Arthur was driving me to my prenatal appointment when his phone rang. The Bluetooth connected to the car's speakers, and a woman's voice filled the silence. "I'm back. Divorce her, okay?" Arthur didn't say a word. He just casually reached over and hit the "end call" button on the steering wheel. I thought it was a clean, decisive rejection. Until that very night, when his lawyer arrived at our house with divorce papers. Looking at the suppressed emotion in his eyes, I calmly signed my name and asked, "Do you need me to move out tonight?" Perhaps because he didn't get the hysterical crying he was expecting, a rare flash of pure astonishment crossed Arthur's usually cold, stoic face. His voice was hoarse when he replied, "No. The deed to this house will be transferred to your name tomorrow." I nodded obediently. Arthur didn't know that playing the submissive, understanding victim was the oldest trick in the gold digger playbook. And it works every single time. I looked at Arthur's sharp, cold features and murmured softly, "It's late, you should get some sleep. You have an early meeting tomorrow. I'll sleep in the guest room." I stood up, ready to leave. As I walked past him, Arthur suddenly grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. His brows were furrowed deeply, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked confused, but also angry. He asked, "Serena, why aren't you throwing a fit?" "If I throw a fit, will you not divorce me?" Arthur stiffened. Finally, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry. I'll compensate you." I turned my head slightly, making sure the lighting caught the redness around the corners of my eyes. "Okay. I trust you." The lights in the living room stayed on all night. By the time we went to the courthouse the next morning to finalize the divorce, the compensation section of the agreement had several new pages added to it. After the paperwork was filed, Arthur did something unprecedented. He reached out, grabbed my hand, stared at my slightly rounded stomach, and said, "Let's get something to eat." If this had been the past, I would have been absolutely ecstatic. Arthur was notoriously cold and emotionally unavailable. He had never, ever initiated anything with me. But now, I took a half-step back, lowered my head, and said, "Arthur, that's not appropriate anymore." His frown deepened. He clearly wasn't used to this sudden distance from me. "Serena," he said, sounding frustrated, "we're just getting a divorce, we're not dead to each other. We can still be friends." I paused, but didn't respond. After all, three years ago, he told me I wasn't even worthy of standing in his presence. Seeing my silence, Arthur assumed I agreed. He walked over and personally opened the car door for me. Before today, he had never done anything like that for me. I kept my eyes down. "My morning sickness is really bad. I can't handle the smell of restaurants." Arthur froze. It was as if he had just remembered I was pregnant. He muttered another quiet, "I'm sorry." I nodded, offering a polite, distant smile. "Then I won't trouble you any further. I'll be going now." Arthur's lips pressed into a thin line, a flash of genuine anger crossing his face. But looking at my swollen, red eyes, he forced it down. "Get in. I'll drive you home." This time, I didn't refuse. Playing hard to get is smart once or twice, but overdo it, and you just look annoying. On the drive back, Arthur kept glancing at me, clearly wanting to say something. I knew exactly what was on his mind. So I spoke up first. "I'm going to get an abortion. I won't make things difficult for you." I thought I was being incredibly considerate. But Arthur's reaction was the exact opposite of what I expected. His face went dark, his jet-black eyes flashing with pure fury. "Serena, do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?!" I was stunned. Arthur was usually a walking iceberg. He didn't talk much and rarely showed any emotion. Outside of the bedroom, he had never lost control. This was the very first time I had ever seen him direct genuine anger at me. I didn't argue. I curled my fingers into a loose fist, gently picking at the hem of my shirt, and asked, "I can't exactly let this child be born with the label of a bastard, can I?" Arthur's jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His lips were a razor-thin line. Everyone in our social circle knew the one thing Arthur despised more than anything else in the world: illegitimate children. In their world, rich men might have a dozen mistresses stashed away, but publicly, they always maintained the facade of respecting and cherishing their legal wives. Because, as the old saying goes, a man who mistreats his wife ruins his own fortune. They always kept up appearances. Except for Arthur's father. His father was the first in their circle to brazenly bring his mistress and illegitimate son to live in the family home. Shortly after, Arthur's mother jumped from a high-rise building and killed herself. Growing up, Arthur was abused by his stepmother and ruthlessly bullied by that illegitimate half-brother. Everyone thought he was broken beyond repair. But no one knew he was quietly, methodically gathering evidence. On his eighteenth birthday, he handed a massive dossier over to the FBI, personally sending his own father to federal prison. With the backing of his maternal grandfather, he ruthlessly took over the entire family empire. By twenty, he had absolute control over the company. By twenty-one, the illegitimate half-brother who had bullied him his whole life mysteriously disappeared off the coast of Florida. His body was never found. From that day on, everyone knew exactly what his absolute bottom line was. But right now, Arthur, with a dark, intense look on his face, said almost impulsively, "Serena, keep the baby." I didn't answer. Because in the next second, Arthur's gaze shot past me, through the car window, landing on someone standing outside. I followed his line of sight. Standing outside our front gate was a woman in a white dress. A light drizzle had started falling at some point, dampening her clothes and hair. She looked fragile, delicate, and incredibly pitiful. It only took a fraction of a second for me to guess she was the woman from the phone call. Sure enough, the very next moment, Arthur threw his car door open and sprinted toward her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her fiercely into his chest, holding her like a precious treasure he thought he had lost forever. