Divorced and remarried—I've lost count of how many times Aaron and I stepped in and out of marriage.

He once treated me like something precious, but less than a year after our wedding, he asked for our first divorce.

The reason was simple, Vivian was coming back.

"Vivian's a public figure," he told me. "I don't want anyone thinking she's involved with a married man."

That third-tier actress had nothing but her father's sacrifice to her name.

He had taken a bullet for Aaron—a life for a life.

And because of that, Aaron believed he owed her everything.

Every time Vivian returned to the country, Aaron divorced me.

And every time she left, we remarried.

The first time we split, I drowned my tears in whiskey and stumbled back to his house half-drunk.

The lights inside were warm. He was with her.

And I stood outside, shivering through the night.

The second time, I tracked his every move—restaurants, auctions, charity galas—just to "accidentally" run into him again.

Later, I learned better.

The moment he mentioned divorce, I would quietly pack my suitcase and disappear from his mansion.

My love and humiliation kept me trapped in that endless cycle of breaking up and coming back together.

But this time, when Aaron waited for me at City Hall to remarry, I never showed up.

Claire POV

That night, Aaron was different.

Wilder.

Harder.

The absolute ruler of the Moretti mafia empire drove me to the edge again and again, as if he meant to empty every ounce of strength he had inside me.

The air was thick with a heavy mix of desire, sweat, and aged Cohiba smoke.

The flames of passion had yet to cool on my skin.

He leaned down, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.

"Claire," he murmured, voice low and rough, "Vivian's due back in a few days."

For a heartbeat, my lungs froze.

But the stillness lasted only seconds. I forced my composure back.

The man who held the reins of the underworld, his power absolute.

A faint sheen of sweat clung to his sculpted chest, catching the light, radiating a raw, primal allure.

Tempting, yet dangerous.

But soon, all of it would be nothing to me.

Vivian was the daughter of Aaron's driver—the man who took a bullet for him and never made it home.

Since then, Aaron had taken special care of her—out of guilt, out of a sense of debt he could never repay.

She was just a minor actress, barely known beyond a few glossy magazines, yet Aaron insisted her reputation was untouchable.

He said she couldn't afford a single scandal, not even a whisper.

So every time she came back to the city, he would divorce me, so the world would see him as single, and her as innocent.

And when she left, he'd find his way back to me again, like nothing ever happened.

The first time he asked for a divorce, I completely broke down.

I screamed, cried, begged him to take it back.

But he didn't.

Later, I learned to accept it—or at least pretend I did.

I'd track where he was, show up at his favorite restaurants, hotels, even auctions, —pretending it was all just a coincidence—just for a chance to say a few words to him.

He laughed in my face for it.

He said it so calmly it almost sounded like a fact.

"Claire, you're pathetic. You can't live without me."

I wanted to hate him for it, but he was right.

His men mocked me too.

To them, I was nothing more than the woman Aaron kept leaving and taking back—a cheap, desperate gold digger who never learned her lesson.

But this time, I pushed him away while he was still inside me.

"Fine," I said,"We go through with the divorce tomorrow."

My legs were still trembling, but my voice was icy and firm.

The divorce papers already bore my signature. I handed them to him. Aaron blinked, caught off guard by my decisiveness.

Then, a faint smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

Satisfied, approving.

"Finally, you've learned to be good, Claire."

He signed his name and handed the papers back to me.

"Once she's gone, we'll remarry. Just a month, wait for me."

He cupped my chin, leaning in for a kiss.

But I turned my face away.

Normally, I'd make him sign it, in his role as the Moretti family boss, a promise etched in ink:

"I, Aaron Moretti, will remarry Claire on [date]."

But this time, I said nothing.

After all, in Aaron's eyes, Vivian's reputation mattered more than anything.

Every plea I made, every refusal, could only come across as cruel, even merciless, to his benefactor's daughter.

But Vivian never hid her hostility toward me.

Her possessiveness over Aaron was always laid bare, right in front of me.

If marriage was just a game he could play or discard at will, then I wasn't going to play anymore.

I stepped into the dressing room and packed my things.

In less than a quarter of an hour, I emerged, dragging my suitcase behind me.

Aaron looked a little taken aback.

"Claire... maybe I could have her stay at a hotel, and you wouldn't have to leave?"

"Forget it," I said. "She's more important than me."

I didn't want him to bear the burden of disappointing his benefactor.

I turned to leave, but Aaron grabbed my wrist.

"Since you've learned to be good, be good all the way. No more staged encounters. And keep our business out of the media."

I admitted it—I had thrown tantrums, done stupid things.

But the media's stakeout and exposure had nothing to do with me.

