Three years ago, I used every trick in the book to get Sebastian Sterling to marry me. Three years later, his first love returned to the country, and I calmly demanded a divorce at his family’s annual gala. Looking at the guests around the table—some pitying me, others gloating—I elegantly wiped away a tear that didn’t even exist. Nobody knew that this entire marriage had been a chess game I carefully designed from the very beginning. When the lawyer handed over the divorce papers, I looked at the final signature on the stock transfer agreement. I gently slipped off the wedding ring that had never quite fit my finger. Sebastian, you played the part of the devoted billionaire husband beautifully. But my paycheck has cleared, and I’m officially checking out of this show. My laptop chimed. It was an anonymous email with a grainy picture attached, taken at the airport's private VIP terminal. The stunning, elegant woman in the photo was Vivian Sinclair. Three years. She was finally back. My fingertips trembled slightly. My mind drifted back to three years ago, the night Sebastian’s grandfather was on his deathbed. That was also the night Vivian left the country to pursue her career, leaving Sebastian to drown his sorrows at a shady downtown club. He went missing, and the entire Sterling Enterprises fell into complete chaos. But I knew this was my golden ticket. Sebastian was too bright, a star shining in the sky. A girl like me, living in the dirt, never felt worthy of him. Only when he fell from his pedestal could I finally steal my way into his life. I used every connection I had to find him. That night was the first time I dialed the number I had memorized by heart. It was the private number printed on a business card he’d slipped into my hand at a charity gala months ago, after he had a few drinks. He had said, "Call me if you ever need help." A casual remark to him, but a sacred promise to me. The phone rang and rang, but nobody picked up. Anxiety clawed at my chest. I called everyone I knew, pulled every favor, and finally tracked him to a VIP lounge in a secluded club. The heavy scent of whiskey hit me the moment I pushed the door open. The lounge was dimly lit, glasses shattered all over the floor. Sebastian was slumped on the leather sofa, his tie loosened, his face pale. He was still clutching a half-empty bottle. At that moment, my heart squeezed. I couldn't tell if it was pity, or a dark, secret sense of triumph. I rushed over and gently tapped his cheek. His skin was burning hot. He opened his eyes groggily, his gaze unfocused. Suddenly, I wrapped my arms around him. Tears poured out of my eyes, soaking his expensive bespoke suit. Two percent of those tears were for him. The other ninety-eight percent were for myself. After that night, I became his savior. I made him shave, accompanied him to the office to handle crises, and cooked him homemade soup to soothe his alcohol-wrecked stomach. I forced myself into his life, almost aggressively. I had just graduated back then, working a miserable internship that barely paid three thousand dollars a month. To save money, I walked to work every single day. Every penny I saved went into buying him high-end organic groceries and supplements. The free snacks and water in our office pantry became my main meals. When I was starving, I chewed on stale bread. Whenever my blood sugar crashed, a single piece of chocolate from a coworker felt like a gift from heaven. But I did it all with a smile. The darkness in Sebastian's eyes seemed to slowly melt away under my stubborn, clumsy care. He recovered. He got back to the gym, back to running his empire, and back to being the untouchable heir to the Sterling fortune. Everyone around us assumed we were going to get married. I was naive enough to believe it, too. But in reality, we were just "best friends." What a joke of a title. He never once said he loved me. And I spent almost everything I had just to keep this fragile bond alive. But he was Sebastian Sterling. He was the guy who had given me the only warmth in my life when I was sixteen and living through my absolute worst nightmare. The year my mother got critically ill, I worked three jobs at once, constantly running between the hospital and my shifts. My relatives only sneered at me with cold, harsh words: "What’s the point of a girl getting a college degree anyway? You should just find a man to marry and get it over with." The world’s judgment is always the sharpest blade. I almost believed them, but I refused to give up. So I worked myself to the bone, cared for my mother, and secretly studied for my exams late at night. The taste of eating stale bread while crying was as bitter as life itself. Coming back to the hospital after a late shift, I would quietly wipe the sweat from my mother's forehead. I knew my father had already started a new family with his new wife. My stepmother openly called me a "freeloader" behind my back, telling everyone I would never amount to anything. That was when I realized you can only rely on yourself. I even had a dark, twisted thought that