Julia's POV

Ever since I became a mom, every gift Adrian gave me was for the baby, every single one. Bit by bit, he was boxing me into one identity: Lila’s mom, and nothing more.

My phone buzzed with two simultaneous alerts. One was from the law firm I’d reached out to earlier:

[We heard you took maternity leave—didn’t expect to hear from you.]

[We believe your return will make us stronger.]

[Looking forward to working together.]

I replied with a professional thank-you, closed the chat, and barely had time to set my phone down before another notification popped up.

It was a friend request, with just five words:

[It’s me, Camille Quinn.]

I accepted, and instantly her message appeared, not text, just a photo. A towel dotted with blood, sheets soaked through with moisture. No explanation needed.

A fresh college graduate, with nothing to her name, and she’d already given Adrian everything she could.

Young women like her, so fearless and headstrong, always think they can survive the flame, moths drawn to fire.

In a daze, I seemed to catch a glimpse of my younger self.

When I was sixteen, Adrian and I were the only two from our small town accepted into a prestigious high school. His parents, both middle school teachers, were so excited that they hosted a celebratory party for three consecutive days.

Me?

I didn’t even have the nerve to tell my father.

He was already half-drunk, parked on the front steps with a few empty bottles, sipping beer and toasting with the town matchmaker.

“Damn it,” I remember him saying, “that dead woman Rachel only left me this useless money-drainer. Good thing she takes after her mother. Maybe I’ll still get something decent for her.”

That’s what love looked like in my house.

So when Adrian showed up at the gate, beaming and asking when I’d be heading off to school, I couldn’t even speak. I just stood there, frozen, as the door creaked open behind me.

My father’s voice, suddenly sweet and servile, floated out like honey on rotted bread. “My girl here’s got no issues at all. Once you’re ready, I’ll send her over myself.”

They all looked at me as if I were up for auction.

I dropped my head, too ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze. I could feel the tears coming fast and hot, and they wouldn’t stop.

“I’m not going to school,” I mumbled. “I have to get married.”

Adrian’s voice came from somewhere low, like he was choking on it. “You… want to get married?”

I didn’t answer. I just cried even harder.

That night, Adrian climbed seven flights of stairs with his bare hands just to reach me.

It was dark. Nearly midnight. But his eyes were burning like stars.

“I brought money,” Adrian said, panting. “Come on, let’s go to school.”

Since I was a kid, I’d always been told to obey adults without question. But that night, all I wanted was to hold Adrian’s hand and never let go.

High school wasn’t easy. I got teased for my country accent and my hand-me-down clothes. I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. Meanwhile, Adrian fit in effortlessly. He was relaxed, charming, and always quick with a laugh.

The city kids took to him like he’d always been one of them.

I started keeping to myself, slipping into silence, trying not to be noticed.

But Adrian noticed anyway.

One afternoon, he pulled me aside, his expression unusually serious. “Julia, if you don’t like me hanging out with them, I won’t. I’ll just hang out with you. Just don’t hate me, okay?”

That’s when something in me cracked wide open.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was fading into the background. Everything I’d kept buried—the fear, the shame, the crushing loneliness—came rushing to the surface.

I cried uncontrollably while he quietly stood by, patiently waiting for me to release my emotions.

From that moment on, it became a routine. Adrian consistently sought me out at the back of the cafeteria, where I sat alone with my tray.

Every day, Adrian sat next to me, eating five bowls of plain chicken soup like it was fine dining.

He never cared about the whispers or the looks.

“I’m from a small town, too. If you’ve got a problem with Julia, you’ve got a problem with me,” he’d say, casually.

When our college entrance exam results came out, they were exactly the same.

Tied. Dead even.

Maybe it was fate. Or maybe the universe was just being a little too poetic, trying to tell us we were meant to end up together.

One afternoon, my nerves all jumbled, I finally worked up the courage to ask him where he planned to apply.

He didn’t even blink. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

That was Adrian back then—his love didn’t hesitate. It was bold, steady, and all-in, like he honestly believed I hung the stars. When he loved me, it felt like armor, like nothing in the world could touch me.

“Do you… like me—”

I barely got the words out when a dark shape moved over the sidewalk next to us.

I looked up, and there he was.

My father.

His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes stained and reeking of beer and sweat.

His expression twisted, seething. “Found you, you little brat!”

Julia's POV

“So the worthless prize I paid for finally grows up and runs off with a man, huh?!”

A steel pipe as thick as a man’s arm swung toward me.

In one instinctive move, Adrian leapt forward, shielding me with his body. He pinned me beneath him. I couldn’t see anything, only smell the metallic tang of blood, thick and sharp in the air.

Later, when they lifted him into the ambulance, his eyes were squinting through the pain.

Adrian's voice was quiet and strained as he said, “I really like you. Will you be with me?”

My father was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to three years.

When Adrian and I finally left for the capital to attend school, he still had metal pins in his hand from defending me.

After we graduated, we decided to start a business together. In a tiny, damp basement, we shared a single bowl of plain chicken soup every day.

All my courage had been spent that night we ran away together, in that confession whispered from an ambulance, and during the years we chose to chase a dream despite knowing the odds.

So when Camille sent that photo, I had nothing left to face it with.

The boy who once shared that bowl of chicken soup with me had disappeared somewhere into the world of money and lust.

...

It took me a full week, every waking moment, to pack up my life and Lila’s.

Adrian never came home once during that time. Yet his name haunted every headline.

