Oliver Sterling rested his elbow on the window seal of his car, smiling at the paparazzi. "If you're looking to sell those scandalous shots, make sure you find my wife. She’s the one who actually enjoys handling this crap." Mention Oliver Sterling's wife, and everyone in our high-society circle would roll their eyes in unison. "The ultimate gold-digger. She’d never dream of divorcing him." Nobody seemed to remember that three years ago, when Oliver actually deigned to marry me, he had explicitly warned them all to go easy on me. "This is my wife. She's young, so try to cut her some slack in the future." Everyone expected me to do what I always did: write a massive check to the tabloids, bury this latest affair, and continue playing the role of Oliver’s adoring, wealthy wife. But this time, I was done. I pushed open his father’s study door. "It’s been three years. It’s time you let me go." 1 In Los Angeles, the tabloids have an unwritten rule. If an entertainment reporter is short on their quota for the month, they go go stake out Oliver Sterling, the CEO of Sterling Group. He has a new girlfriend every month, and he’s flagrant about it. It requires zero effort to catch him. He’s a powerful, handsome man; scandal is just par for the course. But what about his wife? She keeps things polite, maintains an immaculate reputation, and when you catch her husband messing around, you can take the footage straight to her. She pays top dollar to kill the story, no questions asked. It was just another business transaction, until the script flipped. A rookie paparazzi had managed to get footage of Oliver and cornered him. Oliver had directed him to me, and the clip arrived just as I was getting home from the office. I stood in the foyer of our sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills. I looked out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the panoramic view of the Los Angeles skyline. The voice on the phone continued, trying to sound tough but clearly amateur. "Mrs. Sterling, it's just fifty grand. That’s, like, what you spend on a handbag. Only fifty grand to bury your husband’s scandal. It’s a total steal. Think about it, and call me back at this number..." This paparazzi wasn't very bright. His first mistake was following Oliver, and his second was brazenly knocking on Oliver's car window. Oliver's cars aren't exactly inconspicuous. He has hundreds in his collection, yet he insists on driving the same flashy Lamborghini for days at a time. In the video, Oliver rolls down the window. In the passenger seat is a woman wearing almost nothing. Last month, when I received photos of the previous girl, that seat was occupied by a rising starlet from New York. Oliver removes his sunglasses, revealing a face that is, quite frankly, nearly perfect. He hooks his finger, motioning for the paparazzi to come closer. When the guy approaches, Oliver speaks in a lazy, encouraging drawl. "New guy? You’re not very smart, are you? You’re supposed to take the pictures, then find my wife. I don’t pay for this crap. She does." "You don't have her number?" He pulls a piece of paper, scribbles a few numbers down, and slaps it into the paparazzi’s hand. Then, he glances at the woman beside him and tsc'ks. "Get out." The woman leans in, whining, "Oliver, honey, you said we had three days. It’s only been a few hours..." Oliver tosses a platinum credit card at her and hits the unlock button. "Only a few hours and we’re already caught. Are you getting out, or do I have to drag you? Scram." I clicked off the video, my expression perfectly calm. I sat at the long dining table as the housekeeper began placing one elaborate dish after another in front of me. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck eight. 2 I looked up at the antique clock. Oliver had brought it back for me from a trip to Paris seven years ago. I was seventeen when I applied to college in California, and eighteen when I met Oliver Sterling. Back then, aside from that face, he was entirely low-key. Despite being incredibly intelligent, he’d pretend to be completely lost in class, claiming he’d forgotten everything, just so he could hang around me and ask for my help. Within two weeks, people who knew him were pulling me aside, whispering, "You really think he’s just another pretty face? That’s Oliver Sterling. His father is on the board of trustees, and Oliver is the heir to the Sterling Group." Later, Oliver left school, refusing to listen to anyone’s advice, and spent his days driving between campus and downtown LA, waiting for me. Those years were a blur of minor arguments and passionate reconciliations. I guarded my heart, opening it up only to shut it tight again, over and over. At twenty-five, after survives a hundred trials of our own