I went back to the mansion and immediately contacted my lawyer.

He was professional and experienced, and he helped me analyze the property division. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd helped me with divorce proceedings, even though they never went through.

But this time was different.

I was serious. I was focused.

After a long time, my phone rang. It was Brad.

He probably realized that I'd left without telling him, and he'd lost face, so he was a little angry. When he picked up, his voice was a bit cold. "Stella, what are you doing?"

I motioned for my lawyer to pause.

And then I spoke to Brad in an even, flat tone. "I want a divorce."

There was a pause on the other end. And then Brad spoke in a low voice, "Because of Seraphina?"

I didn't answer.

He thought he'd guessed the reason, and he seemed relieved, his tone soothing. "Stella, she ruined your birthday. She was wrong, and you have every right to be upset. I'll have her come over and apologize."

Even now.

He thought I was sulking because of Seraphina, but he still wouldn't let go.

It was a little ridiculous.

I gave a slight laugh, then cut him off, my voice very calm. "Brad, this has nothing to do with anyone."

"Then—"

"I'm divorcing you because I don't love you anymore.

"Brad, I won't be going down this road with you anymore."

I finally said those words, as if I was shedding a heavy burden.

A little sadness, but much more relief.

Brad was silent for a moment. On the phone, he tapped his desk, which showed he was thinking.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice muffled.

"What are you up to this time?"

He still thought I was throwing a temper tantrum.

The question felt familiar.

Every time he had been unfaithful, every time I had cried and made a scene, he would look at me with tired indifference.

"Over the years, all my money and company shares are in your name. Those women are just one-night stands. Nobody can take your place. You'll always be my wife, Stella."

"You can get anything you want. Look at the other women. Most of them are working to survive, and their annual salaries are less than the starting price of one of your rings. Stella, what more do you want?"

Yes, what more did I want?

Luxury.

Fame.

How many people envied me?

Even my father, after he had beaten Brad, had gently advised me, "Just ignore it. Just get along. Love and relationships aren't as real as money."

I understood that.

But I couldn't accept it.

I couldn't accept the relationship of a childhood sweetheart, a partner in adversity, becoming a marriage of mutual indifference and a hollow happiness.

I couldn't accept loving each other to the end, then hating each other.

So I cried, I made a scene, and I asked for a divorce, hoping he would change and that I would find love again.

But in the end, my lover became my enemy.

"Brad, you may not believe me, but I wanted to kill you and then kill myself."

I thought Brad would be terrified. But he asked, "So why didn't you?"

I was taken aback.

Then I smiled lightly, my voice soft. "Because you called me ‘Sweetheart’ that day."