Scarlett’s POV

“Miss Taylor, did you come alone? Why don’t you call your husband?”

The doctor glanced at the report in her hand, then looked up at me with eyes full of pity.

That look. That damn look.

For the past few months, I’d had constant stomach pain. At first, I brushed it off, popping painkillers like candy to get through the day. I told myself it was probably just stress or diet—something temporary. But the pain had grown worse… unbearable. So, today, I finally dragged myself to the hospital.

I thought I’d walk out with some prescriptions and rest orders.

Not this.

“I’m already divorced,” I said firmly, lifting my chin. “So just tell me the truth.”

I had signed the divorce papers this morning. My hands had trembled slightly, but my resolve was steady. There was no point holding on to a marriage that had already withered. And even if I hadn’t signed them, Everett wouldn’t have come. He hadn’t shown up for me in months.

The doctor hesitated. “Miss Taylor… based on the test results… You have stomach cancer.”

My breath caught. The room felt suddenly cold. I clutched the arms of the chair, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

“It’s… already at the last stage.”

Her words crashed over me like a tidal wave. Cold. Merciless. Crushing.

Last stage.

I didn’t remember how I left the room. I just remembered the test reports digging into my hand, crumpling under the pressure of my clenched fist.

My feet led me to the hospital lobby like I was sleepwalking, my vision swimming. And then, a voice from the television snapped me back into the real world.

“Breaking news: Famous ballerina Amelia Martin was injured after a fall from the stage earlier today. She was quickly taken to the hospital by an unknown man—”

The screen flickered, showing a blurry video clip of a man carrying her. His face wasn’t visible. But I didn’t need to see his face.

I knew him by the curve of his shoulders. The way he walked. The way his hand cradled her head so protectively.

Everett Robinson.

My husband. The man I had loved since my youth. The man I had shared three years of marriage with. The same man who looked me in the eyes this morning and said coldly, “I don’t have time for your nonsense, Scarlett. I have an important meeting.”

But he had time for her.

I stared at the screen as my heart twisted. Pain bloomed in my chest—far worse than anything the doctor had just told me. I clutched the test reports tighter. My nails dug into the paper, but the real wound was inside.

Tears blurred my vision, uninvited and unwanted. I blinked them away, furious at myself for still caring.

I had loved him so deeply. And he had already replaced me.

Enough.

I wiped my tears and inhaled deeply, steadying the storm in my chest. I didn’t have time for heartbreak. Not anymore.

I had only a few months left to live.

And I refused to spend them crying over a man who couldn’t even take me to the hospital.

The taxi stopped outside Heavenly, the most luxurious beauty salon in the city. For years, I’d had their VIP Black Card sitting in my wallet—untouched. I never used it once during our marriage. I was too busy cooking, cleaning, and being the perfect wife.

But today? Today, I would use it. For me.

I walked in, head high.

“Good afternoon, Madam. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked politely.

“Yes.”

“Your name, please?”

“Scarlett Taylor.”

The moment she typed it in, her expression shifted. “Ah, Miss Taylor. You’re fifteen minutes early. Please wait in the lounge, and I’ll have someone bring you refreshments.”

I nodded and moved toward the plush velvet seating. A few young women were already seated there, chatting animatedly. I wasn’t interested in their gossip—until I heard that name.

“Did you see the latest news about Amelia Martin?” one of them giggled.

“Yes! The guy who carried her to the hospital like a princess? So romantic!” another swooned.

“I heard from someone inside WS Group that it was Everett Robinson! Can you believe it? The CEO himself?”

“Oh my god, he’s so dreamy. Rich, handsome, and now this? Amelia is so lucky. I would die to marry someone like that.”

I closed my eyes.

Lucky?

They didn’t know him. They didn’t know the cold, detached man who would leave his sick wife alone but rush across the city to cradle another woman like she was made of glass.

I let out a bitter laugh under my breath, catching their attention briefly. One of them glanced at me, confused, but I ignored her.

Lucky?

No. I was the lucky one.

Lucky to finally be free of a man who could never love me the way I loved him.

I pulled the test results from my purse, unfolded them slowly, and stared at the cold, printed words again.

