Georgia stood beside him.

She straightened her back proudly, showing off her fair neck covered in fresh red marks. "Sis, so you were home too. I thought you missed curfew last night and couldn't make it back—figured you'd gone somewhere else."

I ignored her provocation.

I walked toward Wyatt and held out the papers. "This is the divorce agreement I prepared. The money I owe you, I'll pay back slowly. Every cent."

"Pay it back?" His lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "You don't even have a job. With what—yourself? Planning to sell yourself one more time?"

The smile never reached his eyes.

So he knew. Three years of no work, no income—he'd noticed after all.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. "How I pay it back is my business. You don't need to worry about it."

Before Wyatt could respond, Georgia snatched the papers from my hand.

She read them and burst out laughing. "Sis, the electronic version you sent last night was full of typos. Didn't you notice? Where'd you find a lawyer? So unprofessional."

I didn't have money for a lawyer.

I'd typed this agreement myself last night, sitting in the doorway, copying from an online template word by word.

When I sent it to him, I saw he'd accepted the file this morning. I thought he understood how serious I was about ending this marriage.

I didn't expect my desperation would become a joke he shared with another woman.

"Alice, have you made enough of a scene?" Wyatt's gaze swept over me—contempt, disgust. "You think bringing up divorce will get my attention? Put away those low-class tricks of yours."

He didn't give me another chance to speak.

He wrapped an arm around Georgia's waist and walked into his room, leaving me standing there.

Just like our wedding night—when I begged him to stay and he walked into his study without looking back.

Once again, a single door shut me out.

But this time, I didn't knock.

I turned around and went back to my room.

After that, I started looking for work again.

This time, I didn't send resumes to companies. Instead, I chose a high-paying position as a server at the Velvet Lounge.

Working here didn't require a background check. No one knew my identity. No one mocked me for being a gold digger.

Until half a month later.

Following the shift lead's instructions, I carried the liquor order for Room 304 and pushed open the door.

My whole body went rigid.

"Well, well—Mrs. Sanchez herself. Even in a server uniform, you're still a looker."

"Right? Look at that figure. No wonder she could embarrass the Sanchez family and still charm Mr. Sanchez into marrying her."

"Too bad my family doesn't have pockets as deep as Mr. Sanchez's. Can't afford to keep a gold digger. Otherwise I'd want a taste too—see if she's worth two hundred sixty thousand."

Their lewd gazes crawled over me.

My heart lurched. Instinctively, I looked toward Wyatt in the main seat.

He didn't seem surprised to see me.

Calm, unhurried, he toyed with Georgia's delicate hand, as if none of this had anything to do with him.

"Don't talk nonsense." Georgia's voice dripped with false sweetness. "Sis is still Wyatt's wife in name, after all. If you won't give her face, at least give my Wyatt some."

No blame on her face. Just a provocative smirk aimed straight at me.

One of the men rubbed his hands together, emboldened.

"None of us have family money to marry her, but we've got enough to get a taste, right? How much—name your price."

My face went pale.

I stepped back instinctively. "Show some respect! I'm just a server here..."

A vicious light flashed in Georgia's eyes.

She leaned close to Wyatt and whispered something.

The next moment, he actually looked at me.

"Aren't you desperate to pay me back? What's with the chaste-woman act?"

His gaze dripped with contempt as he pulled a divorce agreement from his pocket.

"You want a divorce so badly? Keep them company for one night, and I'll sign."

The men in the private room stirred.

I went mute, my whole body trembling.

Because he signed without hesitation.

And threw it at me.

"Alice, if you want a divorce, show me you mean it."

Then he wrapped an arm around Georgia's waist and walked out without a backward glance.

The sticky gazes behind me made my skin crawl.

"Wyatt, don't go..."

Georgia turned and shot me a venomous look.

Her lips moved: "Stay here and enjoy yourself."

Someone yanked me inside with full force.

In the shifting light and shadows, the door slammed shut.

Cutting off the last bit of light.

Despair drowned me like a tide.

And I had no room to resist.

The next day.

Wyatt's assistant knocked on his door early in the morning.

Seeing the man rush over, a hint of mockery rose on Wyatt's cold face.

"Did she ask you for help last night? I told you—she brought up divorce just to play hard to get..."

The TV in the living room suddenly cut to breaking news.

"Last night at 10:15 p.m., a woman surnamed Henson at the Cloudwave Hotel unfortunately died after being assaulted..."