Chapter 2

Victoria held her phone, looking at the drizzle outside the window. Her voice came out bitter, "William, do you remember what day it is..."

'Our fifth wedding anniversary.'

The words were right on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly she felt there was no point in saying them.

What would it matter if she did? Would he drop his meeting and come back to be with her?

No, he wouldn't.

Five years—she'd long known what kind of cold person he was. He would never linger for her sake.

"It's nothing." In that moment, her heart turned completely cold. "Go ahead with your work."

The call ended.

Victoria stared at the darkened screen. As if making up her mind about something, she turned and resolutely left the clinic.

She went to the supermarket, bought groceries, came home, and cooked four dishes—all William's favorites.

She even made a cake, with "Happy 5th Anniversary" written in frosting.

By the time she finished everything, it was only six o'clock.

She sat quietly at the table, waiting.

Eight o'clock—the food went cold.

Ten o'clock—the frosting on the cake started to sag.

At 12:15 AM, the sound of a car finally came from outside the villa.

A black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into the courtyard. Its headlights swept across the floor-to-ceiling windows, then went dark.

The electronic lock clicked open outside the living room, and William walked in.

He wore a gray coat, his tall frame carrying the chill of the late night.

Seeing the dining room lights on, his gaze swept over the table full of dishes, and he frowned.

"Didn't I tell you not to wait up for me?"

Victoria sat at the dining table, looking at William.

This man was so handsome—deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge. Just standing there, he was like a painting.

She remembered that year when she was twelve, in a hospital corridor. She'd crouched by a bench, clutching her adoptive parents' death certificates, shaking with sobs.

He had walked over and handed her a handkerchief.

Back then he wore a white shirt, backlit, his features as clean as a painting.

That handkerchief had a faint mint scent. She'd kept it for many years.

Later she learned his name was William Sinclair, the crown prince of the Sinclair family, the most dazzling person in Emerald City.

She'd remembered him for ten years, and loved him for ten years.

But suddenly she realized—his eyes had never held her.

The frosting on the cake had collapsed. The words "Happy 5th Anniversary" were crooked and blurred, barely readable.

Seeing Victoria's silence, William's tone grew more impatient. "Go to bed."

He unbuttoned his coat, preparing to go upstairs.

"William." Victoria suddenly spoke.

William stopped and turned to look at her.

Victoria stood up. The light fell on her face, paler than usual.

She smiled slightly. "It's been five years. I want to give myself a proper goodbye."

William paused, seemingly not understanding what she meant.

Victoria looked at him, her tone light but resolute. "Let's get divorced."

William's expression finally showed some reaction. He looked at her like she was an unreasonable child.

"Just because I didn't come home for dinner, you want a divorce?"

Victoria looked at him and suddenly felt very tired.

He was always like this. He never took her words to heart.

"I'm not being dramatic." Her tone remained calm. "Bianca came to my department for a checkup today. She's pregnant."

William's gaze paused slightly. His deep eyes showed no guilt, no panic. His tone stayed indifferent. "So?"

Victoria's nails dug into her palms. Her heart felt like someone was squeezing it hard—the pain made it hard to breathe.

Was this his way of admitting it? Not even offering an explanation.

"William." Her voice trembled slightly, though she tried to suppress it. "Don't you have anything you want to say?"

William looked at her, then suddenly stepped forward.

His tall frame carried an inherent sense of oppression.

Victoria instinctively stepped back, her back hitting the dining room sideboard.

Her vision darkened as William closed in, one hand braced on the cabinet beside her, trapping her in an instant.

He looked down at her, his excessively handsome face expressionless, his voice low and carelessly cold. "You haven't forgotten that the person I was supposed to marry was Bianca, have you?"

"Since you were so eager to marry into this family back then, what are you making a fuss about now?"

Victoria's face went deathly pale in an instant. Her teeth bit down hard on her lower lip.

His words were like ice shards, falling one by one into her heart.

She knew Bianca was his childhood sweetheart, the one he'd always treasured.

But even knowing she was just a substitute, she'd married him without hesitation.

Only because it was him—William Sinclair, the person she'd remembered for ten years and loved for ten years.

She'd thought five years, over two thousand days and nights of devotion, might earn her even the slightest bit of his care.

But his heart had long been given to someone else. Her devotion was nothing but an absurd act of self-deception.

Victoria suppressed the endless pain in her heart, took a deep breath, and spoke softly but firmly:

"William, I was pathetic back then. I've come to my senses now. This marriage in name only—you're tired of it, I'm tired of it. Better to end it sooner rather than later."

William raised an eyebrow and suddenly lifted his hand to grip her chin.

"In name only?" He repeated those words, his thin lips curving into an ambiguous smile. "So you're upset that I've been neglecting you."

Victoria's face flushed hot.

He was too close—close enough that she could smell the faint mint scent on him.

That scent was the same as ten years ago—crisp, clean, once haunting her dreams.

But now, mixed with the late-night chill, it only made her want to escape.