Stomach carcinoma. Stage IV.

Death was already knocking at my door, and yet… I’d never felt more alive than I did now—ready to shed the old Scarlett who waited, begged, hoped, and cried.

It was time to live on my own terms, even if the time left was short.

Let Everett play hero in someone else’s story.

I had just begun to write the ending of mine.

And this time—it would be mine alone.

...

Scarlett’s POV

“Miss Taylor, it’s your turn.”

The receptionist’s voice cut through my thoughts, gently anchoring me back to the present.

I blinked, then nodded and stood up, the crumpled test reports still tucked inside my purse like a ghost I couldn’t shake off. But not now. Not in this place.

I followed the attendant down a quiet hallway and into a private room bathed in soft, golden light and the faint scent of jasmine. The stylist was already waiting inside—young, elegant, her hands folded politely.

“Madam,” she asked kindly, “what kind of look would you like?”

I stared at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror looked tired. Drained. A ghost of who she used to be. My skin was pale, my eyes dulled, and my long, dark hair—once my pride—hung limp and lifeless around my shoulders. There was a hollow in my chest that no amount of makeup could hide.

But my voice was steady when I spoke.

“I want to change everything. My hair. My face. My entire look. I don’t care how long it takes.”

The stylist looked slightly startled but nodded. I met her eyes through the mirror and added, more quietly this time, “Make me look like a different person. Someone… reborn.”

There was a pause. And then she smiled gently. “Understood.”

As she turned to begin, I took one last long look at the woman in the mirror.

Scarlett Taylor—the woman who waited at cold dinner tables, who stayed up at night wondering if a man would ever come home, who fought for love and dignity only to be met with silence—she was gone.

Dead.

And in her place, someone new would rise.

No more tears. No more waiting. No more Everett.

I didn’t have forever. But whatever days I had left, I would spend them as me—not as someone’s wife, someone’s afterthought, someone’s shadow.

Just me.

Scarlett Taylor.

And this time, I would finally learn what it meant to live.

I closed my eyes.

My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to a memory buried four years deep.

Back when everything began… or perhaps, when everything started to end.

Four years ago, Everett Robinson was in a car crash.

I still remember the headlines. “The CEO of WS Group in Critical Condition!”

The whole city was on edge. People whispered, speculated. Doctors weren’t sure he’d survive the night, let alone ever walk again.

And Amelia Martin—his first love, the woman everyone thought would never leave his side—disappeared.

Just like that.

Gone.

She boarded a plane abroad, chasing dreams far more dazzling than a hospital room.

She loved him, sure—when he was whole, powerful, magnetic. But her love wasn’t for the broken. It wasn’t for someone lying unconscious, tubes in his veins and scars on his face.

But me?

I stayed.

No one asked me to. In fact, they begged me not to.

“You’re ruining your future,” they warned.

“He doesn’t love you,” they whispered.

But I didn’t care. I left behind everything—my rising career, the weight of the Taylor family name, my bright future. I packed a bag and moved into the hospital.

I slept on stiff ICU chairs. Fed him. Bathed him. Read to him when he couldn’t hear me. Talked to him when he couldn’t respond. I became his shadow. His silent anchor. His ghost of hope.

And maybe… God had heard my prayers. Because after nearly a year, he opened his eyes.

When his lashes fluttered and he whispered my name, I laughed and cried and collapsed to the floor in relief.

That moment felt like the beginning of everything.

Like maybe… just maybe… my love had reached him.

A few months later, when he was fully recovered, he looked at me and asked softly, “What do you want, Scarlett?”

I should’ve said, “I want you to be happy.”

I should’ve said, “I want to be free.”

But I was foolish. I smiled—wide-eyed and hopeful—and whispered, “I want to marry you.”

I saw it—the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

I felt it—the silence that stretched between us.

But I ignored it. Because even if I had only his name and not his heart, I thought it would be enough.

The next day, he took me to the marriage registration office.

No vows. No flowers. No ring.

Just a government form, a silent assistant, and a pen.

He didn’t kiss me.

He didn’t even look at me when the papers were stamped.

On the ride back, he simply said, “Keep our marriage private.”