if my mother passed away, it might actually be a release for both of us. Forgive my selfishness. I was just so desperate to claw my way out of that muddy swamp. So when Sebastian fell, I didn't hesitate to grab him like a lifeline. When he was at his lowest, I spent all my savings to help him pull through. I watched that man—the one I used to look up to like a god—let down his guard in front of me, his eyes filled with raw vulnerability. Why did I do it? Because if he stayed ruined, my only chance of changing my destiny would be completely destroyed. Only Sebastian was different. Back in high school, he was the student council president. He was the one who stopped the kids from bullying me, and he was the one who secretly paid off my mother's medical bills when she was dying. So, before he belonged to someone else, I was willing to pay any price to keep him. I worked myself to death just to stand by his side. Until one day, at a major business forum, he was the keynote speaker. The spotlight hit him, and he smiled at me from the stage. "Ms. Vance, we meet again." He remembered me. It was perfect. I reached out and shook his hand, feeling like I had just grabbed the key to a whole new world. "Mr. Sterling, long time no see."
It was a cliché beginning, but I was just thrilled to finally step into his world. I would wait until he finally saw me—or until I completely gave up hope. Three years was long enough to burn out all my patience. So, the moment I got the text that Vivian Sinclair was back, I decided to personally bring down the curtain on this long, one-woman show. I booked a table at a Michelin-star restaurant and invited Sebastian. I wore a black backless dress that made my skin look incredibly pale. It was a style I had never dared to wear before. My collarbones stood out sharply. I even sprayed the perfume he liked best. If he liked it, I wouldn't mind dressing like this forever. The scar on my lower back—the one I got while saving his life years ago—was subtly exposed to the air. I was no longer hiding my wounds. Everything was set, except Sebastian was forty minutes late. When he finally rushed in, his face wore his usual, intoxicatingly handsome look of apology. I didn't even look at him. I turned to the waiter and ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine on the menu—a bottle that cost what I used to make in a year. Sebastian froze, trying to stop me. "Chloe, this is a bit much..." I raised my hand to cut him off, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. "I can afford it." Of course I could. After he took back control of Sterling Enterprises, he threw plenty of business resources my way, calling it "payback." I took it all. I wasn't proud. Having lived through extreme poverty and helplessness, I understood the power of money better than anyone. I never wanted to go back to the days of begging people for loans just to cover hospital bills. I swirled the wine in my glass like a proper socialite, but a drop of the dark red liquid spilled, staining the snow-white tablecloth like a drop of fresh blood. I laughed, the sound ringing out a bit too clearly in the quiet restaurant. Sebastian watched me, his eyes unreadable. I didn't know how much I drank. My last memory of that night was the spinning chandelier and Sebastian’s strong arms carrying me out. When I woke up, I was in a luxury hotel suite. The air was filled with a rich, unfamiliar cologne. Sebastian's face was inches away from mine, his skin flushed with an unnatural warmth. My fingers were tightly gripping his collar. Two of his buttons had popped open, revealing his muscular chest. Driven by some crazy impulse, I leaned up and pressed my lips to his. His body went rigid. His hand instinctively reached up to push me away. But I just laughed, leaning closer, our warm breaths tangling together. "Don't you want me?" My voice was thick with alcohol, dripping with honeyed poison. "Or are you still waiting for Vivian?" That name was like a bucket of ice water. He froze instantly. His muscles tensed, and his entire body turned to stone. See? Men are so predictable. I let out a soft giggle, my fingertips tracing his burning skin. "Don't be so serious, Sebastian. Anyone would think I'm forcing you. Aren't you happy?" He remained silent, but his hand suddenly moved. His warm fingers gently brushed over my lips. His other hand slowly slid down to my lower back, tracing the raised scar with painful accuracy. "Does it still hurt?" His voice was incredibly raspy. My mask almost shattered right then and there. I closed my eyes tight, my breath hitching in my throat. His fingertips moved with a tenderness that felt almost like pity, tracing that ugly mark. The next second, a soft kiss fell on the corner of my eye. "Don't cry," he whispered. Just those two words. I knew right then—I had won, but I had also lost. In this war I had so carefully planned, my heart had surrendered to him a long time ago. I left before the sun came up. The thick carpet of the hotel hallway swallowed all sound, like a silent goodbye. Standing in the chilly morning breeze, I called my assistant, Amy. My voice was light, carrying just the right amount of gratitude. "Hey Amy, thanks for helping me pull off that stunt with the Vivian news. Yeah, I know you were just looking out for me. Sebastian just needed a little... push." "I do feel a bit bad for Vivian, haha. Anyway, dinner's on me next time. How's that investment portfolio I recommended working out for you?" I hung up, touched the fading scar on my lower back, and let a cold smirk slip onto my face. Thank you, my beautiful old scar. The performance was a massive success.