making, I finally married him. The wedding was a spectacle, a 'wedding of the century' that still made the tabloids occasionally. It was one specific, trashy rag that went too far, using a headline so disrespectful it managed to grab attention from the major outlets. Oliver saw the paper the next morning. After reading it, he simply pressed his coffee cup down onto it. Later, I found out that that elaborate newspaper was the very last one that tabloid ever published. Small things, one by one. If I thought about it from the beginning to the end, I could convince myself that Oliver and I had once truly loved each other that deeply. But in the end, how did we end up like this antique clock—old, useless, with barely enough energy to keep ticking? The elevator numbers flashed, indicating it had reached the third floor, and the doors opened. Oliver walked in, his suit jacket draped over his arm. The harsh overhead lights of the elevator did nothing to diminish the striking lines of his face. I spared him one glance, then returned my focus to my dinner. A minute later, I heard the sound of his jacket hitting the sofa. Then, the scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne—his signature scent—instantly enveloped me as he approached. Oliver stood behind me, leaning down with his hands gripping the table edge on either side of me, effectively caging me in his embrace. His voice was casually dismissive. "Good evening, Mrs. Sterling. Let's see... what’s this latest news worth to you?" He reached out and tapped my phone, clicking onto the text message folder. "Fifty grand? Wow, reporters are cheap these days. That’s less than you spend on dinner. If I didn't know better, I’d think my reputation was depreciating." I set my fork down, my back perfectly straight, keeping a deliberate inch of space between me and his chest. I didn't acknowledge his jab. Instead, I changed the subject. "I am not approving Maya Jenkins for the position of Marketing Director. I will be rejecting her application." Sure enough, at the mention of that name, Oliver immediately stood up, and that overwhelming, enveloping presence vanished. He sat in the chair directly opposite me, his hands gripping the back of the chair, his gaze fixed on the view outside. "You don't need to worry about her." "Or maybe—" Oliver shifted his gaze back to me, resting his chin on his hand as he studied my face. "You just can't stand her?" I looked directly into his eyes, searching for something, anything. I found nothing. The outside world only knew that Oliver Sterling had a revolving door of girlfriends. Nobody knew that they were all just a smokescreen for Maya Jenkins. Two years ago, Oliver sent her to London for grad school, just to pad her resume so he could install her as a director at the company upon her return. It wasn't that I couldn't stand her. I was simply doing my job. Sterling Group’s hiring standards are notoriously strict. We only recruit from the top twenty universities. Maya Jenkins, a high school graduate, had spent eighteen years working at a department school. The school she went to in London was a total diploma mill. If this was his idea of "unconventional talent search," I failed to see the talent. My voice was flat. "We are talking business. I don’t let my personal feelings interfere with work." Oliver didn't respond. After a long moment, I heard a voice message play from his phone. The voice was dripping with seductive affectation. "Oh, Mr. Sterling, I think I left my... little panties... in your car. When would be a good time for me to come get them?" The volume on his phone was high, seemingly intentionally, and the voice echoed unpleasantly through the silent room. Oliver watched me, resting his phone against his lips, his voice lazy. "Wrong number, Miss." I stared at his cool, indifferent expression, trying to recall the man who had once loved me. 3 In the beginning, Oliver actually used to apologize. He had given Maya a gift that was extremely valuable, completely ignoring the fact that that specific item was one I had had a prior claim on. The wealthy social circle is too small; the tiniest clue could expose everything. Oliver drove home in a panic, handing over his phone, his wallet, and every single bank account password. "She did me a small favor. Mark picked the gift; I’ll give him hell for it later." He had only given me a slight explanation, and I had believed him. There was no reason not to. But that day, word somehow got out that Oliver and I were fighting. On a rainy day, Maya Jenkins knelt outside the gates of our mansion. "Mrs. Sterling, I swear, there is truly nothing going on between Mr. Sterling and me. You have to believe us." Her excessive denial only confirmed my fears. My anger burned through my rationality, so I didn't see the fleeting hint of pain in Oliver’s eyes as he watched her from the window. A man pitying a woman can be the start of romance, if there are only two people involved. If there are three, it’s just dangerous. None of that mattered. The hardest days were already behind me. