Where Fireworks Faded to Embers

How rich could a person get?

My husband was extremely wealthy. The world knew him as Yvan Ellison, the person who owned nearly half of Ember City's real estate.

In the five years of our marriage, he would transfer a property to my name whenever he went out for a rendezvous with his true love.

By the time I owned ninety-nine properties, he suddenly realized that I had changed.

I no longer cried or caused a scene. I did not beg him to stay home.

I simply chose the best villa in Ember City, held the property transfer agreement in my hands, and waited for him to sign.

When he finally did, he showed the first hint of softness in years.

"When I get back, I'll take you to see the fireworks."

I obediently put the agreement away and gave a soft hum.

I just did not tell him that this time, the document he signed… was our divorce papers.

The office buzzed with the low murmur of the TV, where the latest buzz was all about Wren Smith's homecoming.

Yvan Ellison's eyes were glued to the screen, not even flickering as he took the property transfer papers from my hands and scribbled his signature.

That villa out on Ember City's west side, the one no amount of money could buy, meant nothing to Yvan.

Just like how I meant nothing to him.

As the news anchor signed off, Yvan's mood lifted. He spun the pen in his fingers, a playful grin on his face as he handed the papers back to me. "What's this now? Over sixty houses to your name? You're practically rolling in it, aren't you?"

The thrill in his voice was not for me, though. It was all for Wren, who was coming back to town.

I just nodded, standing there before him. "I really like that villa, it has a sea view."

I kept it to myself that this was the hundredth property he had transferred to me.

Yvan had chased after me once upon a time, and I had turned him down 99 times. However, his stubborn love won out on the hundredth try, and we tied the knot.

That love did not stick around for long, though. It lasted right up until Wren made her first trip back.

Our first wedding anniversary rolled around, and I was there, soaking in the romantic candlelit dinner Yvan had set up, waiting for him to walk through the door.

Instead, I got a property transfer and a short, simple apology.

"Sorry, Lucille, I missed our anniversary. You'll forgive me, right?"

I brushed off the heavy perfume that was not mine clinging to him and forgave him, my voice barely above a whisper.

I figured it was only fair to forgive him 99 times, just like those 99 rejections before we got married.

However, then came the second, third, fourth times…

Five years in, and he had ditched me time and again for his true love, Wren.

Even later, before he went to chase after his dream girl, he started giving me keys to a new house.

From the first to the ninety-ninth time.

Each time, I let it slide.

However, now, it was the hundredth time.

'Yvan, after this, I won't have to forgive you ever again,' I told myself.

With that thought, I let out a small, relieved laugh and looked at him with a newfound peace.

Yvan hesitated, then looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

I caught a glimpse of something like pity in his gaze.

Then, with a slight uncertainty, he said, "When I get back, let's go watch the fireworks together."

Before, any hint of tenderness from him would have sent me into a daydream of getting him back.

I would have begged, then felt hopeless.

Because Yvan always had a way of icily peeling away my hope, leaving me with just one word. "Crazy."

However, thankfully, I had been through that madness ninety-nine times already.

Then, I was done. No more fooling myself.

Because, in the pile of papers I had just handed him, I had slipped in a divorce agreement.

'Yvan. In thirty days, we'll have nothing to do with each other,' I thought.