After eleven years of marriage, my husband Vincent Dent told me, "We need to get a divorce. I want to give her a proper title."

The very next day, we were at the courthouse.

Since that day, he hadn't returned home, only showing up in his social media feed with her.

As for me, I decided to cut off all support for his company and watch how far he could go on his own.

——

The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and a gentle breeze was blowing. Vincent and I walked into the courthouse together.

As the breeze ruffled my hair, he instinctively reached out to tidy it.

Seeing this, the staff greeted us and showed us to our seats.

"Sorry, we're here for a divorce," I said.

The staff's eyes widened in shock, and they exchanged bewildered glances.

When we stepped into an office, the staff asked us why we were divorced.

Vincent pressed his lips together and stayed silent.

I said on his behalf, "We've grown apart. Our personalities just don't match."

While this was the official line, everyone knew the real reason was that Vincent had someone else he wanted to cherish.

It was an employee from the coffee shop downstairs from his office.

He picked her up and dropped her off from work, stayed by her side when she was sick, and showered her with attention at school events.

Vincent bought her designer clothes, massive bouquets, and even sponsored events just to showcase her.

He had practically become her personal guardian angel.

As for my reason for agreeing to the divorce, it was simpler.

I didn't keep what had already been used by someone else.

Looking at our slightly faded marriage license, the clerk suggested we take a moment to think about the times we once shared.

"I'm busy. Let's get this over with," Vincent said coldly.

His blunt remark hastened the process.

About half an hour later, Vincent and I each received a divorce cooling-off period receipt.

He pressed his lips together.

"Mia, where are you going? Let me give you a ride."

Before I could refuse, he was already heading to the parking lot, bringing the car right to me.

I reached for the passenger seat instinctively but then remembered that we were no longer married.

I met his complex gaze and calmly took the back seat.

The car moved smoothly forward, merging with the traffic.

Even from the backseat, I could tell from the reflection in the rearview mirror that Vincent seemed to be in a good mood.

"Could you turn up the temperature? I'm allergic to pollen, and the cold makes it worse," I said.

Vincent silently handed me a tissue packet.

Vincent and I had known each other since childhood. We dated for four years and were married for seven, so he knew well that I wasn't actually allergic to pollen.

"Mia."

"Mr. Dent, please call me Ms. Miller."

"Alright, Ms. Miller. I'll handle informing both our families about the divorce."

Vincent always liked to take on all matters related to me, and this was no exception.

But he wasn't always this way.

As a child, Vincent was small, skinny, and shy.

He was constantly bullied in kindergarten.

I, on the other hand, was outgoing and, driven by my youthful sense of justice, could be quite a troublemaker.

Because his mother always prepared delicious treats for me, I felt obligated to look out for him.

One day, I climbed up to the kindergarten's PA system and announced to the entire school, "Vincent is under my protection."

This was how Vincent made it through his kindergarten years, eventually growing up to become the handsome, popular guy in high school.

Back then, I thought of Vincent as my sworn brother. He used to pester me daily to help him with math, insisting that we should go to the same university.

Eventually, I did as he wished and ended up at the same college as him.

He became the campus heartthrob at Arora University and turned into my biggest obstacle in love.

No matter how attractive or outgoing I was, and despite having countless friends, no guy ever approached me, let alone confessed his feelings.

On graduation day, Vincent took me to the university's science museum.

He had his friends in the student council turn off all the lights in the building, leaving only a breathtaking view of the universe illuminated just for us.

He held my hand, and I could feel his palms sweating.

"Mia, will you marry me? I swear on my life that I'll always treat you well."

At that moment, I didn't hesitate.

But now, facing Vincent, I refuse without a second thought.

"Mr. Dent, that's my business, so you don't need to worry about it. I'll handle it."

My overly polite and distant tone made Vincent's brows furrow in confusion.

After a brief silence in the car, he asked, half-smiling, "So, how do you plan to explain this to your parents?"

When I remained silent, he scoffed, saying, "Mia, don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

Only then did I finally tear my gaze away from my phone and look at him.

"Huh? Can you please focus on driving and not get distracted? As for the reason, I've already said I'll handle it."

I didn't want to spend the first day of being single with my ex-husband in a potential car crash.

As he heard my obvious indifference, Vincent's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Suddenly, the car's Bluetooth connected, and a sweet, lovey-dovey song started playing.

