Chapter 2

I was barely discharged from the hospital when my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. 

"Because of your stunt at the cliff, the deaf-mute collector's mood was ruined. We’re hosting a charity gala tonight. Be there and apologize properly."

I stared at the screen. My stunt? I lost my baby because he refused to touch me, and he wanted me to apologize for killing the vibe? I almost laughed out loud. I texted back a simple "Fine." 

I pulled a black dress from my closet. Tonight, I left my silk gloves in the drawer. 

The ballroom at the Plaza Hotel was packed with Wall Street elites. I walked in alone. It didn't take long to spot my husband. 

He was standing by the champagne tower. Beside him was Lila. She wore a stunning emerald-green haute couture gown. It was a custom piece by Vivienne Westwood, part of a limited "Tenth Anniversary" couples' collection. Ethan’s velvet bowtie perfectly matched her silk bodice. 

But that wasn't the worst part. Holding Ethan’s left hand was a little girl, maybe four years old. Scarlett. The company PR team called her a "sponsored orphan." But watching Ethan bend down to wipe a crumb from her cheek, they didn't look like a sponsor and an orphan. They looked exactly like a family. 

I stood three meters away, the designated safe zone. I was his wife of five years, but standing there, I felt like a trespasser. 

Mr. Sterling, the deaf-mute collector from the cliff, spotted me. He walked over, his face lined with genuine concern. He raised his hands, signing rapidly to ask about my recovery and the baby. 

Lila immediately stepped forward, a sweet, professional smile on her face. "Mrs. Voss, Mr. Sterling is asking about—"

"I know what he's asking," I cut her off. I raised my bare hand and pushed her arm down. 

Lila gasped, stepping back as if I’d burned her. Ethan’s head snapped toward me, his brow furrowed in warning. 

I ignored them both. I lifted my hands, looked right at Mr. Sterling, and signed back fluently. At the same time, I spoke loudly. 

"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Sterling. Thank you for reaching for me when my own husband was too 'allergic' to save my life."

The room went dead silent. 

I kept signing, my voice echoing off the marble walls. "That child would never have been happy in a home where his father sees his mother as a virus. So I’m divorcing Ethan Voss."

I turned to Lila. The color had completely drained from her face. "Miss Mercer, I know you were terribly frightened that day on the cliff. There's no need to trouble yourself with translation tonight. Enjoy your dinner."

The whispers started instantly, sweeping through the crowd. 

"Did she say allergic? But he’s standing right next to that intern."

"Look at their clothes. That’s the Westwood anniversary set. They're wearing couples' outfits."

"Wait, look at the little girl's eyes. They look just like Ethan's. You don't think..."

"She lost her baby because of him? That's sick."

Ethan stood frozen by the champagne tower. He stared at my moving hands, his eyes wide with absolute, earth-shattering shock. He never knew. In five years of marriage, he never knew I could use sign language.

I set my glass down and walked out the doors.

I didn't make it to the lobby before heavy footsteps echoed behind me. Ethan grabbed my shoulder.

"Seren!" His face was livid, a vein popping in his neck. "Do you have any idea what you just did? Who gave you the right to slander Lila in front of the press? You’ll ruin her reputation!"

"Is it slander if it’s true?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly flat. "You held her, didn't you? Stop pretending, Ethan. I saw you rub her ankle in the hospital courtyard. You’re not allergic to her."

He instantly snatched his hand back, pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer annoyance. "So what? Lila is different. She's fragile. She needs taking care of."

"And I don't?"

"You’re still Mrs. Voss," he snapped impatiently. "Isn’t that enough? You have the status. Don’t be greedy, Seren."

Greedy. Five years of wearing silk gloves. Five years without a single hug, a single touch, a single shred of warmth. I endured a hundred needles to my stomach for him. And I was the greedy one? It was laughable.

"The divorce is happening," I said firmly, turning away.

Just then, a group of frantic reporters burst through the side doors, rushing forward for a scoop. One of them collided hard with my back.

I lost my footing. I landed heavily on the floor. A blinding pain shot through my knee. Skin tore, and dark blood instantly soaked through my pantyhose.

Ethan flinched. He instinctively reached a hand out toward me. But he stopped mid-air. He looked at the blood pooling around my leg, hesitated for two agonizing seconds, and pulled his hand back.

"Stop being dramatic," he sighed, looking down at me like I was an unbearable burden. "Get up. If you want another baby so badly, we can do IVF again. Just don’t touch me, and things can stay the same."

Before I could even process the absolute cruelty of his words, a soft sob echoed from the top of the stairs.

Lila was standing there. "Ethan... everyone in there is looking at me. They're saying such awful things."

Ethan stepped right over my bleeding leg, took the stairs two at a time, and pulled Lila into a tight, fiercely protective embrace.

"I've got you. It's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing her back.

He didn't look back at me. Not once.

I dragged myself up, patched my own knee in the lobby bathroom, and took a cab home.

By 3:00 PM that afternoon, my phone was blowing up. Voss Group had just released an official PR statement on every major platform:

"Anyone who continues to defame Miss Lila Mercer will face full legal action from Voss’s legal team, up to and including bankruptcy."

He was willing to destroy anyone to protect her.

I calmly printed out the document my lawyer had just emailed me. I walked down the second-floor hallway and stopped in front of Ethan’s private study. The room I was strictly banned from entering for five long years.

I pushed the door open.

Ethan was sitting at his desk. He looked up, his eyes flashing with immediate fury at my intrusion.

I walked straight up to him, slapped the divorce agreement onto his keyboard, and stared into his cold eyes.

"Sign this."