With nothing more to say, Georgia left the venue with Reniel in tow.

The atmosphere froze, suffocating and silent.

Forcing a polite smile, I turned to the guests.

“Please... enjoy your meal.”

When we got home, the left side of my face was still burning faintly.

After coaxing Lewis to sleep, I collapsed on the couch. It felt like someone had hollowed out my chest, leaving only a pit of bitterness behind.

Like dozens of lemons were being pounded into my heart—sour, aching, and tight.

Even breathing became a struggle.

It wasn’t until deep into the night that I heard the door creak open.

Georgia walked in and reached to touch my face, but I pulled away.

“I was wrong, Emerson.” She knelt before me, rubbing her cheek lightly against my knee.

“But you were the one who hit someone first.”

“Reniel was drunk—he said something stupid. Why take it seriously?” She smiled, stood up, and brushed her nose against mine like nothing had happened.

“Can’t you just forgive me?”

The moonlight streamed in through the window, and I caught the scent of men’s cologne lingering on her collar.

I picked up the divorce agreement from the table and handed it to her, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Georgia, let’s get a divorce.”

“Divorce?” Her smile froze. She took the document and flipped through it again and again.

Once she realized I was serious, she snapped. The papers were flung into my face.

“Are you out of your mind, Emerson?”

“Lewis just turned one, and now you want a divorce?”

“You think this is something you can solve with a couple of words?”

“I know I was wrong today. I hit you. But everything has a cause, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve already apologized. How long are you going to keep acting like a stubborn child?”

“Don’t forget—you’re a father now.”

“Keeping this family together should be your top priority!”

She went on and on, never once noticing the tears falling silently from my eyes.

The sting on my face returned—tears seeping into the cut left by a staple, burning like salt in a wound.

Georgia instinctively reached for her wallet—but her hand stopped, frozen mid-motion.

“You used your last bandage on Reniel, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice was low.

“And you even ordered that bowl of porridge for him, right?”

Her expression shifted, but she answered smoothly,

“So what if I did? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You want a divorce over a bowl of porridge and a bandage?”

“Emerson, you’re being ridiculous!” Her voice grew louder and louder, waking Lewis in the next room. His cries pierced the silence of the living room.

Watching her frown in irritation, I asked, “Do you even know where his formula and bottles are kept?”

The question caught her off guard. She stood still, speechless.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Of course she didn’t know.

Since giving birth, Georgia had always kept her distance from Lewis.

She refused to breastfeed during his infancy, and barely even looked at him.

“I hate the way my body looks now. I hate myself since giving birth!”

I could still hear her breakdown like it happened yesterday.

Cradling Lewis’s bottle, I turned to head back into the bedroom. But first, I signed the divorce agreement.

“You should sign it too,” I said without looking at her. “If not, I’ll file for divorce on the grounds of infidelity.”

“And trust me—if it comes to that, you won’t be walking away with much.”

She tried to speak, but I gently cupped her face—the one I used to love so deeply.

“There’s a lingering taste on your lips,” I murmured, “of the red wine Reniel was drinking tonight.”

“What did you two really do? It’s not that hard to guess.”

After putting Lewis back to sleep, I returned to find the living room empty.

Georgia was gone.

The divorce agreement lay shredded in the trash.

On the table, placed neatly, was a luxury boutique shopping bag—the very one she’d been hiding behind her back when she came in.

When I opened the bag, a limited-edition designer baby blanket lay inside.

My gaze darkened slightly.

Ever since I became a father, every gift Georgia gave me had something to do with the child.

It was clear—she wanted to bind me tighter and tighter to the role of “Lewis’s father.”

Not a husband. Not a man. Just the father of her child.

My phone buzzed twice in quick succession.

The law firm I had previously contacted had finally responded.

[We heard Attorney Greene had temporarily stepped back to care for his child—what a surprise to see you reaching out again.]

[With you joining us, our team will undoubtedly grow even stronger.]

[Looking forward to working with you.]

I replied with a polite message, exited the conversation, and saw a new friend request pop up.

The verification message was just three words.

[It’s me, Reniel.]

The moment I accepted, a message came through with a photo.

There were bloodstains on the towel, and the bedsheet was still damp with lingering traces.

[Your wife said I satisfy her more—and that she wants to give me her "first time" after getting a repair procedure.]

The implication was clear.

A freshly graduated kid, with nothing to his name, clinging to Georgia’s affection as if it were the whole world.

He thought she’d given him her “entire heart.”

And now he was desperate to prove himself. To flaunt his supposed place in her life.

Youth always has a way of charging headfirst into the fire.

And at that moment, I saw myself—years ago.

At sixteen, Georgia and I were the only two students from our small town to get into a prestigious high school.

Her parents, both teachers, were so proud they threw three days’ worth of banquets.

On the other hand, I didn’t even dare tell my guardians.

My biological parents died when I was eight, and I was taken in by my uncle.

Living under someone else’s roof taught me early on how to read faces and keep my head down.

That night, I still remember the smell of liquor in the room.

Three or four beer bottles rolled under my uncle’s chair as he toasted the factory manager, casting me a glance.

