep a roof over our heads, and I couldn't afford a real diamond.

When I proposed, I wove a ring out of green grass, slipped it onto her finger, and promised her that one day, I would give her a flawless diamond and the wedding of her dreams.

She had cried tears of joy, swearing she would cherish that grass ring forever. She even paid a professional to encase it in resin so it would never decay.

Years later, I fulfilled my promise. I bought her a ten-million-dollar custom diamond ring and rented out a luxury estate for our wedding.

Back then, she had whispered in my ear: *“As long as I keep this grass ring, I know you’ll never leave me.”*

And I had replied: *“As long as you keep it, I am yours forever.”*

That silly grass ring was the anchor of our vows. Throwing it at me was her way of declaring our love dead and buried.

I once thought there was still a shred of hope for our marriage. Now, I saw the truth.

She had stopped loving me a long time ago.

Whatever lingering affection I had for her died the moment that glass box hit my chest.

Meanwhile, she didn't take off the ten-million-dollar diamond ring sparkling on her finger. Of course she didn't. She only cared about the money.

I picked up the resin grass ring, smiled faintly, and dropped it into the wastebasket beside the desk.

"Deal. Let's get divorced."