I got divorced.

Three years ago, all for that gorgeous face of Morgan Hull’s, I agreed to a business marriage and signed a three-year marital contract.

In the end, after signing the contract, Morgan practically vanished. I barely saw him once a year. He never picked up the phone, never replied to messages, wouldn’t even let me hold his hand. I was like a widow guarding a living ghost, and even the warmest heart can’t stay hot forever.

The moment the three years were up, I couldn’t wait to slam the divorce papers down in front of him.

He stared at me for a while, then said, “You’re right. But the speed of light is two hundred ninety-nine thousand seven hundred ninety-two kilometers per second, a single chip can hold tens of billions of transistors, humans evolved from monkeys so sharks can’t ride horses.”

“…What?”

“So, after the divorce… can I pursue you?”

“…?”

…

Today, I’m finally divorcing Morgan.

To celebrate this glorious day, I dragged myself out of bed at nine in the morning, squirmed a bit before climbing down, then crept off in the gloom to brush my teeth and splash water on my face. After that, I slid down the stair railing with a swoosh.

Perfect landing. Ten out of ten.

Since I was little, my parents and I never saw eye to eye—about anything. From how I went downstairs to what major I wanted in college, we were always on different planets. They didn’t treat me badly, but they never understood me. Morgan was the same.

We’ve been married three years, and he treats me like I’m venomous. No holding hands, no arms around the waist, and somehow he manages to cold-war with me twenty-five hours a day.

I usually call him “Ghosty.”

Because he made me live like a damned widow for three years.

To his credit, he did arrange a villa for me and hired a very attentive housekeeper.

The housekeeper always left breakfast on the table ahead of time, timed perfectly to my usual wake-up hour: sandwiches, milk, dessert, and half an ear of corn.

I grabbed the corn and took a bite. The temperature was just right, and it was the kind I liked.

Too bad I won’t get to eat the housekeeper’s cooking anymore.

She was hired by Morgan. In the past three years, he almost never came to this villa. I’ve only seen him three times in total: once at the wedding, once at his grandfather’s big birthday banquet, and once we ran into each other when I was on vacation and he was on a business trip.

I married him for his looks, even forced myself to play the part of a refined, elegant lady that the world adored for quite a while before the wedding. And yet I couldn’t even see his face once a year. And of course he just had to be a stickler for rules and added a “neither party is allowed to cheat” clause in the agreement. While my single girlfriends were out flirting with hot guys, I could only stay home and pet my little hamster.

I was wrong. I never should’ve let his face cloud my judgment.

Still, the villa Morgan arranged for me is huge. I can sleep in the bedroom, on the living room couch, if I wanted to, even on the damn ceiling. He’s also never stingy with my living expenses—or the hamster’s. After three years, both my hamster and I have gotten a bit rounder. Especially the hamster. It’s evolved from a flat little fur pancake into a full-on furball.

Corn in one hand, I used the other to feed my hamster a delicate little pastry from a fine china plate. I left the rest of the food on the table for the housekeeper, plucked a tiny decorative flower from the breakfast plate, and tucked it behind my ear.

“Damn, I look good,” I sighed to myself.

I checked the time. Still early. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Iris.

“Iris, want to hit the bar tonight? Take me with you.”

Her voice came through, surprised but mostly delighted. “Seriously, Rosalind, you’re finally getting divorced?!”

“Mhm!” I planted a hand on my hip proudly. “I’m free!”

“The three-year sentence is over—welcome back, Your Majesty!” On the other end of the line came a loud drum-like slapping sound, like a happy little seal applauding with its belly.

“Just wait. I know a few new male models—over six feet, great legs, and abs. I’ll reserve them for you right now!”

“Hehehe, you really do get me, hehehe…”

The moment I thought about sharing a room with several hot guys and being able to touch them however I wanted, my already cheerful mood turned downright radiant. I even started wriggling openly on the floor.

But right then, Iris’s voice suddenly turned serious. “But! You are not allowed to do what you did before and have the male models do your calculus problems for you!”

Huh? Am I that kind of person?

“I know what you’re about to say. You are exactly that kind of person.”

“…”

Ugh, I just like watching handsome guys looking helpless and flustered, that’s all!

After hanging up, I grabbed the divorce papers I’d already prepared and called a driver to take me to Morgan’s company.

Morgan’s assistant, Simon, rushed over to escort me to the reception room as soon as he heard I’d arrived.

But the place was boring as hell. The sunflower seeds, peanuts, and bottled water they’d put out weren’t to this hamster’s taste at all. I leaned against the wall, flipped around a few times in boredom, and finally decided to sneak out and check out the staff instead.

My family works with the Hulls, so coming here to “inspect” things was totally reasonable.

It was getting close to lunchtime, though, and the half ear of corn I’d gnawed on that morning had long been digested. With my stomach feeling empty, I grabbed a plate of sunflower seeds and happily wandered off toward the work area, snacking as I went.

The employees were all working hard. Very gratifying. Morgan may be a pain in the ass, but he clearly has a good eye for talent. No wonder my dad pushed so hard for me to marry him instead of some other company’s boss.

Still, in such a huge open office, how the hell was there not a single trash can? Where was I supposed to toss these damn shells…

I was pondering this when a young, sharp-looking woman headed my way, the heels of her stilettos striking the floor with crisp, rhythmic taps.

