Everett’s POV
Late at night, Green-Lake Villa.
The villa was dead quiet.
In the dimly lit living room, I sat alone on the couch, staring blankly at the medical report on the coffee table.
No lights were on. Only a sliver of moonlight slipped through the glass window, casting a pale glow on the paper.
My face was half-shadowed, my eyes locked onto the one line that refused to blur, no matter how much I wished it would.
Stage IV. Stomach cancer.
Scarlett Taylor had cancer?
I let out a dry, almost bitter laugh and dragged a hand over my face, covering my eyes.
No way.
I wasn’t buying it.
She had to be playing games again.
In three years of marriage, I had barely seen her catch a cold. She was only twenty-three. How could she possibly have cancer?
This was just another one of her tricks, wasn’t it?
She must be regretting walking out—thinking I'd come chasing after her if she played the pity 

Amelia’s POV
“Everett!”
He looked up from his desk, his chiseled features as unreadable as ever.
His eyes flicked to me, cold and distant, and he didn’t say a word.
I walked over, trying to keep my tone soft and sweet. “Everett, Aunt Maria saw all those news articles online lately. She’s completely misunderstood the situation. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. Now she’s even talking about picking a date for our wedding.” I laughed nervously, twisting the hem of my dress. “I couldn’t talk her down… so I came to you.”
He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow with a disinterested expression.
“That’s all?” he asked, voice flat. “If that’s the issue, I’ll talk to her myself. No need for you to stress over it.”
The cold response hit harder than I expected.
My smile froze.
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Not at all.
I steadied myself with a breath. “Actually… I also wanted 

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.”

Everett’s POV
Late at night, Green-Lake Villa.
The villa was dead quiet.
In the dimly lit living room, I sat alone on the couch, staring blankly at the medical report on the coffee table.
No lights were on. Only a sliver of moonlight slipped through the glass window, casting a pale glow on the paper.
My face was half-shadowed, my eyes locked onto the one line that refused to blur, no matter how much I wished it would.
Stage IV. Stomach cancer.
Scarlett Taylor had cancer?
I let out a dry, almost bitter laugh and dragged a hand over my face, covering my eyes.
No way.
I wasn’t buying it.
She had to be playing games again.
In three years of marriage, I had barely seen her catch a cold. She was only twenty-three. How could she possibly have cancer?
This was just another one of her tricks, wasn’t it?
She must be regretting walking out—thinking I'd come chasing after her if she played the pity card.
Classic manipulation.
I scoffed under my breath.
Yeah, right. Like that was gonna work.
I hadn

Chapter 6