I nodded. My lips trembled. But I didn’t protest.

Because back then… I thought that if I stayed long enough, worked hard enough, loved hard enough… he would choose me.

I moved into Green Lake Villa—his villa. Our supposed “marital home.”

I cleaned. I decorated. I transformed it from a cold mansion into a warm sanctuary.

But Everett never truly came home.

He was polite. Always distant. Always cold.

Three years of marriage—yet the days he actually stayed with me… I could count on one hand.

I woke up early to iron his shirts, packed his lunch, managed his schedule, cooked his favorite meals. I waited at the dinner table night after night… only for silence to answer me.

But I endured.

Because I believed—so stupidly—that one day he would look at me the way he once looked at her.

Then one day, he took me to a formal party.

I remember the rush of joy in my chest.

I thought—finally. He’s acknowledging me.

But when he introduced me, he said, “This is Scarlett. My personal secretary.”

I smiled. My heart bled. But I smiled.

Because at least I was still standing beside him.

Day after day, I lived in the shadow of another woman.

Amelia Martin — the ghost that never left his heart.

Still, I gave everything.

My dignity. My youth. My identity.

All for a man who never asked me to… and never thanked me.

Then, three months ago, everything shattered.

Amelia came back.

She returned from abroad, glowing, beautiful, radiant. And Everett…

Everett went to pick her up himself.

There were photos. Videos. Rumors.

They said they were dating. Said marriage was on the horizon.

That night, I prepared his favorite dinner. Lit the hallway with soft lights. Sprayed his favorite cologne like I always did.

And I waited.

Like a fool.

He came home late, smelling faintly of her perfume.

And something inside me—finally—snapped.

For the first time in three years, I confronted him.

“Everett,” I said, my voice shaking. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? I gave up everything for you! When you were broken, I was there. She left you! I stayed!”

I spilled every word I had buried. All the pain. All the silence. All the bleeding I had done for his love.

He looked at me, calm and cold.

“You have no right to ask.”

Those five words shattered everything inside me.

I broke.

I screamed. I sobbed. I shouted things I never thought I’d say. I told him how Amelia left. How I stayed. How I waited. How I endured.

And Everett?

He just looked at me.

Expressionless.

Then he said three words.

“Then let’s divorce.”

No explanation.

No apology.

No guilt.

He walked out, leaving me crumbling to the floor—broken and alone, my cries echoing through the walls of a house that had never felt like home.

The next morning, the first set of divorce papers arrived.

I didn’t sign.

Then came the second.

And the third.

Ten sets in total.

Each envelope like a slap.

Each signature line a reminder that I was just a temporary stand-in…

Until she came back.

That’s when I finally understood.

If a man doesn’t love you, no matter how much of yourself you give, he never will.

Looking at the final envelope, I took a deep breath.

It was time.

Time to end this one-sided, fruitless relationship.

Time to choose me.

...

Scarlett’s POV

“Madam, it’s done.”

The stylist’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror.

And froze.

The woman staring back at me wasn’t the same Scarlett Taylor who walked into this salon an hour ago.

Gone was the soft, obedient wife with dull eyes and a timid posture.

This woman had sharp eyes lined with quiet fire. Her long hair had been chopped into a sleek, shoulder-length cut that framed her face like a crown. Her lips were a bold shade of red—confident, unapologetic. Even her expression had changed. Steady. Unyielding. Dignified.

For a second, I didn’t recognize myself.

And for the first time in years… I liked what I saw.

“I look…” I whispered, touching the mirror lightly, “…free.”

The stylist smiled. “You look powerful, Miss Taylor.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I paid the bill, left a generous tip, and walked outside. The afternoon sun kissed my face as a warm breeze played with the ends of my new hair. I stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, pulling out my phone to book a taxi.

Ding.

A message.

I opened it without thinking.

It was a photo.

My heart skipped once.

A hospital document. I squinted—no. A test result.

Then I saw the words:

Pregnancy Confirmation. 4 weeks.

Name: Amelia Martin

Father: Everett Robinson

And beneath it, a message.

Scarlett, so what if you married him?

He never loved you.