She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. Just from those footsteps, though, I’d bet a sunflower seed she’d studied percussion.

She stopped right in front of me, clearly pissed off. “It’s work hours, and you’re just standing here cracking seeds?”

“Hm?” I tilted my head, thinking it over.

Okay, that was indeed inappropriate.

So I sat down on the floor.

I was a guest, after all. How could a guest stand around eating sunflower seeds? At the very least, I should be sitting while I snacked!

When I plopped down, she froze, completely thrown off for a moment.

“You, you…”

She choked on her anger for a while before finally squeezing out, “Which department are you with? How dare you wander around and eat seeds during work hours!”

Oh. So she thought I was an employee. That explained it.

If she realized she’d mistaken me for staff, she’d probably want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

I am a very considerate person, so I didn’t spell it out; I just hinted, “And which department are you in charge of, that you don’t even recognize your own employees?”

— Look carefully, pretty lady. I’m just passing through!

I hadn’t expected my words to sound like a challenge in her ears.

She stomped her foot in fury, practically grinding her teeth. “Grandpa sent you here, didn’t he?! I knew it! You people won’t let me have a proper internship. It’s only been a few days and you’re already here to make things hard for me!”

“…”

That did jog my memory, though. This naïve little thing was Morgan’s sister. I couldn’t remember her name, only that I’d seen her before at Old Mr. Hull’s birthday banquet.

Back then she’d been dressed to the nines, looking gorgeous. Every smile and frown had the lively innocence of a young girl, like a little princess raised in a greenhouse.

She’d actually been pretty damn cute.

Just then, Simon appeared. He looked at me sitting cross-legged on the floor, then at his boss’s furious little sister, and instantly seemed lost.

Based on my ten years of reading romance novels, I could tell he’d definitely just imagined some tragic, epic love triangle where I loved him, he didn’t love me, and his sister was bullying me.

Unfortunately, I’m just an utterly ordinary crazy bitch. Morgan and I have only ever been a married couple on paper, and sitting on the floor was completely voluntary on my part.

“Morgan’s free now?” I asked Simon.

“Yes, the CEO just finished his meeting,” Simon answered. “You’re…?”

“Oh, I’m just gonna sit here for a bit.” I cracked another sunflower seed. “The floor’s this clean—why can’t I sit on it?”

“…You can. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Simon really was a man after my own heart.

Too bad getting divorced was my top priority at the moment. Since Morgan was free, I had no intention of wasting time.

I handed Simon a napkin, set the hamster and the sunflower seed shells on it, then grabbed the divorce papers and happily jogged back to the reception room.

Leaving Simon and Miss Hull staring at each other.

Miss Hull’s face practically turned into one big question mark. “Simon, who is she?”

Simon held it in for a moment, then replied, “A badass.”

The hamster squirmed in his hand. He tugged at the corner of his mouth, clearly speechless. “Why did she give me the hamster? And why the napkin?”

“Because it poops,” I called, poking my head out of the reception room.

“…”

“If it poops, remember to change the napkin underneath. You can pet it as much as you want in the meantime.”

With that, I ducked back into the conference room and met Morgan’s eyes, full of a tangled storm of emotions.

I had to admit, he really was good-looking. But the second I thought about how he wouldn’t let me touch him and also wouldn’t let me touch anyone else, my heart went cold.

I set the divorce papers on the table.

Morgan didn’t even look at them. Instead, he asked, “Who were you saying would poop?”

I shot back, “You don’t poop?”

“…”

Whoever first asked whether people poop or not was a fucking genius, in my opinion.

I really am a genius.

Hee-hee.

Morgan’s expression, as he looked at me standing there with my hands on my hips, turned into a mix of three pounds of bitter melon and chocolate. His insanely high face value got dragged down by that twisted look.

“…”

Okay, no more hee-hee.

But I was used to it. At least sixty percent of the people who talked to me would end up making that face.

So hurry up and sign the divorce, Morgan. We’re not even on the same wavelength; there’s no way we’re going to be happy together!

Under my burning gaze, Morgan finally looked down at the divorce papers. After a brief pause, he asked, “Do we really have to get divorced?”

I answered without a second thought, “It doesn’t really make a difference whether we divorce or not, but if I want to touch hot guys, I have to.”

“…” Morgan looked at me.

“You’re right, but the speed of light is two hundred ninety-nine thousand seven hundred ninety-two kilometers per second, a single chip can hold tens of billions of transistors, humans evolved from monkeys, so sharks can’t use smartphones.”

My brain rusted over for a second. I didn’t catch a word of that.

“Huh?”

“So, after we divorce, can I pursue you?”

“…”

Excuse me, my guy.

Before marriage, we’d never even met. After marriage, I wasn’t allowed to touch him. Now we’re getting divorced and he suddenly asks if he can chase me?

Morgan’s only response was, “Can’t I?”

His question sounded perfectly reasonable. My silence was deafening.

Anyone who could look at me like he’d eaten some kind of cursed flavor combo would never end up in the same psych ward as me, emotionally speaking.

And I was done being tempted by his face. After three years of lonely widowhood, my heart had frozen into thousand-year ice. I needed a young, blazing-hot pretty boy to thaw it out.