To honor the concealed marriage agreement, Lilian moved out of our bedroom and into the guest room.

She laid down the law with cold clarity: no riding to work together, no speaking at the office unless I addressed her as "Boss," and whatever was going on with Nathan was just for show—I wasn't to read into it.

After drawing that line in the sand, she vanished for three days.

It wasn't until I called in sick, burning up with fever, that she finally bothered to call.

"Taking a sick day after just a few days on the job? Don't be dramatic. You'll have to get yourself to the hospital. I'm on a business trip—I don't have time to babysit you."

Exactly what I'd expected.

Half-delirious, I managed a weak, "Yeah."

Then, a man's voice—unmistakably Nathan's—cut through the receiver, clear and intimate. "Lilian, come help me with my tie!"

The line went dead before I could speak, but not before I heard the quick scuff of her footsteps, hurrying to him.

I opened Instagram. Nathan's new profile picture was a perfect match for Lilian's. A set.

I remembered all the times I'd begged her to use a couple's photo when we were together. She always refused, calling it juvenile, tacky, lacking class.

Now, she'd done it willingly. With him.

My phone soon lit up with a barrage of her calls and messages.

I replied just once: [On my approved sick leave. I'll be sure to follow up when I'm back, Boss.]

After finishing my IV drip, I dragged my fever-weakened body back to the office. My colleagues barely glanced my way. They piled work onto my desk like always. To them, I wasn't a coworker—just an ex-con the boss had pitied, which meant I should be grateful for the extra load.

Gritting my teeth, I opened my locker and began stuffing every relic of our relationship—the matching mugs, the framed photos, the silly keychains—into a black trash bag. If I'd known she wanted our love story kept in the shadows, I'd never have brought any of it into the light.

I was just about to toss the bag when Lilian stormed in.

Without a word, she seized my wrist and dragged me into the stairwell.

Her eyes darkened when she saw the bag in my hand. "You have time to take out the trash, but not to answer my calls?"

The sharp, expensive scent of a man's cologne on her made me step back instinctively. "I replied," I said flatly.

That was all it took. Lilian erupted. "Why did you call me 'Boss' in your text?"

What was the difference? She was the one who made the rule. Why was she angry when I followed it?

Seeing my silence as defiance, she let out a cold laugh. "You know I can't stand petty, jealous men. Don't become someone I despise."

Then she snatched the bag from my grasp and hurled it to the ground.

The crash of shattering glass and ceramic echoed in the concrete space. Without a backward glance, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply down the stairs.

I looked at the shattered photo frames and cracked mugs scattered across the tiles. It felt like our past had broken apart with them.

With numb fingers, I gathered the pieces. Then I called my lawyer and had him draft a divorce agreement.

When the papers were ready, I printed a copy and went to her office.

I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open before I could.

Her cold eyes met mine. I kept my voice steady as I held out the folder. "Sign this when you have a moment."

Without even reading the title, Lilian flipped to the last page and scrawled her signature.

Then, in a tone as calm as if she'd just approved a routine memo, she handed it back. "Good. You're coming with me to an event tonight. Make yourself useful—you'll be drinking for me."

I frowned. Lilian could drink most people under the table. Why would she need me?

Before I could ask, Nathan stepped out from behind her, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Wow, Boss, you remembered! I'm on meds and can't touch a drop. You're a lifesaver."

Nathan lounged beside Lilian, his arm slung over her shoulder as if he owned the space. When he noticed me, he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"The boss is such a mother hen. It's just a little cold, but she's banned me from drinking and even wanted me to skip work. I had to beg her just to get an invite to this dinner."

Lilian responded with a doting smile, tapping the tip of his nose. "Then don't you dare complain when it's time for your medicine later."

They looked like a perfect couple—effortless, intimate, natural.

The divorce papers in my hand suddenly felt weightless. For the first time, I felt a strange, hollow sense of freedom.

At the restaurant, after Lilian exchanged pleasantries with the business partners, she turned to introduce us.

"This is Nathan Ramsey, my department manager," she said, her voice brimming with pride.

When her gaze landed on me, the client's boss frowned in recognition.

"Ah, I remember this young man. Didn't he do time for fraud? Ms. Parson, it's admirable of you to stand by him. Most would have cut ties completely."

Lilian went rigid. She shot me a quick glance, then forced a thin smile and let the remark hang in the air, offering no correction.

Throughout the meeting, she and Nathan sat so close their shoulders touched. She kept throwing me subtle glances—signals to top up his wine, to intercept toasts meant for him.

Their intimacy didn't go unnoticed. One of the partners chuckled, leaning in. "Lilian, you and Nathan make quite the team. Come on, tell us—are you two married?"