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th. There were only a few days left in my three-year contract with his father. I looked at Oliver, about to speak. He suddenly received a call, and I could faintly hear the voice on the other end. I recognized that voice anywhere; it was Maya Jenkins. "The power went out... it’s completely dark in here, and I'm really scared." "I'm on my way," Oliver said, standing up. He spared me one glance. I swallowed the words I was about to say. He didn't speak again and walked out without looking back. After Oliver left, I drove to the Sterling family estate. The main house was a massive, century-old colonial mansion, filled with furniture that was an awkward mix of antique European and modern American styles. Oliver’s mother was sitting on the sofa, a housekeeper massaging her shoulders. She glanced at me, then closed her eyes. I didn't bother trying to win her over. I went straight up to the second-floor study. "Father—" I carefully considered my words. "Our three-year contract is up. I want to leave the Sterling family." Years ago, I knew that Oliver had sent Maya Jenkins away, ostensibly to get rid of her, but in reality, he was funding her education abroad. When I was hospitalized after my miscarriage, I checked his flight records. He had been flying back and forth between California and London. That’s when my heart truly died. I had approached his father then, at a time when the Sterling family was facing its own internal crises. He had asked me to stay for three more years. He promised that if Oliver hadn't changed his ways by the end of that time, he would personally ensure I could divorce him and leave the family. His father’s太师椅 (rocking chair/armchair) rocked gently. He opened his eyes and looked at me. "I thought after giving you three years, you would have gotten used to it. Why are you still set on leaving?" When I didn't respond, he sighed. "When you married into this family, you should have expected this. Look at your mother-in-law. When she was young, she was even more headstrong than you. But in the end, didn't she still secure her position as Mrs. Sterling? None of his bastards could ever replace her son, Oliver, as the family’s sole heir." My mother-in-law, that woman who now spent her days in meditation, had been a formidable force in her youth. "Do you know why she succeeded?" "Why?" "Because I decided it. As long as I say so, your position as Mrs. Sterling is secure. With me backing you, those other women are no threat." "Furthermore, I’m not talking to you about feelings; I’m talking about a business transaction. You’ve done an exceptional job these past few years, both with the company and the family. Cultivating another person like you would take too much time and effort. As a businesswoman, you should be able to calculate that leaving is not a sound investment." If we didn't talk about feelings, and only talked about business, this was undoubtedly the soundest investment I could make. I poured his tea, speaking softly. "You know that if we were just talking about business, I wouldn't even be sitting here." I had once thought about it—that holding onto the title of the 'official wife' would keep those other women from ever truly entering the Sterling family. But I hadn't married Oliver Sterling for the title. I had become Mrs. Sterling because I had married Oliver Sterling. Years ago, I had pushed him away, telling him his marriage wasn't even freedom, so how did he have the nerve to be with me? Oliver had frowned. "How am I not free? I want to marry you. I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. Did you really think I’d just watch you marry someone else, like I'm some total loser?" I hadn't believed him. What 'tricks' could possibly get past all the obstacles his family would place in our way? He hadn't mentioned it again, but he had systematically taken over Sterling Group, slowly working his way into the core of the family's power structure. And after I graduated, I successfully entered the company, starting as an intern. Back then, during the day, I would work under his guidance. At night, he’d give me private lessons. My growth was explosive. By the time he proposed again, he was sitting in the family council, and nobody dared to object. Except he did have respect for his father, and the next day, he came up with a wild plan to force his father to accept reality. "You brat, you really thought I was senile and wouldn't figure it out?" "I