"Attorney, please draft a divorce agreement for me. I want a divorce."

"Madam, both husband and wife need to sign the divorce agreement. Didn’t your husband come today?"

Emma Bennett fell silent for a few seconds.

An hour ago, the brother who had been in the hospital for treatment of blood cancer suddenly became seriously ill, but Michael listened to the advice of his secretary Samantha and thought that Emma was a gold digger who was only with him for money. Therefore, he cut off the medical expenses for his brother who was in the operating room, causing his brother to bleed to death.

“I’ll have him sign it,” she replied flatly.

Just as she was about to go home, Michael's competitor sent a message: I heard that your brother needs medical expenses? Sell me the secrets of Michael's company. If you don't want to, I believe your husband's lover Samantha will be interested.

Emma didn't reply, but turned around and booked a flight to leave. Although she was tired of Michael, she was still unwilling to do the bad thing of reselling other people's company secrets. She just wanted to divorce quickly, get rid of Michael, and devote herself to the research of special drugs for blood cancer, so that more people would have a chance to survive.

——

Back at the villa, she walked in quietly, her steps light but her heart heavy. She placed the divorce papers on the table in front of Michael Grant. Her gaze, dull and distant, landed briefly on him and then on the woman lounging in his arms.

In three years of marriage, no one could count how many women Michael had brought into their home. He never cared whether she saw or not—perhaps he wanted her to.

“Michael, let’s get a divorce.”

“Divorce?”

He blinked, surprised for a moment. Then he looked up, calm as ever, an eyebrow lifting with practiced arrogance.

“You really want a divorce?”

He slowly pushed Samantha Warren out of his embrace, a smile ghosting the corner of his lips. He stood, walked to her, and casually pinched her chin between his fingers.

“Emma, what game are you playing now?”

“You crawled into my bed for money. Now that your brother isn’t cured yet, you’re ready to leave? Not after money anymore? Or is it…”

He paused, his tone turning cold, gaze piercing.

“Or have you found some new rich boy willing to foot the hospital bills?”

His grip tightened, fingers digging into her jaw. His expression was full of mockery and suspicion.

But when he mentioned her brother, Emma’s eyes dimmed with grief.

She clenched her teeth, lips trembling. Her nails dug deep into her palm as she fought the rising tide of sorrow.

Michael didn’t know. He had no idea that his brother, Daniel Bennett, had passed away just yesterday.

“Don’t look at me with that pitiful expression. Do you think I’ll fall for it again?”

He suddenly flung her hand aside with force.

“Don’t try these pathetic tricks on me. You make me sick.”

Emma closed her eyes, the ache in her chest deepening. I’m sorry, brother. This is the only way to get free.

“You’re right. I do need money,” she admitted calmly. “This is the hospital’s diagnosis. The rest are fee breakdowns. Please sign.”

She slipped the divorce agreement between the medical documents. She knew how he worked—what he would ignore, what he would skim.

“Emma, beg me.”

It was always like this. Since marrying him, those words—please—had become her bitter refrain.

Please take my brother to the hospital.

Please take your medicine; your ulcer will get worse.

Please don’t go to that hotel—I saw Jason Sinclair Canary’s messages…

Each plea had been a humiliation, each one ignored or met with disdain.

She stood up slowly, her limbs stiff from the emotional weight. Then she bowed deeply, a full 180 degrees. Her voice was hollow.

“Please.”

“Please.”

“Please.”

Raising her head, she looked at Ethan Sterling, who sat silently in the corner, his face unreadable.

“Is that enough?” she asked softly, almost in a whisper.

There was blood at the corner of her lips from where she had bitten down too hard.

The man’s chest rose and fell with a visible breath.

“Mr. Grant, my sister looks awful. Didn’t you promise to take me shopping today? Just sign it. Treat it like tossing a coin to a beggar.”

Michael turned to look at Emma with disgust. Something flashed in his eyes—perhaps irritation, or simply boredom. He didn’t bother checking the papers. He flipped straight to the signature page and scrawled his name.

Then he turned back to Samantha, lifted her chin, and kissed her deeply, making a show of his affection.

“Didn’t you say you liked that pink diamond necklace? Today’s a good day. I’ll buy it for you.”

He pulled her close again, his hand roaming to her waist and squeezing her as if marking ownership.

“Ah! Really? Thank you so much, Mr. Grant.”