You were just keeping his place warm for me.

Now I’m carrying his child.

If you have even a shred of dignity left, sign the divorce papers and leave.

The air around me seemed to still. Cars passed. The breeze fluttered. Life moved on.

But inside me, everything… stopped.

I stood there, the phone heavy in my hand. My chest tightened. My stomach churned—not with jealousy, but with a hollow ache that no words could fill.

He was going to be a father. And it wasn’t my child.

It was hers.

Amelia.

The woman who left him in a hospital bed to chase her own dreams. The woman who vanished when things got hard. The woman whose return burned everything I had built for three long years.

And now… she had everything.

His heart.

His attention.

His child.

A dull pain throbbed beneath my ribs. It crawled up my throat, threatening to choke me.

But I swallowed it back.

No more tears.

No more begging.

No more pretending I was fine.

I stared at the message for a long second, then typed just three words.

Then congratulations.

I hit send.

Then I turned off my phone, slipped it into my purse, and raised my hand to flag a taxi.

The yellow car pulled up. The driver leaned out. “Where to, ma’am?”

I slid into the back seat, my voice calm and clear.

“To WS Group.”

I stared out the window as the city blurred by.

There was still one thing left to settle.

****

Everett Robinson’s POV

The temperature in the conference room seemed to plummet the moment I walked in.

I could feel the tension coiled tight in the air as I took my seat at the head of the table. The executives stiffened. A few lowered their eyes to the polished mahogany surface like schoolchildren caught misbehaving. One director dropped his pen and didn’t even dare to bend down for it.

Good. Let them squirm.

I steepled my fingers, my suit jacket pulling taut across my shoulders. The faint tick of the clock grated on my nerves.

I was irritated. No—agitated.

This wasn’t because of some failed merger or a market dip. I could handle those in my sleep. This was different.

Scarlett Taylor hadn’t come to work.

Not only that, she hadn’t answered my calls. Or my texts. Or the email I sent at 3 AM.

Three years. Three damn years as my personal secretary and she had never taken a single day off. Never been late. Never ignored me. She was reliable to a fault—quiet, efficient, unobtrusive, always there when I needed her.

And now? Vanished.

My jaw tightened. The coffee in front of me had gone cold. Not that I had touched it anyway. I hadn’t touched anything all morning.

Someone cleared their throat at the far end of the table. I shot them a look and the sound died instantly.

Scarlett… what the hell are you doing?

I pulled out my phone under the table, thumb hovering over her name. Maybe I should call again—

Click.

The door opened.

Every head in the room turned.

And so did mine.

A woman stepped in.

“I’m sorry, everyone, for disturbing like this.”

The voice froze me.

Scarlett?

I blinked. My mind couldn’t reconcile what I was seeing.

This wasn’t the Scarlett Taylor I knew.

Gone was the demure woman who wore plain blouses, hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses.

This Scarlett…

Her hair was loose, long black waves cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. Her eyes—free of glasses—were striking and clear, sharp enough to cut through the silence in the room.

Her lips were painted in a deep rose color that made her look almost… untouchable.

Her figure was wrapped in a tailored suit that hugged every curve with a deliberate elegance. She didn’t walk. She strode. Confident. Purposeful. Heels clicking like punctuation in the thick, suffocating air.

It wasn’t just her appearance.

Her aura had changed.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

Even the board members, men twice her age and status, stared at her with wide eyes.

And me?

I couldn’t look away.

After three years of marriage, I thought I knew Scarlett inside and out. She had always been soft and quiet, the perfect picture of composure and discipline. At the office, sleek black skirts and neutral blouses. At home, floral dresses and gentle smiles.

But this woman?

This wasn’t the Scarlett I married.

This was someone else.

She looked straight at me.

And for the first time, her gaze didn’t hold warmth. Or tenderness. Or the quiet affection I had grown so used to seeing.

It was cold. Indifferent.

Something in my chest tightened, sharp and unfamiliar.

Fear?

No. It couldn’t be.

“What the hell is she playing at?” I muttered under my breath.

The murmurs in the room were nothing but static in my ears.

Scarlett walked toward me, unhurried, unflinching. And I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She stopped just a foot away.