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this. But actually seeing it with my own eyes... the pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely breathe. So this is what it looks like when Arthur actually loves someone. In a daze, I watched Arthur walk back toward the car, holding the woman tightly. When he saw I was still sitting in the passenger seat, his brow furrowed, and his voice turned to ice: "Get out." I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, pushed the door open, and stepped out. Before I could even find my footing, he slammed the gas pedal, the tires screeching as the car tore down the street, splashing muddy water all over my legs. I stood there in the rain, perfectly calm, watching his taillights disappear. I wiped a mixture of rain and tears from my eyes, and walked into the house. Even though the furniture was exactly the same, the house felt freezing cold. Even the lighting seemed harsh. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years. "Hey, Chloe. I have a mansion I need to sell. Do you know any buyers?" The line was quiet for a moment. Then, as if she had instantly connected the dots, she asked, "Divorced?" "Yeah." "Let's meet tomorrow. We'll talk in person." She hung up, but my nose immediately started to burn with unshed tears. Chloe's reputation in our social circle wasn't just bad; it was absolutely toxic. But she was the only person who had ever been genuinely good to me. She was the most notorious gold digger in the city. She didn't want the man, and she definitely didn't want love. She only wanted the money. She played the role of a beautiful, empty vase, letting all the trust-fund brats play their games with her. Toss her a designer bag, and she'd hang on your every word. Give her a car or an apartment, and she’d do whatever you wanted. Everyone thought that once she lost her youth and beauty, she'd be tossed aside like garbage. But she shocked everyone by bypassing the sons and going straight for the fathers, hooking a massive, incredibly powerful billionaire. She secretly got pregnant, flew to Europe, and gave birth to his son. Since then, Chloe never had to fake a smile or act like a plaything for anyone ever again. I used to hate her, too. I thought she had no self-respect, didn't value herself, and was throwing her life into the gutter. I even told her that straight to her face. She just listened, then replied: "There are a lot of ways to climb to the top of this world. But for women, there are really only two: You either become so terrifyingly powerful that men bow to you... or you figure out how to siphon the money right out of their pockets." "Men control the wealth and power in this world. If you aren't doing everything in your power to rip it from their hands, and instead you just sit around preaching about 'self-respect,' you're a joke." "Women need money first. Money gives you a backbone. And once you have a backbone, then you get the power." I had scoffed at her back then. It wasn't until I got into a horrible car crash, shattered my leg, and couldn't even afford the surgery that I realized exactly how important money was. At that moment, there was absolutely no one by my side. I had no choice but to beg Chloe for help. And now, years later, she was still the only person I could turn to. I sat in the coffee shop, a bitter smile on my face. When Chloe walked in and saw the state I was in, she immediately frowned. I opened my mouth to say hi, but she cut me off: "This isn't the place to talk." She dragged me to a highly exclusive, private restaurant, booked a soundproof VIP room, and the second the door closed, she asked: "How much did you walk away with?" I handed her the divorce agreement from my purse. Chloe took one look at it and a massive grin spread across her face. "Arthur is surprisingly generous. You get all the real estate under his name, plus a thirty-million-dollar payout. You absolutely hit the jackpot." I don't know why, but my eyes instantly welled up, and the tears wouldn't stop falling. "Chloe, he wasn't planning on giving me this much." I had seen the original draft of the agreement. Arthur had offered me one apartment. It wasn't huge—maybe 1,000 square feet, three bedrooms. Enough for me to live comfortably alone. The cash payout wasn't bad either: two million upfront, and an allowance of five hundred thousand a year. It was more than enough for me to live a very comfortable life. But to a man like Arthur, that amount of money was literally pocket change. It would have constantly reminded me that in his eyes, I wasn't worth anything more. And maybe... that wasn't just my imagination. Chloe didn't offer any empty comfort as I cried. She just shoved a handful of napkins into my hand. Once I calmed down, she finally said, "Then you're a genius. Rich people are notoriously stingy. They're terrified of people coming after their money, especially women. The fact that you managed to squeeze this much blood from a stone like Arthur means you played your cards perfectly." I opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say. The truth is, when I married Arthur, I never, ever intended to take a single dime from him. And Chloe knew that. That's why, when I legally married him three years ago, she cut off all contact with me. But when those divorce papers were handed to me... I was furious. I was resentful. I couldn't stomach the fact that after everything, another woman just had to say one sentence on the phone, and I was kicked to the curb. So, my survival instincts kicked in, and I played the game. Chloe seemed to read my mind. She tossed the agreement back to me. "You did the right thing. If you lose the man, you better make damn sure you get the money." She flagged down a waiter and ordered a bottle of vintage champagne. "Serena, congratulations on