He arrived at a business gala as Camille’s companion, effortlessly intertwined with her. He treated her to the entire new-season luxury collection to make her day special.

Additionally, one article mentioned that he rented the top floor of the Harborview Hotel. After dinner with her, they enjoyed a private fireworks display on the terrace—just the two of them.

My heart throbbed with a dull, aching numbness.

Throughout this time, Adrian’s notable presentations successfully kept the focus on the headline:

[CEO of Callahan Group Suspected of Marital Crisis]

It consistently ranked at the top of the trending searches.

Beneath it, the comments were merciless:

[If I were Adrian Callahan, I’d pick the assistant, too. Youth always wins.]

[They’re showing up everywhere together. You know it’s already over.]

[I told you since she gave birth, his wife’s aged like crazy.]

[He looks so much better with the assistant, honestly!]

I remember when a tabloid tried to print an article about our supposed separation. Adrian stopped it before it could be published. He forced the reporter to issue a public apology, and the reporter later vanished from the media landscape.

He knew how much I cared because he had once paid special attention to every online comment.

But now, it seemed as though he was silent, finally pulling the curtain down on our marriage.

...

That morning, I stepped into the office and was met with a mountain of files piled high on my desk.

A full week away, and Adrian hadn’t asked once where I’d gone.

I brushed the folders aside with a sigh and called over Jenna Whitman.

She came in looking a little nervous, and I didn’t waste time. I pulled open a drawer, took out the 'Director of Legal Affairs' badge, and placed it around her neck.

Her eyes widened in shock. “Ma’am, what—”

“I’ll transfer all system permissions to you today,” I said, already moving on to the next file. “And let IT know that if Mr. Callahan doesn’t sign a document, it doesn’t come through Legal anymore.”

Jenna glanced down at the badge, then back at me. “Attorney Henderson, are you really… done? With Sir Adrian?”

I met her gaze and nodded, my voice firm. “That’s right. It’s over.”

After clearing out all the pending files, I took the divorce agreement and headed to the top floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, laughter spilled out from down the hall.

“Still acting low-key, Camille? I heard the news from Jenna today!"

"Exactly! No one fits the role of Adrian Callahan's wife better than you."

“We’re waiting for the official announcement. Once it drops, you’ll be our queen then.”

Meanwhile, Camille sat at the assistant’s desk, radiating joy like a flower in full bloom. When she saw me, her expression showed no surprise at all.

“Julia, here for Mr. Callahan?” she asked casually, like we were best friends competing for attention.

It had been only a week, and Adrian’s office was already overflowing with mannequins and high-end women’s gowns.

Camille turned and smiled at me over her shoulder.

“Adrian is taking me to a gala tonight.”

Julia's POV

“I didn’t know what to wear,” Camille giggled. “So he brought over every new dress from the collection for me to choose from.”

After our daughter arrived, I struggled to hold myself together. Adrian’s office was sleek and spacious. One day, I gently asked if I could leave Lila’s bottle and warmer there, just for convenience. He snapped.

“This is a workplace, not a nursery!”

Turns out, some so-called principles were flexible after all.

Now, his office looked more like a boutique than a boardroom. Mannequins lined the far wall, each one dressed in high-end evening gowns from the latest designer line. Hangers draped with sequins and silk peeked out from behind his leather chair. Fabric swatches lay across the desk, like this was some fitting room, not the CEO’s office.

Ignoring them, I took a breath and stepped further into the space, heels clicking softly as I made my way to Adrian’s desk.

I pulled the divorce agreement from my bag and placed it in front of him.

“Adrian, this is the divorce agreement. I’ve already signed it.”

He paused, staring down at the papers.

Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Take it away. I’m not signing—”

Suddenly, Camille gasped sharply. “Oh no! This isn’t happening!”

She clutched the hem of her dress, lifting it with trembling hands. A clear, dirty shoe print marred its pale fabric.

“Adrian, this was the last gown my mom designed before she passed.”

Tears poured down her cheeks.

Adrian’s Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke. “Go clean off the shoe print.”

Then his gaze locked on me, his voice cold and commanding. “You stepped on it, Julia. Clean it!”

I stared back at him and responded, “I didn’t step on it. I’m not cleaning it.”

Camille's sobs grew louder. “You’re the only one who walked past. Who else could it have been?! You know it was you!”

Before I could respond, Camille’s phone rang. She answered and put it on speaker.

A woman’s voice screamed through the room, loud and vicious. “You slut! Who told you to seduce Adrian?! You’ll die a miserable death, homewrecker! I swear I’ll get justice for Julia!”

Camille’s eyes glistened as she turned to Adrian, her voice fragile. “Adrian, I started getting all these hateful messages out of nowhere…”

Adrian’s hand clenched, veins bulging in his wrist.

“You had someone do this?” he asked. “Really, Julia? Attacking a fresh grad? Aren’t you ashamed?!”

Without hesitation, Adrian grabbed a pen, signed the divorce papers in anger, and flung them to the floor.

“You disgust me!”

I bent, picked up the agreement, and walked away without a word. Whatever noise happened behind me, I didn’t look back.

Adrian sank into his chair, panting. His gaze wandered to the papers scattered on the floor. Suddenly, his gaze landed on a small bundle of hair pressed beneath the divorce agreement.

In a flash, he was on his feet and bolting out the door, but it was too late.

I was already gone.

Adrian rushed downstairs, just in time to see me step into a blue Bentley.