From her bag, she pulled out a crisp envelope and held it out.

“Mr. Robinson,” she said, voice calm and cool. “This is my resignation.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.

The silence in the room was deafening.

I didn’t take the envelope. My hand stayed by my side, clenched into a fist.

“You think throwing a tantrum is going to change anything?” I hissed.

Her eyes didn’t waver.

“I’m not throwing one,” she replied. Her voice was like a blade—sharp and precise.

Before I could speak, she reached into her bag again.

Thud.

A thick folder slammed against my chest. The sound echoed off the walls.

I caught it by reflex, the weight almost making me drop it.

Papers slipped out, scattering across the floor.

Divorce papers.

My breath hitched. My pulse stopped.

Scarlett looked at me, chin tilted high.

“Since you’ve been so eager to send them,” she said, “I’ve saved you the trouble.”

The edges of the folder crumpled in my grip.

“I’ve signed every copy,” she added. “Ten, to match the ten times you reminded me how disposable I am.”

My throat closed. Words wouldn’t come.

“Please clear your schedule tomorrow, 8:30 AM. Civil Bureau. Let’s get this over with.”

Then she turned.

No hesitation. No second glance.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked out, her hair swaying like a final flourish.

The room stayed frozen long after she was gone.

And I—

I stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum.

For the first time in years, I realized—

Scarlett was really leaving me.

And I had no idea how to stop her.

...

Scarlett’s POV:

As I stepped out of the conference room, a loud crash echoed behind me. Maybe Everett had smashed something against the wall.

Seconds later, I heard Davis’s panicked voice from inside, hurriedly announcing that the meeting was over.

What a dramatic scene that must’ve been. Just imagining it gave me a strange thrill.

But honestly? I couldn’t care less anymore.

From this moment on, anything related to Everett Robinson no longer concerns me.

****

After leaving WS—White Stone—, I headed straight to the hotel.

I’d already moved out of the villa we once shared.

There wasn’t much to pack—just a few clothes, my ID, passport, and the things I’d brought with me when I first came to Los Angeles.

Love had made me cross an ocean. And now, pain was pushing me away with nothing in hand.

I had just sunk into the couch in my hotel room when my phone buzzed.

Davis Morgan.

I hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the answer button. But in the end, I picked up.

There were still some loose ends that needed to be tied up, and he was the only one who could do it.

“Mrs. Robinson,” Davis greeted politely.

He was the only one who knew about our hidden marriage.

“Davis,” I said calmly. “Good timing. I was just about to call you. I’ve left the keys to the villa with property management.”

There was a pause on the other end, as if he didn’t know how to respond.

“Mrs. Robinson... are you really going through with this?”

I let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “You think I’m just throwing a tantrum?”

“Well… It’s just that you’ve always cared about Mr. Robinson,” he replied, cautiously choosing his words.

I didn’t dislike Davis.

In fact, over the last three years, he was one of the few people who had treated me decently.

So hearing him say that made me pause. Just for a second.

I had given up everything for Everett—crossed borders, changed my life, bet everything on love…

And what did I get in return?

Lies. Distance. And silence that cut deeper than any scream.

Maybe this was heaven’s way of teaching me a brutal lesson:

Love that only goes one way… never ends well.

“It was love,” I said quietly. “But that’s in the past now.”

I glanced down at my left hand—the faint mark of the wedding ring still lingered on my finger.

“The ring’s in the nightstand drawer,” I added. “Everything Everett ever gave me after our marriage… I left it behind.”

Then I paused before finishing, “If he doesn’t want to show up tomorrow, you can come in his place. That works too.”

Given Everett Robinson’s power, it wouldn’t be hard for him to pull some strings.

I didn’t wait for a reply. I hung up without hesitation.

Everett’s POV:

I stood behind my desk, motionless.

Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, casting long shadows across the room. My lean frame was bathed in light, yet the air around me felt frigid.

I had asked Davis to call Scarlett, finding out what she was planning.

However, after Davis reported me what she said, I was confused. I didn’t know what stunt she was pulling this time.

On the desk in front of me lay a stack of divorce papers—ten copies.