Vincent, ignoring my presence, answered the call.

A young woman's tender, sweet voice filled the car.

She was whining about her exhausting day, mentioning that she still had to work at a coffee shop that night and was starving.

Vincent glanced at me and, seeing my unchanged expression, smiled and said, "I know you're hungry, so I'll go get your favorite food right away."

After their lovey-dovey exchange, the call ended. Without needing Vincent to say anything, I pointed to the intersection ahead.

"Just drop me off at the next corner."

The car stopped by the side of the road. I hurriedly got out and left, not bothering to hide my urgency.

Only after the car was out of sight did I clutch my abdomen, drenched in cold sweat, feeling as if I might collapse onto the pavement.

Two months ago, Vincent had called me saying he'd forgotten an important document.

I rushed to his office with the file.

On the way, a speeding truck overturned and crushed me after an emergency brake.

Though I survived, my left leg was shattered due to the impact.

In the agony of the pain and fear of potential lasting damage, I called Vincent countless times.

However, his phone was always off.

Later, I found out he had flown to Paris because the girl he was with had never seen French pigeons.

He spent an entire week there with her.

Fearing for my parents' worry, I didn't tell them. It was my friend Emilia Clarke who helped me through the surgery and recovery.

At that moment, I decided I was done with that useless man.

I had just finished a simple lunch alone at home and was slowly tidying up when Emilia's message came through: [Mia, you haven't even officially divorced Vincent yet, and he's already out celebrating with his new girlfriend. How shameless can he be!]

Along with her message was a photo of Vincent dining with a younger woman at a couple's restaurant.

It was the same place I had once suggested to Vincent, only to be turned down with an excuse.

A wave of nausea hit me suddenly.

In that instant, something clicked in my mind.

The next day, I went to the hospital early in the morning.

Staring at my blood test results, the doctor said, "Congratulations, Ms. Miller. According to the results, you're 13 weeks pregnant—three months along."

I remained silent for a moment.

"Please schedule me for an abortion."

In the early years of our marriage, Vincent couldn't get enough of being close to me.

We both desperately wanted a child.

Despite the years passing and no issues on either side, we just couldn't make it happen.

Now that we were divorcing, the baby decided to show up.

Well, too bad for the baby, coming at such a time.

As I was leaving the exam room, I saw Vincent and his new girlfriend, Cameron Portman, waiting at the entrance.

My grip on my bag tightened involuntarily.

I thought, "So, Cameron is pregnant while we're still married?"

Cameron immediately hid behind Vincent as soon as she saw me, as if one more step from me would mean her doom.

Vincent's eyes turned cold. He was probably thinking I was stalking them.

"What are you doing here?"

Before I could answer, he added, "Mia, let's part on good terms. Cameron's health is delicate, and your presence could easily scare her."

Hearing that confirmed my suspicion.

"Look, I was here first. And this is a gynecology office—your little girlfriend isn't pregnant, is she? Vincent, don't forget we're still married."

I turned to leave, but someone called my name from behind.

I turned to see a strikingly handsome man in a white coat walking straight toward me, ignoring Vincent's icy stare.

Vincent asked, "Who is he? How did you meet?"

Charles Xavier approached me and asked about my recovery.

I smiled and said, "Thanks to you, Dr. Xavier, I'm almost walking normally now."

Vincent suddenly moved in front of me, gripping my shoulders.

"What recovery? You only had minor abrasions, didn't you? Why do you need rehab?"

Vincent had only heard from his secretary about my injury and assumed it was minor. He never considered that it might be serious.

If he had paid attention to how long I'd been hospitalized or noticed my walking posture, he'd have realized it was more than a minor scrape.

But since my injury, Vincent had been either busy with work or having sweet, private meetings with Cameron, leaving him no time to notice anything about me.

I replied coldly, "My condition is none of your concern. Don't forget we're still in the process of divorcing."

Vincent's face visibly darkened.

Meanwhile, Cameron, strangely enough, started to sob and apologize.

Her tearful demeanor made me seem like the villain in this situation.

"Mia, I've always wanted to apologize to you.

"I've tried to convince Vincent to appreciate and treat you well.

"The way things have turned out is entirely my fault. Whether you want to hit me, yell at me, or do whatever you like, I'll accept it."