When I was twenty, I thought love was as pure as a fairy tale. But I learned very early on that what keeps two people together isn't just love. It’s leverage, dependence, guilt, habit, and calculation. And I just needed to hold onto Sebastian Sterling. He was my best bet, my only ticket to the upper class. How could I ever let him go? I knew he was torn, struggling to weigh his options. But I wasn't in a rush. I had my own plans to execute. Through an executive headhunter, I landed a high-level position at Sterling Enterprises. The day he saw me standing in his office as the new director, he literally jumped out of his leather chair in shock. He tried to corner me for a chat several times, but I smoothly dodged him every single time. Until one night, he waited for me outside my apartment. The night was pitch black. His eyes were filled with desire, conflict, and a chaotic mess of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. When he leaned down to kiss me, the name that slipped from his lips was like a knife driving straight through my chest. "Vivian..." At that moment, my heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. But the smile on my face only grew wider and brighter. "Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice urgent, as if trying to prove something to himself. "Vivian is never coming back," he added, more to convince himself than me. "So," I interrupted, my voice soft like a sigh but sharp as a razor, "you want me to be her substitute?" "I never said..." He tried to explain, his eyes darting away. "Sure, I'll marry you," I said, looking him dead in the eye, making it sound like the most sacred vow. "Sebastian, remember this. I would give up anything for you." I reached up and covered his eyes with my hand. I didn't dare look into them. I was afraid of seeing his hesitation, and even more afraid he would see the cold, loveless determination in mine. That night, I cried until I lost my voice, letting out every ounce of misery I had bottled up over the years. He held me tight, rubbing my back in silence, incredibly gentle. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep. In my hazy consciousness, I think I mumbled, "Sebastian, I don't actually love you..." The last thing I remembered was him letting out a very low, quiet chuckle, whispering something back that faded into the night. The next morning, the space beside me was cold. As expected. I numbly got up to change. Just as I was down to my lingerie, the bedroom door swung open. Sebastian stood there, frozen, holding a breakfast tray. He was wearing my ridiculously cute pink rabbit apron. The air instantly turned to ice, and both of our ears flushed bright red. "Morning. Breakfast is ready," he said, looking like a little boy who got caught stealing cookies. "You're too thin. Eat up. I can drive you to the office after?" I nodded. As he turned to leave, he paused, his gaze dropping back to the scar on my lower back. "Does it still hurt?" I shook my head, forcing a smile. "I'm used to it." The pain had moved to my heart a long time ago. He just didn't get it. Sebastian's cooking was surprisingly amazing. For a while after that, we actually lived like a deeply in love couple. He stayed late at the office with me, wrapped his heavy coat around me to kiss me in the pouring rain, took me to private galleries on weekends, and bought me a luxury penthouse with a deed hidden in a sea of red roses for my birthday. We named our new home "Sunrise" and started planning a trip around the world. That luxury condo actually started to feel like a real home. He was more perfect, more attentive, and more of a dream husband than I had ever imagined. I almost let myself believe that happiness was finally within my reach. But a string in my heart remained pulled tight, never relaxing for a second. I knew that stolen joy always had to be returned. Borrowed light eventually goes out. I never complained about my bad luck, because I had already learned how to survive in the dark. The divorce papers went through incredibly smoothly. Sebastian didn't even glance at the heavy terms I had carefully drafted—terms that would take a massive bite out of his assets. He just signed his name with a sharp, decisive stroke, looking as cold and calculated as he did making multi-billion-dollar deals in the boardroom. "Chloe," he said, putting down his pen and looking up at me. His eyes were like a dark, bottomless ocean, showing absolutely no emotion. "Thanks for these three years. You worked hard."