“My damn sister died too early, leaving me this burden to feed.”

“Good thing it’s a boy, and strong enough. Should fetch a decent price, right?”

“Of course,” the factory manager chuckled.

“Eighty percent of his wages will go to you, ten percent as an agent fee. Fair deal.”

Just a few drinks, a few crude words, and the path of my life was sealed.

So when Georgia excitedly found me and asked when I’d report to the new school, I stammered, unable to speak a full sentence.

Then the front door creaked open.

My uncle's voice came with a greasy smile. “This boy is in great shape. Just say the word and I’ll send him over.”

They looked me up and down like I was livestock.

“I’m not going to school,” I muttered. “I’m going to work.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you want to go?” Georgia asked, her voice quiet and uncertain.

My silence was her answer.

That night, she came back.

Under the cover of darkness, her eyes sparkled brighter than the stars.

“I brought money,” she whispered. “Let’s go. You’re going to school.”

My dying parents had begged me to obey my uncle, to be good.

But at that moment, I only wanted to grab Georgia’s hand and run.

In high school, I was mocked relentlessly for my accent, my old clothes.

Meanwhile, Georgia—bright, and outgoing quickly became friends with the city kids.

One day, sensing my unease, she pulled me into a corner.

“Emerson, if you don’t like me hanging out with them, I’ll stop. I’ll only stay with you.”

“Just don’t hate me, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

All my bottled-up emotions burst out.

I wept in silence while she waited patiently, saying nothing—just letting me pour out everything I had buried inside.

From then on, she always found me during lunch breaks. Sat beside me in the far corner of the cafeteria.

Every day, we shared a bowl of plain porridge that cost just fifty cents.

When classmates gave us strange looks, Georgia remained calm and unapologetically firm.

“I’m from a small town too. If you look down on Emerson, then you’re looking down on me.”

Georgia and I had scored the exact same marks on our college entrance exams.

Curious and hopeful, I asked her which university she wanted to apply to.

Without hesitation, she said, “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

Georgia’s love had always been passionate and sincere.

“Do you like—” Just as I was about to ask, my uncle stormed into view.

His eyes were bloodshot with rage. “There you are, you little bastard!”

“You've got guts now, huh? Fooling around with a girl?”

“Because you ran off, I couldn’t deliver you on time and nearly got my legs broken!”

The steel pipe in his hand was as thick as an arm. He swung it toward me without warning.

But Georgia threw herself in front of me, shielding me with her own body.

I couldn’t see anything because she pressed me to the ground so tightly—but the sharp scent of blood began to flood the air.

When she was taken away in the ambulance, her eyes were scrunched shut from the pain, and her voice was barely audible.

“I do like you..."

"Will you be with me?”

My uncle was sentenced to three years in prison for intentional assault.

When we arrived in the capital for college, Georgia still had surgical screws in her hand.

After graduation, we chose to start a business together.

In a cramped basement apartment, we once shared a single bowl of porridge for dinner.

My courage had been born in three moments.

The first was when I ran away with her that night. The second when I confessed in that blood-stained ambulance, and the last was when I chose to start a business despite the odds.

So now, when I saw the photo Reniel sent me, I had no courage left to face it.

The girl who once sat beside me eating plain porridge under the moonlight—pure, quiet, radiant—had been swallowed by luxury, lust, and noise.

It took me a week to pack up everything that belonged to me and my son.

During that time, Georgia never came home.

But the news about her never stopped flooding my ears.

She took Reniel to business banquets, walking hand-in-hand, flaunting their intimacy.

She bought the entire new collection of luxury watches—just to make him smile.

One press release even said she rented out the top floor of Paramount Hotel. After dinner with Reniel, they watched a private fireworks show on the rooftop.

The numbness in my chest slowly twisted into a dull ache.

Her bold displays had landed the headline [CEO of Herrera Group Rumored to Be Facing Divorce] firmly at the top of trending searches.

The comment section was buzzing.

[If I were her, I’d pick the assistant too. Youth is priceless.]

[If they dare show up in public like this, they’re probably already divorced.]

[Let’s be honest—men age twice as fast after 25. Powerful women want younger men now.]

[She and the assistant really do look more matched.]

I still remember when a gossip reporter once tried to spread rumors about me and Georgia breaking up.

Before the article could go live, Georgia blocked it entirely.

She made that reporter apologize publicly—and after that day, he vanished from the industry.

She knew how much I cared. She was always extra cautious about any news involving us.

But now... it feels like she’s quietly pulling down the curtain on our marriage.

I returned to my office. Piles of paperwork towered on my desk.

I’d taken a week off, and Georgia hadn’t once asked where I’d gone.

Brushing the files aside, I called my assistant in.

When I handed her the department access pass labeled [Director of Legal Affairs], her pupils widened.

“I’m transferring full permissions to you,” I told her calmly.

“Let the system know—any documents that Georgia doesn’t have time to approve of should no longer be forwarded to the Legal Department.”

“Sir, you’re not seriously splitting with President Herrera...”

I nodded. “It’s over.”

After processing every backlog of paperwork, I picked up the divorce agreement and headed to the top floor.