Chapter 1

The 32nd time Michael missed our wedding was during the celebration for his 999th successful case. The party had been meticulously organized for him by Natasha Sutton, his childhood friend. At the celebration, everyone assumed Natasha was his girlfriend. "Mr. Grant and Ms. Sutton are childhood sweethearts. They're such a perfect match! Let's raise a glass to the unity of their love!" "Yes! Let's toast for them!" The jeers and laughter reached my ears. I, as Mrs. Grant, who had been married to him for three years, could only shrink into a corner. I watched him gaze affectionately at Natasha as they downed their drink together. After the celebration, I waited for Michael at the crosswalk near the hotel for fear of exposing our relationship. His black car slowly approached. As the window rolled down, I saw Natasha's sleeping face in the passenger seat. Michael looked at me, his tone as matter-of-fact as always. "Go home on your own. I need to send Tasha back." I lowered my eyes and said nothing. Michael had an obsession with cleanliness. He never allowed any lingering scent in his car. He offended a client once because of this stubborn obsession. At that time, I nearly drank myself into the hospital just to apologize to the client. But afterward, all he did was frown in disgust and say, "You reek. Find your own way home." That day, he left me alone in the snowy suburbs. I had to walk four hours to get home. Yet now, a drunk Natasha slept peacefully in his passenger seat. It turned out that his "rules" only applied to me. I gave a bitter smile and tried to keep my voice steady. "Are you still coming to the wedding tomorrow?" Michael hesitated for a moment before saying, "I have to take care of Tasha tonight. If I can't make it in time tomorrow, let's just forget it." A chill spread through my heart, but I still nodded lightly. "Okay." After a pause, I took a document from my bag and handed it to him. "Sign this." Perhaps it was out of guilt, but Michael didn't even look at it. He casually took the pen and signed. Then he looked at me and gently promised, "When I go home tomorrow, I'll get your favorite soup from West City." With that, he drove off. … By the time Michael got home, it was already noon the next day. Standing in front of the mirror, he took off the shirt stained with Natasha's lipstick. Suddenly, he paused. He turned his head slightly and looked at me through the reflection. I was sitting on the edge of the bed. "What was that document you had me sign yesterday?" I lifted my head and regained my composure after a flicker of emotion flashed in my eyes. "You didn't ask then. Now you're curious?" "I just suddenly remembered. Besides, you're my wife. You wouldn't hurt me, right?" Michael smiled nonchalantly. I lowered my gaze to hide the mockery in my eyes. "What if I had you sign our divorce papers? Or a property transfer agreement?" Hearing that, Michael tensed. His brows furrowed, showing signs of panic and displeasure. "You're just joking, right?" He walked toward me and gently cupped my face before speaking softly but firmly, "You know I'd go crazy if you ever left me. "If I had to choose, I'd rather it be a property transfer." His eyes brimmed with affection. I knew he truly couldn't bear to lose me, and his emotions were genuine. Which was why my "joke" was also real. What I gave him to sign was the divorce agreement that would officially end our marriage. After five years of pursuing him and three years of marriage, Michael and I were finally over.