Chapter 2

A seven-year marriage ended the very day the baby took his first breath.

My mom had flown in from my hometown carrying several containers of homemade soup, having spent all morning in the kitchen getting ready to bring them to Chloe. I stopped her at the door. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, I finally spoke.

"Chloe and I are done."

"What about the baby?"

"She keeps him. I'm walking away."

With a loud clatter, the containers slipped from my mother's hands, spilling rich broth across the floor and filling the room with an overpowering smell.

The whole world revolved around Chloe, but Chloe's world only had Ashton in it.

Seven years ago, Ashton left her behind to study abroad. If he hadn't, I never would have stood a chance with her.

First loves always leave the deepest scars.

I thought seven years of devotion would carve out a sacred space for me in her heart. In the end, it was pure delusion.

Until Ashton came back into our lives—tall, handsome, with fair, polished skin.

He wore a braided bracelet identical to Chloe’s.

Years ago, when she accidentally dropped hers into a resort pool, she sobbed hysterically and begged me to find it. I spent hours until the maintenance crew drained the pool to get it back.

Holding that soaked bracelet, she laughed through her tears and caressed it like a priceless treasure.

She introduced him as her childhood friend.

Just how good of friends were they? Good enough that she needed him present for the most intimate moment of her life.

Did I hate it? Of course. I just hid it well.

My phone started buzzing relentlessly in my pocket.

Looking at the string of transaction alerts popping up on the screen, I knew it was her usual playbook.

Whenever she was mad, she maxed out my credit cards in a frenzy of revenge spending.

All her shopping accounts were linked to my primary card; every bill had my name on it.

In the past, I let her burn through money without a word. I worked myself to the bone just to see the woman I loved smile.

Now, the thought of my hard-earned money funding her and another man made my blood boil.

She wanted to spend my money while keeping her pretty boy on the side? In what dream world?

After being a total sucker for seven years, it was time to wake up.

I opened the banking app immediately, unlinked every authorized user, canceled the cards, and prepared to fight back.

Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, Chloe blew up my phone. The second I answered, she screamed into the receiver:

"What kind of man are you? Being petty over a few thousand dollars! You disgust me!"

"Are you listening to me, Leo? We aren't divorced yet! Half of your money is mine!"

"Turn those cards back on right now, or I'm getting a lawyer to sue you for everything you have!"

Through the receiver, Ashton’s voice cut in, panicked and whining:

"Those sneakers were limited edition! Missed the drop by one second! Dammit..."

I paused, shaking my head. So she was buying gear for him. No wonder she was throwing such a fit.

I almost admired the sheer audacity. Even in a situation like this, she felt entitled to my money.

Taking my silence for intimidation, her tone grew smug and vicious:

"What, scared now? Then crawl back here on your hands and knees and beg for my forgiveness—"

I nearly laughed out loud. I cut her off gently: "Chloe, if we don't get divorced, you won't see a single dime."

I was done playing the smiling cuckold bankrolling her lover.

She was flirting with Ashton right in front of my face; why should I tolerate another second of it?

Clearly caught off guard by my blunt defiance, she erupted into shrieks of pure rage through the speaker.

"Leo, you said it, not me! Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp at City Hall to sign the papers!"

"Deal. Whoever doesn't show up is a coward."

I hung up, walked over to the framed wedding portrait on the wall, took it down, flicked my lighter, and watched the canvas burn before dumping the ashes straight down the toilet.

Perhaps my obsessive devotion was what made her this reckless.

If there was no love left, tearing it off like a band-aid was far better than slow torture.