I'd lost count of how many times paparazzi had followed them to nightclub booths, hotel rooms, snapping intimate photos.

Vivian was always leaning on Aaron's shoulder, or drunk in his arms, her hand on his chest, posing so suggestively.

Every single time, the story hit the trending charts.

Vivian cried to clear her name, while all the blame fell on me—the "abandoned gold digger."

Her fans hurled the vilest insults, cyberbullying me endlessly.

Her "innocence" was built on trampling my reputation.

I tried to vent to Aaron, but he brushed me off.

"Who cares what they say? You've got me, that's enough."

Me?

Have him?

Those nights, I faced a storm of abuse alone, while he couldn't even be bothered to explain a single word.

Memories of the past stung, and filled me with disgust.

I shook off his hand and turned toward the door.

"Claire—" Aaron called from behind.

I stopped, but didn't look back.

"The 20th of next month. Don't forget, that's when we remarry."

I gave a small wave over my shoulder and pushed the door open.

The heavy gate slammed shut behind me.

The 20th?

My phone lit up with my flight itinerary.

And sure enough... the departure was set for the 20th.

Claire POV

After Vivian came back, Aaron didn't call once.

And I? I refused to throw myself at him again, to beg for a glance, to lose my dignity for the sake of being near him.

Instead, I wrapped myself in the comfort of my freedom. Bella and I ate, drank, and laughed through our days, letting the world blur around us.

That afternoon, as we lingered over red wine, sampling black truffles and caviar, Bella's phone buzzed. A news alert.

"WTF?!" she muttered, thrusting the screen toward me.

Vivian's hand appeared, adorned with a pink diamond so large it seemed absurd.

And, of course, the photos were everywhere.

"A five-million-dollar ring?! Aaron actually bought her something that expensive at an auction? That should have been yours!" Bella fumed.

I gave a faint smile. "If she wants it... let her."

Bella fumed. "And the media... they're already asking if she's about to marry Aaron. And she's doing that... coy act, neither confirming nor denying. She's shameless!"

Bella was so angry she almost threw her phone.

I scooped a spoonful of ice cream, feeding it to her.

"Don't get worked up. It's not worth it. I'm fine the way I am."

We rose to leave, letting the buzz of the restaurant fade behind us, only to find ourselves face to face with Aaron and Vivian.

Vivian's hand curled through Aaron's arm, body pressed close.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. She covered her mouth, a faint panic creeping into her gaze.

"Aaron..." Her voice trembled, and in it, I could hear the faintest edge of accusation.

"She's here again... stirring things up."

Aaron's gaze, warm just moments ago, sharpened.

He stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Vivian.

"Claire, I thought we agreed, no more of these chance encounters."

I rubbed my full stomach and smiled.

"Bella and I just had dinner. How is that a chance encounter?"

"Aaron, I finished my meal before you even arrived. Don't get too full of yourself," I added.

He hesitated, a flicker of unease passing over his features, before he looked at Vivian.

"Let's go inside. Forget about her."

Vivian pursed her lips in displeasure and reached out to stop me.

"Don't go!"

She deliberately lifted a hand to flick her hair, letting that enormous pink diamond catch the light.

God, that stone was obscene, its fire practically stabbing my eyes.

She leaned slightly toward Aaron, her voice low, almost conspiratorial.

"The paparazzi are all camped at the front. If they see me and Claire walking in one after the other, they'll say I'm stealing her man."

Then she turned to me, forcing an apologetic smile.

"Claire... maybe you should leave through the back door?"

I paused, then let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Vivian...you really expect me to believe those paparazzi just happen to be here?"

Her face flickered, a hint of unease betraying her carefully constructed act, then she returned to her fragile, trembling persona.

"Claire... how can you say that? I may be little-known, but I'm still a movie star. It's normal for the paparazzi to follow me."

Pathetic.

All the fortune Aaron lavished on her couldn't change the fact that she was still a third-tier actress.

I stared at the pink diamond—five million dollars at auction—and couldn't help feeling the irony.

The loved ones always act fearless.

She knew no matter what she said, Aaron would believe her.

That debt he felt for her father's sacrifice would always put Vivian first.

And I... I was just an expendable outsider.

I let out a quiet scoff and tugged Bella toward the back entrance.

"All that drama, and I just want a simple meal in peace."

Vivian's muffled cries followed behind us.

Seconds later, Aaron's men stepped in, blocking our path.

"Claire," Aaron stepped in front of me, his gaze sharp, almost cutting. "Apologize to Vivian."

I lifted my chin just a fraction, meeting his eyes.

Vivian clang to him, quiet sobs trembling against his chest.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to be sorry for."

