At 2 a.m., I saw a new update on Vanessa’s Facebook feed:

Visible only to you: Love means letting go.

The photo attached was my headshot from our marriage certificate, edited in black and white like an obituary.

My chest tightened.

I called again. Only the cold automated busy tone answered.

That was when I gave up completely.

I deleted her from every contact list, slept until morning, and drove to a law firm.

I hired an attorney to handle the divorce on my behalf.

That afternoon, after dismissing my entire research team, I returned home to find Vanessa waiting.

“You want to split the debts fifty-fifty? Are you insane?”

At her feet lay the divorce agreement my lawyer had sent, along with every bottle of my stomach meds.

It was almost time for my regular dose.

I drew a long breath.

“Isn’t it fair to split the debts we racked up during marriage?”

Her eyes gleamed with disdain as she tore away her mask:

“Ethan Cole, you’re shameless! Not only do you want me to share the debt, you even put that worthless drug of yours in the contract! Who are you trying to disgust?

You think you can weasel out? Fine, I’ll sit here today and see how long you last!”

She crushed the pill bottles under her heel.

I grabbed my phone to order new meds, but every pharmacy app showed them out of stock.

A familiar ache stirred in my gut. Panic flared.

I tried the doorknob—locked tight.

As the pain sharpened, my voice trembled:

“What did you do?”

Vanessa just sneered.

“I didn’t want to punish you. But you asked for it.

Didn’t you want your meds? Go on, pick them off the floor.”

She smirked at me.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Ten minutes later, I was doubled over in spasms, unable to stand.

She nudged a crushed bottle toward me, her tone cruelly tempting:

“Your stomach’s killing you, right? Without pills, you’ll die from the pain. Stop resisting—get on your knees and pick them up.”

The agony blurred my senses.

Even her words, treating me like a dog, didn’t spark my anger anymore.

Eventually, I collapsed to the floor.

My hand fumbled for a bottle. I twisted it open, desperate, swallowing the pills.

The moment they slid down my throat, my dignity, my self-image—

And the last shred of hope I held for Vanessa—

All burned away in her triumphant laughter.

When the pain dulled, I was alone again.

That night, an unknown number sent me a string of photos—

All of me, kneeling on the floor, scrambling for pills like a wretch.

I dialed back.

“I’ll have my lawyer resend the divorce papers. You can fill in however the debts get split.”

A familiar female voice chuckled:

“So scared I’ll leak these pictures online? Pathetic. I knew I had to crush you to make you obey.

Here’s how it’s going to be: all debts on you, the house and car to me, plus an IOU note for eight hundred thousand.

If the bank ever comes after me, I’ll take that note straight to your parents.”

Her merciless tone washed over me.

I only answered with a flat “Fine” and hung up.

She would never know—

That divorce agreement she despised once contained a clause sharing the new drug’s results with her.

My last act of softness, for the sake of our years together.

Since she didn’t treasure it,

there was no need to keep that agreement.

I lowered my eyes to the couch, noticing faint streaks of blood on the cushion.

Vanessa’s illness had advanced to the point where it left marks on her skin.

She wouldn’t last much longer.

News had spread that I’d moved out and handed all fixed assets to Vanessa.

That was when a childhood friend, someone I hadn’t seen in years, showed up out of the blue.

The first thing he did was scold me:

“Back when you broke with your uncle and aunt just to marry that woman, I thought you’d lost your mind.

Now you finally woke up and filed for divorce, and yet you gave her the house and car? What the hell are you thinking?”

I chuckled and asked:

“Who said I was giving them to her?”

“What? Then why…”

My friend frowned, scratching his head in confusion.

“Forget it. As long as you know what you’re doing. Anyway, I came here on someone’s request. I want to take you somewhere. You up for it?”

I replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

To my surprise, he dragged me into a luxury private club.

The waiters smiled politely, the guests dressed in wealth and status.

It was the city’s most extravagant den of indulgence.

He fiddled with his phone, then turned to me:

“My cousin’s had feelings for you since before you got married. When she heard you split with Vanessa, she cried and begged me to set up a meeting.

Come on, she’s booked a private room for us.”

Awkward realization hit me—this was his plan all along.

I was about to decline when, by sheer misfortune, I bumped straight into Vanessa, who was clinging to another man’s arm.

“What are you doing here?”

Vanessa blurted out, glaring at me with impatience.

“Didn’t you agree to divorce me? Why are you chasing me here to pester me? Don’t you ever get tired?”

Since our masks had come off, she’d reverted to her true self.

Every word out of her mouth was crueler than the last.

I kept my face calm.

“I came with a friend for dinner. This has nothing to do with you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Vanessa sneered, turning to the man beside her:

“Marcus, this is my useless ex-husband.

I’ve made up my mind to divorce him, but he keeps following me around like some mangy dog. It’s disgusting.”

The man smirked, looking me up and down.

“So this is your ex? Pathetic.”

My friend couldn’t stand it. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to curse him out.

But his phone buzzed urgently. With a grim look, he swallowed his anger, threw a harsh word, and pulled me toward the elevator.

I thought that would be the end of it.

But when I opened the door to the private room—

Vanessa and Marcus were already inside.

“Miss Bennett, could you talk to your father for me? I really need that land in the west of town.”

The same man who insulted me earlier was now bowing and scraping before a refined young woman.

Every gesture was careful, every word ingratiating.

Chloe Bennett’s expression was calm, but the moment her eyes fell on me, her face lit up in surprise.

“Ethan? You’re here!”

Vanessa froze. Marcus’s head whipped around.

“You actually know Chlo—”

Marcus hadn’t finished before Vanessa cut him off sharply:

“Ethan Cole, why are you here again?”

Her eyes burned with irritation.

I barely spared her a glance before turning my attention to Chloe.