escaping the graveyard of marriage, and congratulations on becoming a very, very rich woman. Cheers!" My grip on the champagne flute tightened. I looked her in the eye and confessed, "Chloe, I'm pregnant." "How far along?" "Just hit three months." Chloe slammed her glass down on the table. "Arthur is a piece of absolute garbage!" She was so furious she saw red. It took her a full minute to calm down before she said firmly, "You're not that far along. Get it aborted. Immediately." I stared at her in shock. I honestly thought that when she heard I was pregnant, she'd tell me to keep it so I could bleed Arthur for child support for the next eighteen years. Hearing my logic, Chloe scoffed loudly. "I only did what I did because I had absolutely zero safety net for my future. You just walked away with the GDP of a small country in your divorce settlement. Why the hell would you trap yourself with a kid? Do you seriously want to be tied to Arthur for the rest of your life?" It was like a lightbulb finally clicked on in my brain. All the agonizing conflict I felt about the baby instantly evaporated. Yes, it hurt to let go of this tiny life. But my future belonged to me. We talked for the rest of the afternoon. When we finally left, she warned me: "Get a bulldog of a lawyer. Make sure every single asset listed in that agreement is legally transferred into your private accounts. Make sure Arthur hasn't buried any legal landmines to screw you over later. Once everything is secure, cut all ties." Even though I didn't think Arthur would stoop that low, I played it safe and hired a top-tier lawyer. Liquidating and transferring the assets was way more exhausting than I anticipated. Arthur had given me so much that I was dizzy with meetings and paperwork every day. I didn't even have time to schedule the abortion. Just as the asset transfers were finalizing, Chloe called. She had a cash buyer for the mansion, and I needed to move out immediately. I threw myself into packing. I didn't bother calling Arthur to ask about his things. I threw everything that belonged to him directly into the trash. But while clearing out the study, I found a sealed manila folder stamped with the official corporate seal of Arthur's company. This wasn't something I could just throw away. I thought about it for a minute, then dialed his number. It rang twice before someone picked up. But it wasn't Arthur's voice. It was a woman's. "Hello? Why are you calling Arthur?" Her tone was hostile. She had obviously seen my contact name and knew exactly who I was. I kept my voice perfectly flat. "Hello, could you please pass the phone to Arthur? He left something at the house, and he needs to come pick it up." She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Serena, give it up. Arthur isn't coming back to that house, and your pathetic little tricks aren't going to work." And she hung up. I listened to the dial tone, rubbing my temples. A headache was starting to form. I tried calling Arthur's personal driver next. The driver sounded incredibly awkward. "Miss Serena... Miss Mia explicitly ordered me not to facilitate any contact between you and Mr. Vance." So the woman whose single sentence ended my marriage was named Mia. Left with no other option, I drove to Arthur's corporate headquarters to drop off the sealed folder. When Arthur and I got married, we didn't have a wedding. We just signed the papers. It was essentially a secret marriage, so the receptionist had no idea who I was. I just wanted to drop the folder off and leave. But after waiting for a few minutes, the receptionist suddenly said, "Ma'am, Mr. Vance asked that you come up to his office." I didn't overthink it and followed her to the top floor. The second I stepped into Arthur's massive office, a cup of scalding hot coffee was thrown directly at my face. I dodged frantically, but it still splashed across my left arm, leaving the skin burning and red. "You desperate bitch! Do you just love being a homewrecker?! Stop stalking Arthur!" I suddenly remembered another piece of advice Chloe gave me. She had said: "If the woman who made him divorce you tries to bully you, do not take it. You have all the leverage now. Make them as uncomfortable as humanly possible." So, I looked up at Mia and smiled. "Miss Mia, Arthur and I haven't even finished the mandatory divorce cooling-off period. Legally, we are still married. Which means, technically, you are the homewrecker here." Mia clearly didn't expect me to fight back. Her face twisted in sheer humiliation and rage. She lunged at me, aiming a vicious slap at my face. I didn't dodge. I took the hit head-on. She hit me so hard my lip split open, tasting of blood. Seeing I wasn't fighting back, Mia’s rage only fueled her. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and raised her foot, trying to kick me directly in the stomach. I hadn't anticipated her being this vicious. I scrambled backward to avoid the kick. As she lost her balance, I turned and bolted out of the office, screaming at the top of my lungs: "Miss Mia, please stop hitting me! I promise I'll divorce Arthur! I'll abort our baby! Please, just stop hitting me!" Mia was completely unhinged. She chased after me, screaming for me to shut up, which played perfectly into my hands. The executive floor was usually empty, so putting on a show up here was pointless. The elevators were too slow, so I threw open the doors to the fire escape and sprinted down the stairs. When I reached the main lobby, I burst through the stairwell doors and deliberately threw myself onto the marble floor. I started sobbing hysterically, acting utterly terrified. In an instant, I had the attention of everyone in the lobby. I screamed my lines again, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. "Miss Mia, please stop hitting me! I promise I'll divorce Arthur! I'll abort our baby! Please, just stop hitting me!" But the chaotic uproar I expected didn't happen. The employees remained frozen at their desks, absolutely silent. No one even dared to breathe. Confused, I looked up. And locked eyes with Arthur, who was standing at the far end of the lobby.
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