When I was eighteen, I walked in on Connor Walker helping a scholarship student with her bra strap. He was a boy then, his expression serious, his movements clumsy and hesitant, the tips of his ears flushed scarlet. Eight years later, at twenty-six, I married Connor, a union mandated by our families. Yet, I was keenly aware of the whispers in Manhattan’s elite circles – how a portrait of that scholarship student was locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I suggested divorce. He signed the papers after a long, heavy silence. "If you ever need anything," he'd said, his voice quiet, "don't hesitate to ask." Later, I walked into a gala, hand-in-hand with my law firm’s new partner. My best friend, Mark, teased, "You two were locked in a fierce debate in college, now who'd have thought you'd be intertwined like this?" Deep into the night, Connor's number lit up my phone. "You insisted on that riverfront condo because you can see his law firm from there?" 1 Outside, the raw wind howled, but inside, the apartment was bathed in a comforting warmth. Across from me on the sofa, Connor sat, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, his long frame lean, his face still etched with the same strong lines as when he was eighteen. Only the fresh cut above his brow stood out, a jarring splash of red. An hour earlier, the precinct had called – Connor had been in a fight. When I arrived, Chloe Davis, our old high school classmate, was cradling his face, meticulously cleaning the wound. She looked up, startled, a wild bird, and flinched away. Connor immediately pulled her behind him, shielding her. "She’s easily spooked. Don't scare her." I said nothing, simply followed the officer to complete the paperwork. By the time I returned, Chloe was gone. On the drive home, Connor was on the phone the entire way, his voice soft, almost caressing, as he soothed the person on the other end. I had never seen him like that—his eyes gentle, filled with doting affection, utterly focused. Every ounce of his patience was reserved for Chloe. The thought of divorce, sharp and clear, sparked in my mind at that very moment. 2 Connor and I were childhood sweethearts, bound by years of shared memories. But Chloe Davis was his elusive "white moonlight," the one he loved but could never have. In high school, Chloe had transferred to our exclusive academy on a scholarship. Her striking beauty and brilliant mind quickly captured Connor’s attention. Then came the day Chloe was accused of stealing class funds, her clothes torn off by a group of girls in a humiliating attack. I raced to the girls’ restroom, only to find Connor emerging from a stall, holding Chloe’s clothes. Chloe had her back to him, her voice thick with tears. "Just go, please. If anyone sees you, it'll be impossible to explain." But Connor simply said, "No need to explain. Just put your clothes on first." Amidst the tense standoff, Chloe fumbled, panicked by the stubborn clasp of her bra. Connor didn’t hesitate. "Here, let me." His expression was grim, his movements clumsy. When he finally fastened the clasp, his ear tips were flushed a fiery red. The moment he turned and our eyes met, a flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by a calm command: "You help her now." As he left, he added, "Keep this quiet." I agreed, but by that afternoon, a photo of Connor helping Chloe with her clothes had spread like wildfire across campus. Connor was convinced I was the leak. For the first time, he unleashed his fury on me. "Layla, don't think just because my parents favor you, I won't do anything. You’re just the daughter-in-law they picked, not my choice!" I stood firm, defiance hardening my voice. "It wasn't me!" He scoffed, a cold sneer twisting his lips. "Who else saw? You're just jealous of her and me." His words struck me like a blast of icy air. "When did you two…?" He impatiently cut me off. "You didn't actually think me looking out for you meant I liked you, did you?" That night, the Walker family learned of the incident. Connor was dragged home and forced to apologize. He stood there, chin defiantly jutted out. "If you like Layla so much, why don't you marry her?" He was met with a harsh punishment, physical in nature, from both parents. Back then, he hadn't yet seen the truth: I was raised from childhood to be the future Mrs. Walker, and as the sole heir, he had no say in his own marriage. In the end, he married me. Chloe transferred schools, and he was sent abroad for eight years of higher education. When Connor returned eight years later, his aura had completely transformed. The boyish awkwardness was gone, replaced by a composed, reserved presence. He found me and proposed marriage. "Since we're both still single, let's just do it." I knew I couldn’t escape the arranged marriage. Marrying