don't know which agency you went to, but you found some pretty-boy actor, held his hand, and dragged him to the courthouse to get registered for a marriage certificate. Did you really think that would work? I was shocked, but I turned a blind eye to it, hoping you’d get over this nonsense." "It’s only been a few years, and now you’re divorcing." "I’m going to make one thing clear: once you leave the Sterling family, I will not let you back in. Think carefully before you decide." I lowered my head, the past seven years of our marriage flashing before my eyes like a movie. "Leaving the Sterling family is a decision I’ve been waiting to make for three years." He waved his hand. "Wrap up whatever affairs you have left. Someone will contact you when the time comes." As I came downstairs, my mother-in-law was still sitting on the sofa. I walked to the door, then turned back. "In the future, I will not be here to celebrate your birthday. I hope you remain in good health." With that, I turned and walked out. The living room of the Sterling estate was filled with shadows. The woman was enveloped by the darkness, staring straight ahead. All the light in the house seemed to be carried away by that figure walking quickly out the door. As she watched, it was almost as if she saw her younger self, walking out. A housekeeper bent down and whispered, "Madam, it’s late. Time for bed." The living room was plunged back into a deeper darkness. Oliver's mother pulled back her gaze. "Let’s go." 4 As I got into my car, I remembered his father’s condition. I immediately contacted the paparazzi and arranged to wire him the two million dollars the next morning, buying up all the scandalous photos and footage of Oliver from today. The next communication I received from Oliver was days later, via text. Since Maya Jenkins’s return, he had toned things down significantly. Thinking of my arrangement with his father, I instructed my driver to make a detour and pick up Oliver. The front door was open when I arrived. Inside, a group of people were playing cards, Maya Jenkins among them. She had just managed to win a hand, and the man sitting across from her was flattery. "Wow, you’re on a roll tonight! Taking everyone to the cleaners. Little bro here might have to put up his underwear as collateral. Please, have some mercy." Maya smirked, just about to speak. Oliver Sterling lifted his eyes and saw me standing in the doorway. He took a drag of his cigarette and snapped, "The woman standing at the door is your true sister-in-law. Are you blind, confusing people like that? No wonder you're losing every hand tonight." The man saw me and jumped up in panic, stuttering, "S-sister-in-law..." When Maya Jenkins saw me, her face turned pale. Seeing this scene, I knew Oliver was doing this on purpose. He always did things like this intentionally, making sure I saw it. He was doing everything in his power to push me into divorcing him, yet he refused to be the one to actually do it. His reasoning was always simple: "She’s just a kid with no world experience. Fine for keeping around for amusement, but nobody sane would bring her home. Mrs. Sterling is you. That’s enough." I scanned the room, then addressed the driver behind me, instructing him to take Oliver Sterling home later. Then, I offered a polite nod, turned, and left. As I reached the door, Maya Jenkins stopped me. The girl who had been eighteen two years ago was now barely twenty, looking vibrant and full of life. She was slightly out of breath, her voice soft and fragile. "Mrs. Sterling, I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t mean to break up your family. I tried to leave, tried to forget, but I just couldn't." "I can't forget Oliver. I love him so much. But please believe me, I truly, truly have no intention of breaking up your family." "Between Oliver and me... we simply met too late. If he had met me back then, I would have been Mrs. Sterling..." "I’m sorry, I don't mean it that way. In short, I am sincerely apologizing to you. If there’s a next life, I will dedicate it to making amends to you." "But in this life, I can't return Oliver to you. I’m so sorry." I studied her from head to toe. The girl who had only been able to afford fifty-dollar outfits two years ago was now covered in quiet luxury. The shoes she was wearing probably cost more than what she used to make in a year at the department school. There are many sparrows in the world. Once it was me, and now it was Maya Jenkins. I didn't open my mouth. I didn't care enough to open my mouth to talk to her. I was not going to attempt to use words of morality and conscience to awaken a mistress. If she had even the slightest concept of what morality was, she wouldn't be so happily acting as his mistress. "You should divorce Oliver!" Her voice came from behind me. "Let him go!" Meanwhile, inside, the people were exchanging glances. Finally, someone humanized themselves enough to look at Oliver Sterling, whose face was like ice. "Oliver, not going to chase after your wife? Once a woman gets this angry, she might actually divorce you." Oliver Sterling was staring at the photo of the two-million-dollar check, lost in thought. After a long moment, he finally chuckled. "Divorce? Even better. Free and clear." 