That sounds about right. At the very least, I can be certain of one thing, In all the years of our marriage, Frans has never defended me the way he now defends Zaney.

“She didn’t grow up with the kind of privilege you had,” he said.

“She got to where she is now through her own hard work.”

“Even if you’re upset with her, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions without letting her explain.”

“She just wanted to surprise you today. That’s all.”

A sudden pang clenched in my chest, but his voice didn’t stop—low, controlled, disappointed.

“Sheryl, there’s no longer any possibility of anything happening between me and her. Why can’t you just let Zaney go?”

Let go? But when did either of them ever let me go? My silence was deliberate. I had no interest in discussing it further. He didn’t press. Just gripped the steering wheel harder and drove in silence, foot heavy on the gas.

The twenty-minute ride home took only ten. When I stepped out of the car, Zaney was already waiting at the door.

She raised her hands in mock surrender and stuck out her tongue playfully. “I’ll grab my stuff and head out now.”

Her job overseas had been arranged through Frans. Naturally, she would still have professional ties with him after returning. I had long prepared myself for this. What I hadn’t expected… was that he would ask her to stay. From the way his jaw tightened, from that firm side profile I’d grown so familiar with, I could see—he was still angry.

As if silently reminding me. This is his home. And his word was final. And I—I could only choose to accept it. His gaze swept toward me and I could feel what he was waiting for. A soft word. A show of submission. A plea for peace.

Maybe then he’d “graciously” ask Zaney to leave. But I didn’t give him that. I simply walked past them and stepped inside. Zaney was put in the guest room at the far end of the hallway. Before bed, she called out a cheerful “Goodnight,” and apologized again with gentle eyes and a soft voice.

I said nothing. Just closed my door, turned off the lights and lay in the dark. But sleep wouldn’t come. So when the man beside me quietly lifted the covers and slipped out of bed in the middle of the night, I was already awake.

I kept my eyes shut, pretending not to notice. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I held them in. The hallway light clicked on. I heard the creak of a door—the door to the playroom. A room almost never opened.

“Frans,” Zaney’s voice came, light and full of wonder,

“This is incredible. You actually recreated the exact scene I described back then.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Frans replied. “I was worried it might feel outdated.”

“No way,” she said, her voice trembling, “I’m honestly… so touched.”

I pressed my back against the cold wall, suddenly unsteady. That room—he had designed it himself during renovations. Painstakingly obsessed over every detail. Even I had found it strange. He had no interest in any other part of the house, letting me choose everything. But that room? I wasn’t even allowed to peek inside until it was finished.

Now I knew why. It wasn’t for me. It was for a dream of Zaney’s. Maybe, just maybe, he’d always imagined living here with her instead. And if I hadn’t been in the way, he might’ve gotten his wish. I stumbled back to bed, dazed and hollow. That night, Frans never returned to the bedroom. And with each passing hour, what little love I still had for him quietly faded.

***

By morning, I got up and booked a hotel online. Threw a few clothes into a suitcase. Then left. When I passed the game room, its door was still wide open. I didn’t look in. I just walked straight out.

By the time Frans realized I was gone, I was already sitting in a plush armchair inside a hotel’s presidential suite, leisurely enjoying the elaborate breakfast brought up by room service.

My phone kept buzzing on the table. Five calls in total. I waited. Then silence. I knew he wouldn’t call again. Frans’s patience had always been limited when it came to me.

Besides, the Raymond Family was declining fast. We needed the Charles Family’s influence to stay afloat. He assumed this was just one of my temporary outbursts. He believed I would never dare to truly leave him.

***

But perhaps he forgot—I had already given up on the Raymond Family the year my father had an affair and my mother, in her depression, threw herself off a building.

I married Frans simply because I loved him. And now that I don’t anymore, there’s nothing left that I can’t walk away from. Just then, a friend messaged me.

“Wait… isn’t this your house? Who’s that woman?”

Attached was a tweet. I clicked the link. The photo was unmistakably taken inside my home—familiar backdrop, the dining table, dim lighting casting long shadows. The close-up showed a man’s hand on a mouse, veins prominent, the scene imbued with an unmistakable intimacy.

The caption read: [Nothing better than friends and dreams! PS: Frans’s fried eggs were a little burnt, but he’s improving~ hahaha~”]

The tweet was from Zaney. Posted just half an hour ago. The account was clearly her burner—no more than a handful of posts. I had never seen it before. Her main account had hundreds of thousands of fans. But this? This one was meant to be low-profile, meant for someone specific. Apparently, Frans wasn’t just willing to stay up all night with her. He even got up early to make breakfast.

I could only imagine how perfect this night had been for him. And if I hadn’t been in the picture, it probably would’ve been even better. I sent a screenshot to my friend, typing calmly.

[No idea. I’ll ask him.]

Then, without hesitation, I forwarded the post—along with our chat log—to Frans. He always cared about his public image. I wondered how he'd react to this. Half an hour later, his name lit up my screen again. I answered.

His voice was low, strained, tired.

“Where are you?”

“Does it matter?”

