The washing machine hummed, the foam slowly swallowing the red lace fabric.

I stood in front of it, watching my five-year marriage being churned into pieces.

That seductive red lace underwear wasn’t mine.

I recognized it instantly.

It was Lyra’s.

Her scent, her favorite brand, even the perfume she always used I knew them too well, almost nauseatingly so.

Five years ago, I had naively believed marriage could tame Dante’s wild heart.

Now I understood it was nothing more than a redemption show under the disguise of vows.

He married me to divert the public’s attention from his affair with his secretary.

The woman he truly loved had always been her.

I sat beside the washing machine, my fingers curling tighter and tighter.

On top of it lay the shirt I had washed last night his shirt.

There was still a faint lipstick stain on the collar, not my color.

I used to cover up all his stains, all his scandals.

Now, every trace felt like mockery.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed Orion, my lawyer.

He answered almost immediately. “Miss Giselle?”

“Nico,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, “I want to divorce Dante and resign from his company. Please prepare two agreements.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a quiet sigh.

“Miss Giselle, a marriage is not something to end lightly. You should be certain before signing those papers.”

I laughed softly a cold, fragile sound.

“I’ve been certain for five years.”

Five years of being neglected, used, and loved into ash.

From the day he met Lyra, to every lie I helped him conceal.

Each year, he found a new way to remind me love can be a one-person grave.

Sunlight filtered through the gray curtains, slicing into fragments across my face.

I picked up the wedding photo from the table. In it, Dante smiled tenderly, his arm around me.

For a fleeting second, I almost believed he might have loved me once.

But on the back of the frame, the engraving read: To Lyra, My Light.

That single line shattered the last illusion I had left.

I set the frame down gently. My heart felt hollow.

For five years, Dante had proved one thing with his every action he only loved Lyra.

I was nothing more than the facade of their love story.

In public, he praised me as the “virtuous wife,” while behind the scenes, he donated billions to charities under Lyra’s name, building schools and foundations around the world.

The media called him the golden gentleman of philanthropy.

In reality, I was just the puppet in his gilded cage.

Three days from now would be our sixth wedding anniversary.

I had prepared my final gift for him.

The divorce papers.

And his freedom.

I walked into the dressing room and took out the sapphire ring he had given me.

It was set with three main stones, symbolizing loyalty, trust, and eternity.

All three had died today.

I placed the ring in its box beside two printed documents the divorce agreement and my resignation letter.

On the last page, I signed my name: Giselle Moreau.

For the first time, I felt an unfamiliar calm.

It wasn’t relief.

It was awakening.

Dante’s company was located right in the city center.

I put on an ivory trench coat, slipped into my stiletto heels, and walked into the tall building.

The security guard at the entrance bowed politely, as if nothing had changed.

I smiled back, though only I knew I was no longer the woman who cleaned up his messes and covered his betrayals.

The receptionist stood up the moment she saw me. “Mrs. Giselle, Mr. Dante is in the conference room.”

“Mrs.?” I repeated softly, smiling faintly. “From now on, call me Miss Giselle.”

She froze, speechless.

I walked toward the conference room and pushed open the heavy glass door.

The men inside immediately rose to greet me except him.

Dante looked up, a faint frown forming between his brows. “What are you doing here?”

He still carried that calm, detached expression, the same one he wore even when I had given up the world for him.

I approached the table and placed the folder gently before him.

“This is the anniversary gift I prepared for you.”

His eyes flicked over the papers, and in that instant, his posture stiffened.

The words Divorce Agreement cut through his composure like a blade.

“Giselle,” he said quietly, anger creeping into his voice for the first time, “do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I know very well.”

I looked straight at him, my tone calm. “I’m doing what you didn’t have the courage to do six years ago letting go.”

Lyra’s perfume drifted into the room, sweet and suffocatingly ironic.

She walked in holding a folder, perfectly composed.

When her eyes fell on the document on the table, her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

I turned around and walked away without a pause.

Behind me, Dante’s voice grew low and urgent. “Giselle, don’t go!”

I didn’t look back.

The wind slipped through the open door, lifting a strand of my hair.

I said softly, “This time, it’s my turn to leave you.”

I thought he would sign the papers immediately.

But when I left them on his desk and walked out, he didn’t say a word.