5 Oliver Sterling was the very last person in the Sterling family to find out that his wife was serious about the divorce. When he heard the news, he lifted his eyes, looking at the person who had told him. "You’ve got to be kidding me." The person, his cousin Sarah, exaggerated, "Kidding? Grandpa already agreed to it. Besides, you’ve been turning this family upside down for the last two years. Weren't you doing it just to get a divorce?" "If you ask me, divorce is fine. Men always end up getting tired of the 'old ball and chain' anyway." She rested her chin on her hand, leaning in close and whispering, "And Chloe is still waiting for you, you know. All these years, she’s never gotten married. If you get a divorce, give her a chance, will ya?" Since she was a child, Sarah had always considered Chloe to be her ideal 'sister-in-law,' so when this Audrey came out of nowhere, she had been furious. On Oliver's wedding day, she was gritting her teeth with envy, yet still forced to offer a congratulations and hand over a generous wedding gift. Poor Chloe. All these years, she had channeled her sorrow into her career, rejecting every man, turning herself into a powerhouse businesswoman. Oliver rubbed his temples and told her to get out. Sarah grabbed her bag and stomped out. As she opened the door, she ran smack into Maya Jenkins. Maya’s mouth was still twisted in a smirk she hadn't managed to hide. Sarah crossed her arms, smiling sweetly. "Wow, look at that mouth. You look like a venus flytrap. Are you going to eat a baby? You’re so pathetic. This Audrey could get divorced eighteen times, and you still wouldn't be anywhere close to taking her place as my sister-in-law." Maya Jenkins’s expression remained unchanged, her voice soft. "Then who would? Your precious Chloe? She seems even more pathetic from where I'm standing." Sarah clapped her hands. "Wow, as expected from a mistress. Your skin is thicker than a city wall. You aren't even worthy to shine Chloe’s shoes." Maya Jenkins watched her leave, her gaze distant and profound. Oliver Sterling sent her abroad, bought her a house, and let her live a life in upper society. And for her, he was getting a divorce. If that Audrey could sit in the seat of Mrs. Sterling, why couldn't she? Two years ago, she had knelt outside the gates of that Hollywood Hills mansion. Back then, she had thought that one day, the doors to that mansion would be open for her. 6 After his father agreed to the divorce, I never had the chance to discuss it with Oliver Sterling. I knew he had gotten the news. I had assumed he would contact me immediately to negotiate. But many days passed, and he was still staying in Las Vegas. However, even the worst-case scenario had a legal backstop. Under California law, a married couple who has been living separately for two years can unilaterally file for divorce, and it does not require the other spouse's consent. But I guessed that neither Oliver Sterling nor the Sterling family would allow that. If he would just nod his head, the divorce could be finalized in an instant. So I waited. Finally, he pushed open the mansion door again. Pleasantries were unnecessary. He got straight to the point. "If you divorce me, you get nothing. Are you doing this just to be dramatic?" Before we married, his father had only one condition: that we sign a prenuptial agreement. If the marriage ever failed, I couldn't take a single dime of Sterling wealth. Oliver hadn't wanted to sign it, but his father had been adamant. He didn't trust Oliver. He would absolutely not allow the massive wealth of the Sterling Group to be tied to Oliver’s personal feelings. In the end, Oliver had compromised, but he had used his own personal funds to establish a trust fund for me. That trust fund was my separate property. Over the years, through investments and appreciation, it was now worth nearly $80 million. While $80 million was a drop in the ocean compared to the immense wealth of the Sterling Group, it was still a significant amount. Back then, it was the entire amount of liquid cash Oliver Sterling could deign to mobilize. I hadn't wanted it at the time, but he had smiled and said, "A woman's true confidence comes from having her own money, not from a man." He used a cynical example: "Maybe I’ll betray