someone I knew felt, at the time, like a stroke of luck. Later, I would discover that the first thing Connor did upon returning to the States was to seek out Chloe. But Chloe, with her fierce pride, had rejected him. Marrying me, it turned out, was nothing more than a childish act of spite directed at her. 3 "I have to go out. You should sleep first." Connor's words pulled me back from my thoughts. He rose and walked toward the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone, "Don’t be scared, I'm coming now, they won't dare do anything… Mm, lock the door, wait for me." I stood up too. "So late, and you’re still going out?" He paused briefly, a mere hitch in his stride, then continued toward the door. "Something urgent came up. I’ll be back very late." Just as he reached the threshold, I called out to him again. A flicker of impatience crossed his face. "Something else?" "Connor," I said. "Let's get a divorce." Fury instantly blazed in Connor’s eyes. He clenched his jaw, his voice strained. "What are you stirring up now?" "Chloe was startled today. She has no one else here, so she could only turn to me for help." I looked at him, my gaze unwavering. "Helping her means going to her upscale club every day to back her up?" My voice rose. "The esteemed Mr. Walker, getting into a brawl and ending up at the precinct for a club employee – that's your idea of helping?" Connor’s thin lips formed a cold, hard line. His deep-set eyes held a dangerous warning. "I'll get to the bottom of what happened tonight." He paused, then added, his voice chillingly low, "And it better have nothing to do with you." It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My blood ran cold. In the two-plus years of our marriage, Connor had never once lost his temper with me. It had almost made me believe he’d moved on from Chloe, that he truly wanted to build a life with me. Now, it was clear I had been hopelessly naive. A sudden memory surfaced. Connor’s study had once held a portrait of Chloe. He had painted it himself. He hadn’t hidden it from anyone, not even his family. Grandpa Walker had thrown a colossal fit over it, eventually settling for a compromise: our wedding photo, mine and Connor's, hung in the study instead. The portrait of Chloe, he had locked away in a cabinet. In that moment, I suddenly understood: he had not compromised. He was simply, in his own way, silently defying his family. Outside, the wind howled fiercely. The balcony door in the dining room had been left open, and a rush of cold air swept in, making me shiver uncontrollably. Just then, Connor’s phone emitted a sharp, piercing shriek. Almost simultaneously, the icy darkness in Connor’s eyes shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fear. He strode quickly toward the door. "Chloe, don't be afraid, I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't open the door for anyone…" As he spoke, he was already out the door. The door opened and closed, sealing off all his fleeting tenderness. That night, Connor never came back. I sat alone on the sofa until dawn. As the sky brightened, two messages landed on my phone. One was a photo of Connor and Chloe walking side-by-side into a hotel. The other was a single line of text: "Divorce him. Pick me instead, okay?" Scrolling up, I found three unread messages: "Layla, I'm back." "Whenever you need me, I'm here." "Do you love him that much? Could you love me instead?" I blinked my burning, tired eyes, then quickly tapped a few words onto the screen: "Okay." 4 Connor arrived home the next afternoon. He was wearing a brand-new suit, a brand he would normally never even glance at. He looked immaculate, not a trace of perfume on him. If it weren't for the glaring red marks on his throat, perhaps no one would have believed that he and Chloe had stayed in that hotel room until the afternoon. Likely out of guilt, he had brought me a gift. "I'm sorry. I said some harsh things last night. I apologize." He placed the gift in front of me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already prepared, from a drawer and slowly slid them across to him. "Take a look. If everything's in order, sign them." Connor's brows furrowed. "Just helping an old classmate, and you're making this a big deal? Layla, when did you get so petty?" I ignored his words. "Our prenuptial agreement dictates that our pre-marital assets remain separate. As for post-marital cash, it’s a fifty-fifty split. And for the houses, I only want the riverfront condo." Connor finally looked at me directly, his deep eyes filled with probing inquiry. After a long moment, he gave a cold laugh. "Is this your new tactic?" He didn’t believe me. He thought this was just another attempt to win him back, to manipulate him. And of course, the Walker family’s position in the social