All signed. By Scarlett.

I had asked Davis to draft them all the same:

Full divorce. No claims. She walks away with nothing.

I know she wouldn't sign. No sane woman would sign something that harsh.

I was sure she’d back out.

Wasn’t marrying me all about the money in the first place?

But she signed them.

All of them.

Just walked away—empty-handed and silent.

Was this some kind of reverse psychology game?

Fine. Let’s see how far she can play this.

****

The Next Morning – Civil Affairs Bureau

Scarlett arrived sharp at 8:00 a.m.

I sat in a different car, parked just down the street by 8:10.

From the back seat, I watched her through the window.

Her newly dyed golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the ends curled slightly, the crown fluffed just enough to give her that chic doll-like edge.

The soft peachy makeup on her small, delicate face made her look years younger.

She wore a rainbow off-shoulder crop top paired with a vintage, ripped denim skirt that barely reached her mid-thigh. Her legs—long and fair—were highlighted by plain white college sneakers.

She looked like a high schooler playing dress-up.

But she was here to get a divorce.

With me.

From 8:00 to 9:00, she waited.

She kept checking her phone every few minutes.

A few random guys approached her during that hour, throwing out lines, trying to get her number.

She shot them all down with a cold glare and a sharp tongue.

No nonsense. No smiles.

I narrowed my eyes as another one dared to walk over. My jaw tightened. My fingers curled into fists.

Davis’s POV:

I sat silently in the driver’s seat, watching the same scene unfold through the front windshield.

It was nearing 9:30. The June heat was already unbearable—pushing 40 degrees.

“Mr. Robinson,” I began cautiously, “Mrs. Robinson has been standing out there for quite a while—”

A sharp glare from the rearview mirror cut me off.

“What?” he snapped, voice ice-cold. “Feeling sorry for her now?”

I swallowed hard and turned my eyes back to the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him unlock his phone and tap into the weather app.

38 degrees.

Even with tinted glass, I could see the irritation in his expression tighten.

A few seconds passed.

“Drive over.”

His voice was low, clipped.

“Yes, sir,” I replied and started the engine.

...

Scarlett’s POV

I was already getting fed up. Sweat beaded at my temples, the sun blazing mercilessly over my head. I pulled out my phone, ready to call Davis and throw a fit, when the hum of a luxury engine drew my attention. A sleek Bentley Mulsanne cruised to a stop in front of me.

I paused, squinting at the car.

A Bentley Mulsanne. Rare. Discontinued. Half a million, easy. Only a handful existed in the city.

Could it…?

Sure enough, the back door opened.

Everett stepped out like a scene from a movie—tall, composed, a trace of cool air trailing behind him. His tailored suit clung to his frame with obscene perfection, the faint scent of expensive cologne wafting in the breeze.

He looked like a man untouched by the heat, the dust, or this world.

My eyes locked onto his. His expression—calm, detached—never changed. Those deep-set eyes skimmed over me like I was nothing more than part of the scenery.

I scoffed. “Tch.” Disgust rose in my throat like bile. I turned sharply and stormed toward the civil affairs building, heels clicking like gunshots on the pavement.

My cheeks, already flushed from sunburn, were now burning with rage.

To be honest, I had seen that damn Bentley earlier, but I hadn’t imagined Everett would just be lounging inside. Not even once did he think to call me. I’d been baking in the sun like an idiot for nearly an hour and a half, while he sipped chilled water in luxury.

Jerk.

If this marriage didn’t end here, I swear—not even in the afterlife would I find peace.

Everett’s POV

Inside, Scarlett didn’t hesitate for even a second.

With elegant precision, she signed her name in graceful strokes—strokes that once charmed me, now infuriated me.

“I’m done. Your turn.”

Her tone was flat, dismissive. She slid the papers toward me without a glance.

I stared at her long and hard. She refused to meet my gaze, but her silence screamed louder than any fight.

“Scarlett Taylor,” I growled, “your little push-pull act doesn’t work on me anymore, so cut the crap.”

She turned slightly, glancing at the couple waiting in line behind us, then back at me with a smile so cold it could’ve frozen hell.