I pulled on my perfect corporate smile, looking like I was facing a tough business rival. "You're welcome, Mr. Sterling. It was just business. We both got what we wanted." He went quiet for a second, then let out a very soft chuckle. There was a tone in that laugh I couldn't quite read, and it made my fingers twitch. "Right. We both got what we wanted," he repeated. He stood up, his tall figure casting a long shadow that completely wrapped around me. "Well, I wish you a very successful future, Ms. Vance. I hope you get everything you ever wanted." He called me "Ms. Vance," not "Chloe." I kept my cool, watching him walk away without a single backward glance. The heavy office door clicked shut, cutting off his tall figure. The faint scent of his cedarwood cologne still hung in the air, cold and distant. I slowly sat back down in my leather chair, spinning around to look out at the sprawling, glittering city skyline below. The single piece of paper in my hand felt light, but it carried the weight of a mountain. It held all my calculations, my lies, and my patience from the past three years. In exchange, it gave me the massive wealth I needed to secure my future. I won, didn't I? I slowly swirled the amber liquid in my crystal glass and downed it in one go. The burning sensation scorched my throat, but it felt incredibly satisfying. Goodbye, Sebastian. Actually, let's make it "never see you again." Over the next few days, I moved fast. I took over my newly acquired shares and stepped into a highly promising tech startup I had been eyeing for months, becoming its majority shareholder and actual boss. I moved into a luxury penthouse overlooking the river. My walk-in closet was stuffed with the latest designer clothes. I never had to look at a price tag again. I got everything I ever dreamed of. Until a week later, when my head secretary knocked on my door with a weird look on her face. "Ms. Vance, we just received a... package. It’s addressed directly to you." It was an old, elegant rosewood box. There was no card, no return address, just a faint, incredibly familiar scent of cedarwood. My chest tightened, but I kept my face blank. "Who sent it?" "The courier didn't say. They just said it was... to return something to its rightful owner," the secretary replied hesitantly. "Should I run it through security?" I waved her off and waited for her to leave before opening the box, my fingers slightly cold. Resting on the black velvet lining inside was a very familiar, simple platinum ring. It was the wedding ring I had "accidentally" dropped behind the headboard of our hotel suite—the ring I had worn for three years, with "Chloe & Sebastian" engraved on the inside. Why the hell was it here?! I thought he would have thrown it in the trash long ago! Under the ring, there was a folded piece of white paper. I took a deep breath and opened it. There was only a single line of printed text, but it felt like an icy dagger piercing straight through my armor. *“Your paycheck is cleared, but is the show really over, my Best Actress?”* There was no signature at the bottom. My blood ran cold. My fingers clenched around the ring, the hard metal digging painfully into my palm. What did he know? Since when did he know?! What the hell did this mean?! The air in the room felt thick and suffocating. The only sound was my own ragged breathing. He knew. He wasn't the clueless, guilt-tripped husband I thought he was. These past three years, he hadn't been nearly as blind as I thought.
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