The next morning, sunlight filtered into the bedroom.

The other side of the bed was empty; as always, he had risen early, impeccably dressed, as though nothing had happened.

Breakfast was still neatly arranged on the table, and beside it lay his handwritten note:

Don’t forget the reunion tonight.

I stared at the words and couldn’t help but laugh.

His handwriting was elegant and steady now it looked like pure mockery.

He had read the divorce papers, yet chose to pretend they didn’t exist.

To him, my calmness was nothing more than another fleeting mood swing.

He thought I would forgive him again, just like all the times before.

I didn’t tear up the note. I folded it carefully and slipped it into my bag.

It would be my last ritual in watching love collapse.

That evening, the reunion was held in a private suite atop the Champs-Élysées Hotel.

I hadn’t planned to go, but I thought once I left this time, I might never return.

Seeing everyone again would be my farewell.

Dante insisted on accompanying me.

I refused, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, continuing his flawless performance as the “attentive husband.”

The moment we entered, laughter filled the room.

“I told you, if Giselle comes, Dante won’t be far behind!”

“He’s afraid she might get lost!”

The room burst into teasing laughter.

Dante smiled with his usual grace, pulled out a chair for me, and began distributing the gifts he had prepared for everyone.

It was a full set of limited-edition jewelry from Chanelixue Nai, worth seven figures.

“My God, your wife is really lucky to have you!”

“With such a devoted husband, who wouldn’t be jealous?”

I only smiled faintly.

I’d seen this scene too many times he was always so good at making others believe in love.

He knew exactly how to show the world the image of a perfect marriage,

but somehow forgot that I, too, once needed to believe in it.

The room was filled with laughter when the door suddenly opened.

A tall, radiant figure appeared under the lights, glittering with jewels.

Lyra.

Her smile was familiar, sweet, and suffocating.

“How could a reunion be complete without me? After all, we’re all part of the same circle.”

The air froze instantly.

I could hear classmates whispering under their breath.

She pretended not to notice the awkwardness and gracefully took the seat across from me, her gaze sweeping over the jewelry in everyone’s hands.

“Chanelixue Nai quite a famous brand,” she said with a curved smile. “But perhaps you don’t know I’m the founder.”

I froze, my fingertips tightening.

She founded it?

A few years ago, her family had nearly been expelled from the industry for financial fraud.

And now she dared to declare herself the owner of an international brand?

She went on casually, “Two years ago, my husband invested in more than twenty companies under my name. One of them, luckily, turned out to be Chanelixue Nai.”

As she spoke, her eyes flicked toward Dante, her lips still curved in that calm, knowing smile.

It wasn’t provocation it was certainty.

A dull ache spread through my chest.

Two years ago, he really had been busy.

He told me he was ‘expanding into overseas markets,’ and I believed him.

So that was what he was busy with not business, but building her dreams.

“What’s wrong, Giselle?”

Dante noticed my pale face and immediately reached out to steady me. “Are you feeling unwell? Should I call a doctor?”

Lyra let out a quiet laugh, her tone dripping with mockery. “Giselle, you’re so delicate. Mr. Dante treats you like glass, yet you still look half-dead. How pathetic.”

Before anyone could react

Slap!

The sharp sound cut through the air.

Everyone froze.

Dante had struck her across the face. His voice was cold as steel. “Say one more word, and get out.”

Lyra covered her cheek, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Then she gave a short, disdainful laugh and turned to leave.

After she was gone, the tension in the room slowly eased. Laughter returned, one cautious chuckle at a time.

But I couldn’t bring myself to laugh.

I looked at Dante’s face the face of a man seemingly protecting his wife and felt nothing but strangeness.

He gripped my hand tightly, his voice full of concern. “Darling, what’s wrong? The doctor’s on the way.”

“I’m fine.”

I gently pulled my hand free. “I just need to use the restroom.”

The hallway lights were bright. Halfway down, she appeared.

Lyra leaned against the wall, her red lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t think he hit me for you that doesn’t mean you’ve won.”

I stopped and met her gaze coolly.

Her smile deepened. “I’ve given him twins. Do you believe me when I say, if I call and tell him one of them has a fever, he’ll leave you right away?”

I didn’t answer.

I simply turned and walked away.