you, but money won’t." They say the closest yet most distant relationship is between a husband and wife. No matter how much we had loved each other, it didn't stop us from now staring at each other with cold indifference, like enemies. I stared at him for a long time, recalling the Audrey who had acted like a crazy person years ago. In the beginning, my extreme mental fastidiousness had taken hold of me, and I had screamed the most vile insults at him. I had told him to go die, told him I hoped he got run over by a car tomorrow and crushed into a thousand pieces. Why did he have to destroy my entire belief in love, yet still walk around so casually? When the pain was at its worst, I had actually tried to drive my car into his, determined to go to hell with him, so we wouldn't have to suffer day after day. When I was lucid, I had only one thought. Thank God we didn't have children. Thank God that child had never come into the world. I looked at him, realizing we had already yelled everything there was to yell. Only calm remained. "You should be thanking me. In the future, you won’t have to hide when you're cheating." He clicked his lighter, lighting a cigarette, and looked at me through the smoke. "You’re right. I should thank Chloe, too. Thanks to you for clearing the path." I ignored his sarcasm. "Our appointment is in three days. I hope..." He picked up his jacket, heading for the door. "Whatever." After pushing the door open, he paused and looked back at me. "Audrey, don't regret this." "But if you do regret it, and you beg me, I might still hearten to you." "After all, we are husband and wife. Nobody can take your place." 7 Oliver Sterling didn't show up in court on the day of our appointment. An hour later, I received the divorce decree. I drove back to the mansion. However, the group had a major event coming up, so the divorce announcement would be temporarily delayed. When I got home, there was an unexpected guest in the living room. I frowned, calling for security. The guard explained, "She had Mr. Sterling's authorized access card..." Maya Jenkins looked at me, her head held high. "I came to get the enamel jewelry that Mr. Sterling bid on for me." She ran her hand over the leather sofa. "He said he was giving it to me, but you’ve been hoarding it." This mansion was in my name. The day I decided to divorce him, I had thrown all of Oliver’s things out. I hadn't thrown out the expensive stuff, but it was probably moved to his penthouse in Santa Monica. I didn't waste words with her. "Get out." "Audrey." She wasn't calling me Mrs. Sterling anymore. "As fellow women, I know what you’re thinking. Stalling for all these years, then intentionally bringing up divorce... you just want your husband to have a change of heart. That 'playing hard to get' trick won't work." I glanced over and called, "Elara." Within a moment, a woman came up from downstairs. I sparing her one glance. Her eyes lit up. She dropped her dust rag, stepped forward, grabbed Maya Jenkins, and started dragging her out. "Ah—you psycho!" Elara and her sister, Sarah, were old-timers with the Sterling family. They had come with Oliver’s mother from her family home years ago. Sarah was calm and intelligent; Elara was brute force. They were my mother-in-law's right-hand women. Back when Oliver’s mother was handling his father's mistresses, Elara had probably slapped a hundred of them. When I joined the family, my mother-in-law had sent her to my side. Unfortunately, I was never one to make a massive scene, so she had been completely useless for years. Today, I was letting her recreate some of her former glory. From outside, I could hear Elara's voice, booming with power. "You trash! Young and desperate for a man. Los Angeles had its fair share of mistresses, but none had the nerve to show up at the main house. Raised by trash, for trash. Even the landfill wouldn't take you..." It was rare for her to get to use all her pent-up energy, and her insults were extremely creative. Maya Jenkins actually had a decent online presence; she had built an 'influencer' persona for herself. In her posts, she was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, who had a chance meeting with a wealthy, powerful man. That man loved her to pieces, treated her like nobility, loved her as his equal, and helped her move up in the world. Naive followers would comment: "Girl, you must be incredibly talented to be loved that way." She accepted every compliment. "He takes me to see the world, teaches me how to navigate society. He made sure that even if we don't last, I’ll still live a good life." Creating a fairytale of Prince Charming and the poor girl... as if she really were the heroine of a romance novel.
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