My wife was a woman with billions of networth. Yet, I dreamed of divorcing her every single day. On paper, she was the kind of woman every man would kill to have.

It all started when my mother fell gravely ill. Her last wish was simple: she wanted to see Freya and her grandson one last time. That day, I dropped everything and rushed home.

What I found wasn't the reunion she’d hoped for instead. When I opened the bedroom door, I saw them, Freya and her first love, together in our bed and very much naked.

I didn't say a word. Just closed the door quietly and left.

I buried my mother alone, in silence. After the funeral, I stepped outside, dialed Freya's number and calmly asked for a divorce.

But it wasn't her voice that answered. It was his, the first love.

"Sorry, Mr. Sauerbeck," the man said with a mocking chuckle. "She's resting right now. Just fell asleep, actually—I happened to help her a bit for that. Hope you don’t mind not disturbing her."

I didn't flinch. "Tell her we’re done," I said flatly.

He gave a dry laugh. "I’ll make sure she gets the message."

——

A few days later, Freya came back from a business trip.

When she walked through the door, I didn’t get up to greet her. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. I just sat there, watching TV, like she was a stranger.

"Go pick out a pajama set for me," she said, already peeling off her clothes as she headed to the shower. "I'm exhausted."

The apartment was silent. There was nobody else but us and the soft rustling of her designer clothes hitting the floor one by one, revealing the body I used to worship. Skin like porcelain, curves like art.

Once upon a time, I’d have leapt at the chance to please her—followed her into the bathroom, offered to scrub her back, begged for her attention.

But nothing of that like happened now. There wasn't even a flicker of desire in my heart.

Freya finished her shower and stepped out in a cloud of steam. When she saw me still sitting there, unmoved, she frowned.

"Where's my clothes?" she asked. "Just get the one with the cartoon print—you used to like that one."

I turned to her, voice calm and steady. "When are we getting divorced?"

She scoffed. "Don’t be ridiculous. That night you called, it was late. I was already asleep."

She dried her hair, not even looking at me. "Alfred just answered for me. He's my assistant, that’s his job. I already told him not to overstep again. You’re not seriously jealous, are you?"

"Jealous?"

She still thought I was the same man. Still thought I cared. She had no idea how far gone I was.

“Alright,” Freya said with a sigh. “Go get my pajamas, will you? I’m really tired. Let’s just go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow we’ll visit your mother at the hospital.”

Her words stabbed through me like ice.

I looked at her with indiference. “Visit my mother? Where exactly do you plan on visiting her?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “At the hospital, obviously.”

Then, as if trying to sound helpful, she added, “Oh, by the way, while I was out of town I looked into some options. There's a clinic in Dracopolis—really good care. I could have someone arrange the transfer. It would be better for her, long-term…”

“My mother is dead!” I cut her off mid-sentence, unable to hold it back any longer. I shouted it.

Freya flinched like I’d slapped her.

She stared at me, stunned. For a second, I think she thought I was lying.

“W-What? Your mother… why didn’t I know about this?” she stammered.

Of course she didn’t know.

When my mother passed, she was here—wrapped in silk sheets with another man, moaning his name. Not a single thought in her head for the woman who raised me.

“Does it even matter anymore whether you knew?” I asked, my voice colder than steel. “When she was still alive, all she wanted was to see you. One last time. But you—you know damn well what you were doing.”

I took a step closer, my eyes locked on hers.

“And now, when her eyes are closed forever, now you want to play the devoted daughter-in-law? What’s the point of this act?”

Freya stood frozen in silence. Without replying, she turned and walked into the dressing room.

A moment later, she reappeared—wearing the cartoon-print pajama set. The one I used to say made her look cute. The one she knew I liked.

She stood across the room, looking at me with a faint, almost childlike sadness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really didn’t know.”

Then she turned and walked quietly into the bedroom.

A sharp ache twisted in my chest again.

We met back in high school. Funny how it all started—we were in the same class. She was the class president; I was her vice.

At first, she always ranked number one. Every test, every subject—she had the top score.

Until one day... On a midterm, my total score missed hers by just one point.

That day, she came to me, smirking like she'd won a war. “Even if it's just one point,” she said, “I’ll always be better than you. Just like I’m president… and you’re only the vice.”

I never understood why she said that. Maybe it was her way of pushing me. Maybe it was just ego. But whatever it was, it lit something in me.

From that day forward, I threw myself into studying with everything I had. I stayed up later, studied harder and sent her late-night messages just to ask: [You still awake?]

It wasn’t concern. It was reconnaissance. I wanted to know how hard she was working—so I could work just a little harder. Just one more minute. Just one more point. Just enough to pass her. To prove myself.

And Freya… she did the same.

Even though she was a girl, she was ruthless when it came to competition. She'd message me too: [You asleep yet?]

Freya wanted the same edge. Wanted to beat me just as badly as I wanted to beat her.

We pushed each other past our limits. Some nights we stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning—both of us too stubborn to be the first to stop.

But the body has its limits. Lack of sleep hit us like a freight train during the day. Eventually, neither of us could keep it up.

Freya cracked first.

One day, she cornered me in the hallway, her face pale with exhaustion. “We need rules,” she said. “Starting now—lights out at 10:30. No exceptions. No more sneaking in extra study time. Promise me.”

I looked at her with doubt. “I can do that,” I said. “But can I trust you not to cheat?”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Please. I don’t need to cheat to beat you. I’ll win fair and square.”

So every night, right at 10:30, we’d both send the same message:

[Stopping now. Goodnight.]

But I lied. I kept going.

Even if it was just thirty more minutes, just one extra chapter, I believed it mattered. I believed every minute counted—that every second of effort would eventually tip the scale in my favor.

Then came another round of test results.

No surprise this time, I beat her. By two points. Freya stared at me like the numbers were lying. Like maybe I’d cheated. Like she couldn’t quite believe it.

Predictably, she was pissed. After class, she texted me to meet her at the cafe just outside school.

The moment she walked in, she didn’t even sit down. She stormed over to the table, slammed her test paper right in front of me.

She asked if I had secretly studied outside our agreement time.

When she confronted me, I felt a pang of guilt and admitted that I had been studying an extra half hour each night. I expected her to explode in anger. Instead, she turned and left without a word.

The next mock exam came and once again, she couldn't surpass me. That day, she broke down in tears right there in the classroom. Our classmates and even the teacher tried to console her.

Later that evening, she asked me to meet her at the small park near our school. Under the dim streetlights, she looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and asked, "Have you been extending your study time again?"

I nodded, "Yes, I still study an extra half hour each night."

She burst into tears.

Only then did I realize the depth of her frustration. She had been pushing herself, studying until 1 a.m. every night, trying to outdo me. Despite her efforts, I still managed to stay ahead.

We were both young and naive. I stood there, watching her cry, feeling helpless and unsure of how to comfort her.

In the next exam, I intentionally made two mistakes, allowing her to surpass me. The errors were obvious and the teacher reprimanded me in front of the class, even calling me into the office for a stern lecture.

While I was in the office, Freya saw my test paper and realized I had let her win on purpose. She asked to meet over the weekend.

But when the time came, she didn't show up. Calls went unanswered. Worried, I searched for her and eventually found her cornered by two thugs in a narrow alley.

Without hesitation, I rushed in to help her, taking a beating that left me hospitalized.

During my recovery, she visited me every day after school, bringing class notes. We studied together, sharing those quiet moments.

Eventually, we both got accepted into the same university. It was then that she confessed her feelings to me.

After we started dating, I discovered that she came from a wealthy family, a true rich heiress.