The air in the room went still. Lilian's eyes darted toward me, a crack of hesitation in her flawless composure.

Then, in perfect, damning unison, we both answered, "No."

The same word. But the moment I said it, her head whipped toward me, her face a mask of pure shock.

When the clients excused themselves to the restroom, my phone buzzed with a message from her: [It was just an act for the clients. Don't read into it.]

An act for her. The truth for me.

After all, she had already signed the papers.

I read the message, then placed my phone face down on the table.

Lilian, seated across from me, shifted as if to come over. Before she could, I stood and walked out, heading for the restroom.

As I stepped out of the stall, I found Nathan blocking my path, arms crossed, radiating smug superiority.

"Sonny," he sneered, "you're pathetic. What kind of man is so despised by his own wife? If I were you, I'd be too ashamed to show my face."

I turned on the faucet and began washing my hands. "That's no longer your concern, Nathan."

I moved to leave, but he shifted to block the doorway, his eyes sweeping over my clothes with contempt.

"Still wearing those rags? Oh, that's right," he smirked, "Lilian's probably been spending all her money on my new wardrobe. My mistake."

The luxury brands he was draped in seemed to scream the difference between one single dollar… and one hundred million.

A bitter acid rose in my throat. I brushed past him, nearly stumbling in my haste to get away.

When I returned to the private room, I grabbed my things, ready to leave.

Lilian immediately appeared in front of me, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Wait. I'll give you a ride home later."

I opened my mouth to refuse, but before I could speak, Nathan burst back into the room, his face pale with panic.

All conversation stopped as Lilian instantly dropped my arm and rushed to his side.

He was frantically patting down his pockets, then dumped the contents of his bag onto the table. His expression shifted from confusion to sheer dread.

"Lilian," he finally gasped, his voice sharp with alarm. "My watch… the custom-made one… it's gone!"

The moment Nathan spoke, the room erupted into chaos. Everyone started tearing the place apart, looking for his missing watch.

As they searched, he kept up a steady, loud mutter. "Lilian gave me that for my birthday. It's worth over three million. I can't lose it!"

I didn't know what game he was playing, but I wanted out. I was almost at the door when Nathan stepped in front of me.

"Sonny," he said, his voice slick with false concern. "Why don't you just let me check your bag? It would clear the air. Otherwise, this looks... suspicious."

I knew I had nothing to hide. "I'm not playing your game, Nathan. Look for it yourself."

But when I tried to push past him, he grabbed my bag. We struggled, and everything inside spilled onto the floor.

And there, gleaming among my keys and wallet, was his watch.

The air left my lungs in a rush. I looked up and met his eyes—they were mocking, triumphant. This was a setup.

"You planted this," I said, my voice low and tight.

When I turned, I was met with a wall of cold, contemptuous stares.

Lilian stood among them, her brow furrowed, her eyes filled with pure disgust.

"I didn't take it!" The words tore from me, desperate and broken.

But they sounded weak against the damning evidence.

Nathan bent down and picked up the watch, his face a mask of wounded betrayal. "This watch means everything to me. How could you, Sonny? I really believed you'd changed after prison... but I guess old habits die hard." He shook his head sadly. "I don't think I can work with a thief."

His words were a perfectly aimed knife.

The lead client snapped. "Ms. Parson! We are done here!"

He and his team stormed out in a wave of disgust.

I moved to go after them, to explain, but a stinging slap cracked across my face.

I froze.

Lilian stared at me, her face like stone, her voice colder than I had ever heard it. "I brought you here as a favor. I can't believe you would embarrass me like this. You're nothing but a common thief."

Her words hurt more than the slap.

She, of all people, knew who I was. Why I went to prison. Who I did it for.

But the fury in her eyes left no room for the truth.

A bitter smile touched my lips. I held out my phone to her. "Then call the police."

She stared at the phone, her frown deepening, but she didn't take it.

We stood there, locked in a suffocating silence. And in that silence, I finally saw her—truly saw the stranger she had become.

Finally, she let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Unbelievable."

She turned, slipped the watch back onto Nathan's wrist, and led him away, her voice soft and soothing.

When the door closed, I was alone. Surrounded by the wreckage.

I crouched, gathered my scattered things, and walked out without a backward glance.

That night, the airport terminal was quiet and empty. I sat alone, drafting my resignation letter. But her message arrived first: [Don't come back to the company. Stay home and think about what you've done.]

I let out a hollow laugh.

Without a second thought, I took a picture of the signed divorce papers and sent it to her.

Then I typed: [I wish you and Nathan all the happiness you deserve. But before the wedding, you might want to finalize our divorce. Unless you'd like me to report you for bigamy.]

The message had just been delivered when my screen lit up. Lilian was calling. Again and again and again.