He let out a slow, weary sigh. “Sheryl… Zaney didn’t mean anything by it. She just wanted to share her life. That’s why she used a small account. She forgot to disable the contact recommendations.”

“I’ve already asked her to take it down.”

“Do you really have to jump to conclusions like this?”

I wiped the tears from my face. Then laughed. Cold. Bitter. Empty.

“Frans… the woman who spent the night with you wasn’t me.”

“If you really believe that was just two friends sharing a moment, then I sincerely hope you enjoy the life you’ve chosen.”

I ended the call. This time, I didn’t just hang up. I blocked him.

***

That afternoon, I sat quietly in a hospital waiting room, clutching a slip of paper. The doctor had said the procedure was simple. But it would be better to have someone accompany me.

I stared at the wall and realized, I couldn’t even think of a single person I could ask.

“Sheryl?” a voice called from behind me.

I turned. The man in the white coat was tall, strikingly handsome. Surprise lit up his face, along with a bright, unmistakable smile.

It took me a second, then the name came back.

“Harry Klein?”

He laughed. “It’s me! Long time no see! I’m working here now. Are you… feeling unwell?”

He still carried that dazzling energy—like when he used to be the captain of the varsity team and student council president. Everyone had adored him. Everyone except Frans. They never got along. One the school prince, the other a rebellious storm. Two different kinds of brilliance, clashing.

Back then, Harry didn’t pay me much attention. But now, seeing him again, I felt a flicker of warmth.

I nodded and said casually, “I’m pregnant. Here to get rid of it.”

His smile disappeared instantly. “Why?” His voice was tense. “Is Frans… not treating you well?”

So he knew I married him.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Harry lowered his gaze, jaw tightening. He looked genuinely upset. I didn’t know why he cared this much, but it warmed something in me.

I patted his shoulder, trying to defuse the tension. “Anyway, now that I know you’re still in Jiangcheng, let me treat you to a meal sometime.”

As I pulled out my phone to exchange contacts, he hesitated—then said softly,

“Actually… I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“It’s just… you never replied.”

I blinked and suddenly it clicked.

“You’re talking about my old number, right? I lost my phone back then and ended up changing it.”

His eyes widened slightly and I offered an apologetic smile.

“I was abroad at the time, so I didn’t get around to replacing the SIM card. Then… well, it just slipped my mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay! It’s totally fine!” he said quickly. “Here—add me. This time, use the number linked to your WeChat too!”

I nodded, a little amused by how animated he was. Honestly, if he were a puppy, his tail would’ve been spinning like a propeller by now.

After we exchanged contact info, Harry insisted on walking me to the hospital entrance. I smiled my thanks and turned around—only to nearly collide with someone. Strong hands caught me as I stumbled. I looked up and met Frans’s stormy gaze. So… he thought I came here to meet Harry on purpose?

I didn’t bother explaining. I tilted my head, meeting his eyes calmly.

“You installed a tracker in my car?”

Frans didn’t deny it. He simply reached out and tried to pull me into his arms.

“Come home with me.”

“Hey! Hands off!” Harry stepped between us.

Frans’s expression turned even colder. “Who the hell are you? This has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m her senior,” Harry snapped back. “Once a senior, always a senior. Got a problem with that?”

Before I could speak, a car door shut behind us—and Zaney stepped down from the passenger seat. Of course. That seat again. She’s really made herself comfortable there. I pulled away from Frans’s hand and turned to Harry.

“If it’s not too much trouble… could you give me a ride?”

Harry nodded instantly. “Of course. I drive smooth as silk. Unlike some people, I don’t let just anyone use my front seat.”

Frans’s expression was priceless—caught somewhere between fury and humiliation. For the first time in a long while, I felt the urge to laugh. But before we could leave, Zaney rushed toward me, grasping my hand.

“Sheryl, I’m really sorry about this morning. Don’t misunderstand Frans. We just played games all night—if you don’t believe me, you can check the match history.”

I looked at her coldly. Her “no makeup” look was clearly a strategic touch-up. Even her outfit had been carefully chosen to match Frans’s.

There was a faint fir scent lingering on her. It was his scent. Blended with her own floral perfume, it hit me like a wave. Nausea surged without warning. I didn’t even try to hold it back—I turned and threw up right on Zaney.

For a second, her face twisted in sheer disgust. I calmly took the tissue Harry handed me and dabbed the corners of my mouth, hiding a faint smile.

“Sorry,” I said softly, “I’m a bit delicate these days. When I get indigestion, it just comes up. You were standing a bit too close—can’t really blame me.”

The smell hit the air seconds later. Frans’s face twitched as he glanced at her stained blouse.

“Zaney… maybe you should take a cab…”

I took a step back, putting more distance between us, then waved.

“I’ve got things to do. See you around.”

***

Harry was unusually quiet after that. For someone who used to chatter endlessly, he didn’t say another word until the car had left the hospital grounds. I glanced sideways and noticed the tension in his brow. He was angry. But not with them—with me.

Finally, as the city blurred past the windows, he spoke.

“You’re getting a divorce?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

He kept his eyes forward, silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, as if he’d reached some quiet resolution, he gave a slight nod. “…Good.”