Samantha giggled and kissed his cheek, her arms wrapped tightly around him as she nestled into his embrace.

Without a second glance at Emma, Michael walked out of the study with his mistress in tow.

Left behind, Emma stared at their retreating backs, the pain in her heart finally spilling over. Her tears came silently, streaming down her cheeks.

Three years. Three years of living with insults, silence, cold shoulders, and betrayal.

Three years ago, he loved her. He wanted to be with her despite his family’s objections. He had been tender, even protective.

But now, he despised her.

Emma’s mother had worked as a maid for the Grant family. When she was young, she and her brother often tagged along to the mansion.

The Grant family, seeing their mother’s struggles, took pity. Since Michael was just two years older than her, they were allowed to play together. They even paid for her schooling—so she could study alongside him.

Over the years, they became close. Their feelings grew quietly but steadily. By the time they were in college, Michael had decided to marry her.

But his parents opposed it bitterly.

Then came the turning point—Daniel’s diagnosis. Leukemia. A death sentence without money.

Her mother, desperate beyond reason, slipped drugs into Michael’s drink and pushed him into bed with Emma.

After that, she cried, screamed, and even threatened to hang herself if Michael refused to marry her daughter.

The Grant family gave in. The wedding was arranged in haste.

From that moment on, everything changed.

“You’re just like your mother,” Michael said coldly. “All you care about is money. Love? Poor people like you don’t know what that is.”

He thought she had schemed it all that she had sacrificed dignity for wealth.

What he never knew was that she had been drugged, too. She hadn’t wanted any of it.

Even when she told him the truth—he didn’t believe her.

In his eyes, she was as deceitful and greedy as her mother.

Now, with her brother gone, she had nothing left. No reason to stay.

Trembling, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn’t called in years.

“Teacher… is it too late to join the institute?”

“Emma? Of course not. Have you finally made up your mind?”

“Yes. I’m ready.”

“Alright. I’ll reprocess your file today. We’ll pick you up in three days.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone, gripping the necklace around her neck. Her father’s last gift before he passed.

“Dad,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect Mom and Daniel like you wanted.”

Once, she believed love could save her. That kindness, effort, and sincerity would be enough.

But life had proven her wrong—again and again.

Now, she didn’t want to love anymore. She didn’t want to beg anymore.

In three days, she would be gone.

Emma stared at the divorce papers that Michael had just signed, then quietly picked them up and headed out to find a lawyer.

Just as she stepped out of the study and was about to return to the bedroom to pack her things, her phone rang again.

“Hello? Is this Mrs. Grant? Would you like to pick up the dress you ordered, or should we deliver it to your home?”

Hearing the voice on the line, Emma suddenly remembered—last month, she had ordered a custom dress for tonight’s blood cancer charity gala.

Back then, she was still desperately searching for a matching blood donor for Daniel. Mr. Gary Snyder, the gala organizer, had gone to great lengths to help.

Even though Daniel was now gone, she still felt the need to personally thank Mr. Snyder.

Emma picked up the dress and brought it home. Soon enough, it was time to attend the gala.

Wearing the elegant gown, she arrived at the venue—never expecting she would run into Michael and Samantha at the cocktail party.

“Michael, I heard that Master Henry’s painting Stars is part of tonight’s auction. I’ve always loved his work! Can you get it for me as a birthday present?”

Samantha approached, clinging affectionately to Michael’s arm, speaking like a spoiled child.

“Of course. You’re the birthday girl tonight—you get whatever you want.”

Michael paused and glanced at Emma, who was standing not far away. Then he smiled and tapped Samantha’s nose playfully, indulging her.

But their conversation struck Emma like a thunderclap.

Henry was her father. Stars was a painting he had given her as a gift for her tenth birthday.

She was certain Stars had been at home all along—how could it now be part of an auction?

She didn’t stop to think. She strode straight over to them and grabbed Samantha’s dress.

“You… what did you just say?”

Perhaps she had walked too fast—she accidentally knocked over a nearby glass of red wine. The liquid splashed all over Samantha’s skirt.

“Ah! Mrs. Grant, what are you doing?!”

Samantha recoiled in horror, staring at her as if she’d gone mad.

“You said Stars is in tonight’s auction?”

Ignoring her reaction, Emma fixed her eyes on Samantha, desperate to see any sign that she was mistaken.