She turned her face away, trying to avoid his hand.

But William applied more pressure, turning her face back. His fingertips brushed across the corner of her lips.

"Victoria," he called her name, his tone like a lover's whisper, yet his words were cold. "Just say what you want. No need to threaten me with divorce."

Victoria's whole body stiffened.

He thought she was threatening him? Thought she was using divorce to get his attention?

She suddenly laughed, her eyes stinging.

"William, you're overthinking it." She raised her hand and forcefully pushed his away, looking straight at him. "I'm serious. This isn't some tactical retreat. I want to divorce you!"

The light fell on her face. That plain face was paler than usual, but also carried a kind of resilient beauty. Behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes were unusually calm.

"I'll have my lawyer draft the agreement. Don't worry, I won't take a penny. Nothing from the Sinclair family—I won't take anything with me."

William looked at her, his eyes darkening.

Victoria said nothing more and turned to go upstairs.

At the staircase, she suddenly stopped and turned back, giving him a mocking smile.

"By the way, Bianca can come to our hospital for her prenatal checkups. I'll take good care of her."

With that, she turned and closed the bedroom door.

The heavy door blocked everything out. Only then did Victoria slump against it.

Tears finally poured out uncontrollably, falling one by one onto the carpet.

She covered her mouth, not letting a single sob escape.

'William, I'm done with you.'

William stood in place, looking at that closed door. His brow slowly furrowed, and anger finally surfaced in his dark pupils.

She actually wanted to divorce him?

How dare she?

Taking several deep breaths to suppress his anger, William's lips curved into a cold smile.

Thinking she could manipulate him with divorce, make him give in?

Victoria, you're still too naive. I'll wait for you to regret this and come crying back.

...

The next morning, the butler Chase pushed open the study door to find William sitting behind his desk.

He still wore last night's shirt. His usually impeccable collar was wrinkled—he seemed to have worked all night.

His brow was tightly furrowed as he looked at the documents spread before him.

Chase had been the Sinclair family's butler for thirty years. One look at William's expression told him everything.

William was in a bad mood. A very bad mood.

He placed the tray in his hands on the corner of the desk and said softly, "Mr. Sinclair, this is breakfast Mrs. Sinclair made. She asked me to bring it up to you."

William's hand paused slightly as he flipped through documents.

He looked up and glanced at the items on the tray.

A bowl of oatmeal, two small side dishes, a perfectly fried egg—all his usual preferences.

Chase carefully observed his expression. Seeing the ice-cold face seem to soften just a bit, he quickly pressed on: "Mrs. Sinclair got up early to make the porridge. She specifically told me to make sure you eat it while it's hot."

William said nothing, his gaze falling on the bowl of porridge.

The oatmeal was still steaming, cooked soft, with a few blueberries sprinkled on top.

She always remembered to put blueberries in his oatmeal, saying it was good for his health.

William's expression eased. He picked up the bowl as if doing her a favor and took a sip.

It was very good—better than anything you could buy outside.

At least she had some sense, knowing to make the first move. Since she'd already taken the initiative to make peace, he'd be magnanimous and forgive her.

He set down the bowl, his tone revealing no emotion. "Where is she?"

Chase hesitated, then replied carefully, "Mrs. Sinclair has left."

William froze, clearly not expecting this answer.

"Did she go to the hospital?"

Chase steeled himself to continue: "After making breakfast, she packed her things, called a car, and left."

"She also asked me to give you this."

He produced a manila envelope from behind his back and placed it on the desk.

William opened the envelope and pulled out a document.

The words "Divorce Agreement" were printed prominently on the first page.

His gaze moved down to the last page, where her signature was already there.

The handwriting was neat and careful. Very deliberate.

Chase added quietly from the side, "Mrs. Sinclair said... to contact her after you sign it. She'll be waiting for you at City Hall."

William stared at the agreement without speaking.

Chase watched his expression and ventured cautiously, "Mr. Sinclair, maybe you should go talk to her..."

William threw the agreement on the desk and cut him off coldly, "Let her go! If she wants a divorce, I'll give her one!"

Chase: ...

'Your mouth is really stubborn. If you're really willing, then sign it.'

Chase didn't dare say more. He picked up the tray and beat a hasty retreat.

The study fell quiet.

William leaned back in his chair and raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

After a moment, he reached for the agreement again and flipped through the terms.

The more he read, the colder his expression became. She really meant what she'd said before—not taking a penny. House, car, savings—she was giving up everything.

Even the money the Sinclair family had given her when they married was listed, with a note that she'd find a way to pay it back.

William laughed coldly. She was an obstetrician with a modest monthly salary—how would she pay it back?

Five years ago, she'd married in Bianca's place for the money, hadn't she? Now she was putting on this act of nobility.

He continued flipping through, and when he reached the last page, his gaze suddenly stopped.

In the section for reason for divorce, written in Victoria's handwriting, were the words:

[Due to the husband's physical dysfunction, no sexual relations in five years, marriage exists in name only.]