elite was unshakeable. How many old families would have done anything to marry their daughters into it? In his eyes, I had no reason to give up the title of Mrs. Walker. But I had considered giving up long ago. It was a perfectly ordinary day. Connor, as usual, had been out entertaining clients, returning home completely drunk. As I helped him, he suddenly pointed at me and snarled, "Layla, your affection disgusts me." I froze. A bitter, suffocating ache filled my chest. I distinctly remembered him liking me too. That year, in freshman high school, Connor and I weren’t in the same class. Our classrooms were directly across the hall from each other. When an earthquake hit the neighboring state, we felt the strong tremors here. That day, Connor was the first person to burst out of his classroom, sprint into mine, and wrap his school jacket around my head. He practically dragged and lifted me, pulling me downstairs. That earthquake caused no damage, and my only injury was the bruising on my wrist from his desperate grip. His friends used to tease him, saying I was his most valuable possession. They even joked about us getting married on the spot. I expected Connor to get angry, but instead, he said, "We will get married." "Oh, come on, don't speak too soon! You're still years away from legal age!" But Connor had declared, "If I get married and she's not by my side, none of you better show up." When we married, all his friends came. But what did it matter? 5 Connor was convinced I was playing a game, using reverse psychology to threaten him. He sat across from me, his gaze cold and indifferent. Every time we’d argued before, I was always the one to back down first. So he assumed this time, too, I would soften and yield. But what he didn't know was that I was absolutely determined to leave. I pulled the divorce papers closer, gripping the pen. Under his chilling stare, I flipped to the last page and signed my name. Then I handed him the pen. "If there are no issues, just sign here." At that moment, Connor finally realized I wasn't joking. He lowered his gaze, his voice incredibly deep, almost a whisper. "Are you sure?" I glanced at my watch. "If we go to City Hall now, we can still make the last appointment." He didn’t speak, just stared at me, his dark eyes searching for a flaw in my resolve. I don't know how long passed, but finally, he lowered his gaze. "Then let's do it." He signed his name. His pen paused suddenly. "Grandpa's birthday gala is next month. I hope we can keep our divorce quiet until after that." I had no objection. I stood up and pulled out the suitcase I’d packed long ago from the corner. "Layla." His voice softened, losing some of its cold edge. "You can continue living here." "No need." If we were divorcing, there was no reason to maintain any ties. "If you ever need anything in the future," he added, "don't hesitate to ask." I didn’t linger. As I reached the front door, he quickly followed. "I’ll drive you." "No, someone’s already coming to pick me up." Downstairs, I saw a tall figure standing under the streetlamp in the distance. The moment he spotted me, he strode forward, his long legs covering the ground quickly, and naturally took my suitcase. Once in the car, I looked at the proud, elegant man in the driver’s seat. "Jackson Reed," I said, "give me one month." Jackson chuckled softly, then leaned over, reaching for my seatbelt. "Just one month. I can wait." 6 Jackson Reed and I were college classmates. Both top students in the law school, we were peers, and competitors. We met during a major debate competition. The topic was: If you had the superpower to make someone love you back, would you use it? Jackson and I were on opposing sides, and that debate was fierce. In the end, my side won. After the debate, he stopped me. "If I had that power, I'd use it without hesitation." I was young and headstrong then, full of proud defiance. My words aimed directly at his heart. "Then you don't deserve to be loved." Jackson looked at me deeply. "I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don't give up, she'll see me." I smiled meaningfully. "So even the brilliant scholar has an unrequited love, huh?" He said nothing, just watched me in silence. Later, we started interacting more frequently through student council, constantly clashing, outwitting each other at every turn. Over four years, we surprisingly became good friends. On graduation day, Jackson asked me out for a drink. I went. He asked me what my plans were after graduation. I said, half-joking, "What else? For people from families like ours, it's marriage, kids, and securing long-term partnerships for the family business." Jackson looked at me very seriously. "Can you wait, then? Five years at most. Can you wait for me?" The bar was too loud. I didn't actually hear what he said clearly. I drained my glass. Almost the instant I set it down, Jackson leaned in and kissed me. That day, I fled. Not because of Jackson's boundary-crossing action, but because I realized I was attracted to him, and I had responded. I was terrified of that feeling of losing control. I turned off my phone, cutting off all contact with the outside world. A week later, when I finally reconnected with my classmates, I learned that Jackson had gone abroad for advanced studies. He was gone for four years. Now he was back, and I was a married woman. 