"I got here first, and you still insist I'm claiming you came after me on purpose."

"You told me to use the back entrance—I did exactly that."

"What more could I possibly apologize for?"

Aaron's expression stiffened, his voice low and commanding.

"Claire, stop making a scene. When I tell you to do something... you do it."

I exhaled, a soft, resigned breath, letting my gaze drift over him without breaking my composure.

"Fine. Vivian... I'm sorry for everything."

Before either of them could react, I grabbed Bella's hand and slipped through the back entrance, leaving them behind.

Bella was fuming.

"Why did you let her have it? Look at that smug little face! You should have slapped her."

I tilted my head toward the drifting clouds above, a faint, easy smile curling my lips.

"Because... I don't care anymore."

Not long after, Aaron's voice messages pinged my phone:

【Claire, stop sulking.】

【The diamond ring was meant for you, but if Vivian likes it... let her have it.】

【Next time, I'll get you something better.】

I let out a quiet scoff and glanced at my watch.

Fifteen days.

Fifteen days until I'm free.

Claire POV

These days, I ate, drank, and played without a care.

No longer did I worry about Aaron's daily routines or tiptoe around his business affairs.

Life felt unburdened, almost blissfully carefree.

Friends would occasionally send me updates about Vivian, but I merely smiled and let them slide.

Back then, I would have tracked her every social media post, scrolled through every photo, hunting for the slightest trace of her and Aaron.

I would then engineer "chance encounters," desperate for him to notice how much I cared.

But now, all of that seemed utterly meaningless.

The messages from friends were glanced at, and quickly forgotten.

I had almost erased their existence from my mind.

Deep inside, I simply didn't care anymore.

A few days from now, I would leave this city entirely.

Thinking of it made my chest feel light, unburdened.

So when Aaron called, a rare thing these days, I answered with a cheerful voice.

"Claire?" There was a trace of surprise in his voice. "You... sound happy."

I tilted my head. "Is that a problem?"

"You used to cry all the time after leaving me... called me twenty, thirty times a day..."

I let out an ironic laugh. "Yes, you know... that was the old me."

There was a pause, then he said, "It's been a while since I've seen you. I've booked Celestia on the 19th."

"I'm not going," I cut him off, sharp and decisive.

But today, he seemed unusually patient.

"Claire," his voice softened, almost pleading, "the 19th is our anniversary. Just have dinner with me, please."

"Anniversary?" I said lightly. "I've married and divorced so many times, I've long since stopped remembering which day it was."

There was a pause on the line.

"The divorce... that was my fault." His voice had dropped, deepened.

"You know... Vivian is a public figure. I can't risk her reputation."

So, I was always expected to bear it all.

To be the unlucky one.

The target of her fans' online rage every time she held a press conference.

Memories pricked at me like tiny needles, sharp and persistent.

My voice cooled.

"You don't need to explain any of this. I'm not coming to dinner."

I didn't want to see him.

"Wait—" His tone turned urgent. "Don't you remember? Five years ago, at Celestia, was the very first time we met..."

My fingers trembled slightly.

Five years ago, I had been celebrating a friend's birthday at Celestia.

One push from my friend sent me sprawling into the arms of a man at the neighboring table.

In that moment, his gaze cut like a blade, a dangerous heat wrapping around me.

But just as quickly, a soft, almost imperceptible tenderness eased the tension.

At the time, Aaron had just taken the reins of the Moretti empire, every muscle in his body taut, every movement calculated, ready for any threat that might come his way.

And there I was, a plastic cake knife trembling in my hand, pressed—purely by accident—against his chest.

Flustered, my cheeks burned crimson.

I scrambled to wipe the cream off his bespoke suit, apologizing over and over.

And in the chaos of my fumbling, a subtle, fleeting smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one I almost missed.

That single moment of tenderness etched him into my memory.

And later, I let myself fall for him.

"Claire... promise me, will you? I want to see you."

Aaron's voice pulled me back to the present, a warm flutter rising in my chest.

Time had passed so fast. Five years... I had loved him all that time.

Alright. Let everything return to its starting point.

Where it began, it should end.

I whispered, "Fine. See you then."

Before I could hang up, a soft, trembling voice came through the line.

"Aaron... I'm not feeling so good..."

"Aaron... don't..."

And then, a flirtatious undertone.

Disgusted, I tossed the phone aside.

How could he... entangled with another woman one moment, yet telling me he wanted to see me the next?

Then, a news alert flashed across my screen.

Vivian, drunk at a bar, being carried into a hotel by Aaron.

I laughed, though a bitter ache stirred in my chest.

I had thought I'd never feel pain for him again...

Forget it.

Let Celestia be the end of our story.