Chapter 4

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.