7 "We're here." I snapped back to reality, realizing the car had pulled up outside my apartment building. As I stepped out, he followed. My suitcase was in his hand; he showed no intention of giving it back. We entered the elevator and went up to my floor. At my front door, he didn't step inside. "Layla, want to open a law firm with me?" I was surprised he’d suggest such a thing. After marrying Connor, I’d stopped practicing law. As Mrs. Walker, it wasn’t appropriate to be in the public eye frequently or to do anything that might tarnish the Hayes or Walker family names. For years, I’d just managed small businesses, gradually forgetting I was once a law student. The moment Jackson brought it up, I admit, my heart stirred. But I quickly dismissed the idea. "I'm an amateur now. I’d only drag you down." Jackson had thrived over the years, a rising star everyone in the legal world was betting on. At parties, old classmates spoke of Jackson with envy: "Jackson Reed, the hotshot partner, is earning seven figures a year, pushing for eight. You folks dragging the industry down should really reflect on yourselves." Jackson didn't see it that way. "You can do it, Layla. You always could." He reminded me of our campus days, of my fierce competitive spirit, of the times I'd cornered him in debates, leaving him speechless. "Layla," he said, "since you're starting a new life, why not take one more step forward?" His words swayed me. As I approached thirty, I found the courage to live for myself. The following days, my life became a blur. I was out early and home late every day. It was exhausting, but I felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. It wasn't until I received a call from Grandpa Walker that I realized a whole month had simply vanished. "Layla, what have you been so busy with lately? Why haven't you come to see your grandpa?" The Walker family elders had always been kind to me. Grandpa Walker especially so. There were no granddaughters in this generation of the Walker family, and Grandpa Walker would have showered me with everything good. I explained I'd been busy with work. He said, "Day after tomorrow is Grandpa's eightieth birthday. Don't forget. Oh, and your grandmother ordered a custom gown for you, sent it to the estate. When you have a moment, see if it fits." I nodded repeatedly, chatted a bit more, then hung up. The estate Grandpa Walker mentioned was the Walker family's wedding gift to Connor and me, quite a distance from the city center. For convenience, we usually stayed at The Bayview Lofts. After work, I drove back to the estate to pick up the gown. Divorce was one thing, but showing respect to elders was another. Arriving at the house, I headed straight for the walk-in closet. The housekeeper said my gown had been put away there. The walk-in closet was in the master suite, but for convenience, there was a separate door to it from the hallway. Just as I reached the door, the master suite door swung open without warning. Chloe Davis appeared before me. Seeing me, she recoiled like a startled rabbit, looking flustered. "Ms. Hayes?" I nodded, not intending to linger, and continued walking. I hadn't taken two steps when Connor's lazy voice drifted from behind me: "Who are you talking to…" His voice suddenly cut off. I felt a hot gaze on my back. I turned, nodding blandly at him. "Just came back to pick up the gown Grandpa sent." Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you get it?" "I’m just going to," I replied. I entered the walk-in closet and found the gown in the bottom drawer. Without lingering, I quickly left. But as I reached the turn in the staircase, Connor called out. "Layla, next time you plan to come here, give me a heads-up." He leaned against the railing on the second floor, his shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, revealing clear scratches and hickeys. "Chloe is sensitive. You showing up like this makes her very uncomfortable." I pursed my lips. "While I understand your urgency, we’re not divorced yet. If this gets to the family estate, it'll be difficult for you to explain." Before he could speak, I added, "Tomorrow is the day we finalize the divorce. Don't be late."
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