But Samantha only looked at her in disgust, hastily blotting her dress with napkins.

“Yes. Everyone invited to the auction received the item list. Don’t you have one, Mrs. Grant?”

Emma froze.

Of course. She hadn’t received any formal invitation to the gala. The only reason she had been able to enter was because she was still technically Michael’s wife.

With her eyes turning red, she turned toward Michael, searching for his expression for denial.

But his cold stare gave her all the confirmation that she needed—Stars was indeed being auctioned off tonight.

There was no time to dwell on it. She had to find Mr. Snyder, the organizer. Maybe, just maybe, he would agree not to auction the painting out of respect for their past acquaintance.

But as she turned to leave, Michael’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Stop. You ruined Samantha’s dress, and now you’re just walking away?”

Emma halted, turning slowly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she faced him.

“What do you want?”

“Kneel and apologize.”

His words were so casual, so indifferent—but they struck her like a blow to the chest.

She looked up at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“You spilled wine on her dress. She can’t enjoy the party like this anymore. I told you to kneel and apologize. What’s the problem?”

Michael wrapped a sobbing Samantha in his arms and looked down at Emma with a chilling expression.

“Michael, you’ve gone too far!”

Emma’s voice shook with fury, her eyes red and wild.

“So what if I bully you?” he sneered. “What can you do about it?”

Michael raised his eyebrows, his gaze cold, while Samantha beside him looked at Emma with undisguised glee.

The air felt frozen. Emma stared at Michael, and the love she once held for him began to fade—bit by bit.

He knew Stars was a gift from his father. He knew how much the painting meant to her. And yet, he still intended to give it to Samantha.

Blood was already trickling from her clenched palm. As she looked at the man before her, her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

He was right. Even if he bullied her, she couldn’t do anything about it.

She had always depended on him. And because of that, he had no limits.

“Mrs. Grant, why don’t you kneel? After all, your family’s done this more than once.”

At that moment, voices began to rise from the crowd that had gathered after Samantha’s scream.

“She’s right. Didn’t your mother kneel down too when she forced you into the Grant family?”

“Hahaha, yeah. I should probably keep an eye on my own maid—don’t want her forcing anyone into my son’s bed!”

“Hahaha…”

As laughter erupted around her, Emma bit her lip and stubbornly held back her tears.

Her mother sending her to Michael’s bed had long become a joke among these people.

They all said she threw away her dignity just to transform from a pheasant into a phoenix.

Even after the marriage, whenever she went out to find Michael at the bar, people mocked her—some even asked how much she charged per night.

And through it all, Michael never once defended her.

He simply stood by, watching her humiliation, as if her suffering was his only form of justice.

“What’s wrong? It’s just kneeling. Are you ashamed now? But you weren’t ashamed when you climbed into my bed.”

Michael’s voice cut through the murmurs, filled with disdain and disgust.

“Oh? What’s going on here?”

Just then, a new voice rang out from the crowd.

It was Gary—the event’s organizer.

She glanced at the tearful Emma, then at Samantha and Michael, a polite smile on her face.

“Oh my, how did this lady’s dress get ruined? Someone help her go get changed.”

With that, Gary gestured for a waiter to assist Samantha out of the room.

“Alright, everyone, please disperse. The auction’s about to begin.”

Then, Gary turned to Michael with a professional tone. “Mr. Grant, I heard you’d be attending tonight, so I reserved one of our best seats for you. I’ll have someone escort you.”

She signaled to a staff member to come forward.

Michael looked at Gary, then glanced at Emma—silent, unmoving, like a shadow at the edge of the room. Maybe, in that moment, he felt the scene had lost its thrill.

Without another word, he followed the staff to his seat.

After he left, Gary gently took Emma’s arm and led her to a quiet corner of the hallway.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice was soft, eyes filled with concern.

Emma gave a faint smile, shook her head, and took a step back.

“Mr. Snyder, I came tonight to thank you for what you did for Daniel.”

“I heard about Daniel. I’m truly sorry. My condolences.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snyder.”

She paused, gathered herself, then continued.

“Mr. Snyder, I heard that Master Henry’s painting Stars is included in tonight’s auction?”

When Gary nodded, Emma inhaled deeply and summoned the courage to speak.

“I have a bold request… That painting means a great deal to me. Would it be possible for you to let me…”