“Mr. Robinson, don’t tell me you’re actually having second thoughts?” Her voice was like crushed velvet—smooth, but slicing straight through.

That casual arch of her brow… the glint in her eye...

God, it hit harder than a slap.

My jaw clenched. “Scarlett, this is your last chance—”

“No need,” she cut in sharply, raising one perfectly manicured finger behind her. “Hurry up and sign. People are waiting.”

“Are you done or not?” the woman behind us snapped. “Some of us actually have jobs to get back to!”

“You heard her,” Scarlett said smoothly, “Let’s not waste everyone’s style, Mr. Robinson.”

My teeth ground so hard I thought they’d shatter.

“You’ll regret this,” I seethed. “I’ll be there the day you come crawling back.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then you better find a comfortable chair. It’ll be a long wait.”

Scarlett’s POV

Hearing his threats only made me colder. I laughed—dry and cutting.

“I won’t look back. Not in this life. Not in the next.”

“You’ve got guts, Scarlett,” Everett snarled, snatching the pen and scribbling his name with a sharp, furious motion.

I stared at the two names side by side.

His.

Mine.

Once united. Now… just ink.

A flicker of emotion crossed my heart.

But just a flicker. And then it was gone.

Letting go—it wasn’t that hard, after all.

A marriage certificate turned into a divorce slip.

From this moment on, he goes his way. I go mine.

Everett’s POV

We stepped outside. Scarlett walked ahead without so much as a glance back.

I followed slowly, my fingers tightening around the divorce certificate.

She stopped.

Seeing this, I scoffed. I know she would stop.

I was just thinking if she asked me to be back, maybe, maybe it will considered it.

But then—she walked over to the trash can, tore the certificate clean in half, and dropped it inside like garbage. Turned to me with a smirk.

“Well then, Mr. Robinson. Guess this is goodbye.”

My chest tightened.

I stared, frozen, disbelief churning like a storm inside me.

She… she really did it.

With a flare of fury, I hurled my copy of the certificate into the trash.

“Scarlett Taylor!” I roared, my voice shaking with rage. “Let’s see how long you can play it tough. You will regret this. I swear it.”

Without even turning her head, she replied: “The only thing I regret in my life… was marrying you.”

She flagged down a cab, got in, and disappeared without a single glance back.

Cold. Sharp. Final.

Davis’s POV

Late at night, I knocked on the frosted glass door of the CEO’s office.

“Mr. Robinson, Miss Martin is here.”

Everett didn’t even lift his head. He was buried in documents, spinning a sleek pen between his fingers.

“Not seeing anyone.”

“But sir… she says it’s about New York.”

That got his attention. He looked up, removed his glasses, and rubbed his temple slowly.

“Let her in.”

A few minutes later, I ushered Amelia Martin in. “This way, Miss Martin.”

She nodded politely, “Thanks.”

I glanced at the time—11 PM.

Business? At this hour?

Please. This was just another excuse. I thought.

Everett’s POV

Inside, Amelia stood across from me.

“Everett, Aunt Maria called me earlier. She… she suspects something.”

I froze mid-signature. My pen hovered. My stare fixed on her.

“And what did you say?”

“I told her exactly what you told me. She didn’t say much, but… I could hear it in her voice. She’s not okay. And her surgery next week—the doctor said she needs to stay calm.”

“I’ll handle it.” I tossed the pen aside. “Pack your things. We’re flying to New York tonight.”

Amelia nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

****

The Next Day

The photo hit the internet like a spark in gasoline—me and Amelia at the airport in the middle of the night.

The headlines ran wild: CEO’s Secret Getaway With Mysterious Beauty.

Wedding Bells Next?

Gossip fiends had a field day.

I ignored it all.

But then—my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Robinson? Scarlett Taylor’s husband?”

I frowned. My pulse skipped. “Who is this?”

“This is City Hospital. Your wife… she missed her medication pickup two days ago. Her condition is critical. If she doesn’t get treatment soon…”

My breath stopped cold.

“…What condition?” I asked, voice breaking ever so slightly. “Say it clearly.”

“She’s in the final stage of her illness. If immediate treatment isn’t administered… she won’t make it.”