Chapter 3

In the video, Florence was surrounded by a swarm of reporters at the entrance of a law firm, voices overlapping as they fired questions at her:

"Mrs. Churchill! Are you here at a divorce firm to divorce Mr. Churchill?"

"Yesterday was your third wedding anniversary, but Mr. Churchill left you to be with Ms. Stewart. Is that why you want a divorce?"

"What exactly is Ms. Stewart's relationship with Mr. Churchill?"

Florence stood in the crowd, her slender frame wrapped in a gray coat, making her delicate face look fragile and exposed.

"Everyone," she said clearly, "I'm here to file for divorce. Yes."

"Why do you want to divorce Mr. Churchill?" one reporter asked urgently.

Florence paused. She looked at the reporter. Her pressed lips trembled slightly. Then she spoke slowly. "It's because Mr. Churchill cannot properly fulfill my needs as a husband."

The moment the words left her mouth, the crowd erupted.

The reporters exchanged stunned glances, then pressed harder. "Are you saying Mr. Churchill has a physiological problem?"

Florence didn't answer. She nodded slightly, turned, and left under the escort of security.

The video hit the top of trending news in less than ten minutes. Major media outlets reposted it immediately. The comments section exploded:

[What? Percival's sexual impotence? No wonder they've been married three years with no kids!]

[I suspected it all along. A guy that good-looking, married for three years with no action? Something's definitely wrong.]

[Florence is so bold. She's out for blood.]

[So what does Yvaine see in him? That he's impotent?]

[Poor Mrs. Churchill. Three years in a sexless marriage. Who wouldn't divorce?]

Percival gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles went white. A vein throbbed at his temple.

He forced down his fury and dialed Florence's number. After a few rings, her lazy voice drifted through. "Yes?"

Percival's face darkened. His voice was low and dangerous. "What the hell were you spouting to those reporters?"

Florence played dumb. "What are you referring to, Mr. Churchill?"

"Even if you want a divorce, you should've picked a different reason!" Percival was furious.

"Isn't my reason good enough? Mr. Churchill, you're dysfunctional, but I still have my youth. I can't waste my prime on an impotent man, can I?"

"Who are you calling impotent?" Percival's eyes reddened. He ground his teeth.

"We've been married three years and you've never touched me. If that's not impotence, what is?"

Percival started to reply, but Florence cut him off coldly. "Mr. Churchill, if you don't want this to get worse, sign the papers. Otherwise, when reporters ask me again, I'll say the same thing."

"Florence! You—!" Percival barely got the words out before she hung up.

He tried calling again. She'd blocked him.

Percival called his assistant, his voice deadly cold. "Find Florence. I don't care what it takes. Find her today."

Florence was at her best friend Mireille Lavien's place. After hanging up, Mireille doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face. "Oh my God, Florence, you're incredible! Aren't you scared Percival will get revenge?"

Florence shrugged. "Why should I be scared? I told the truth. Percival and I have been married three years. We've never slept together. How is saying he can't satisfy me wrong?"

Before, she loved Percival too much. She gave in at every turn. That's why Percival walked all over her.

Now she'd woken up. If Percival could abandon her in front of a room full of guests without caring about her feelings, then she didn't need to care about his dignity either.

Mireille gave her a meaningful look, then reached out and took her hand, her tone pitying. "Florence, making you live like a widow for three whole years—you've been through so much."

Florence smiled but said nothing.

Mireille looked at her smile, her heart aching. Then her eyes glinted mischievously, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Since Percival's sexual impotence, tonight I'll show you just how good it feels to be a woman."

Florence blinked. "What do you mean?"

Mireille grabbed her hand and winked mysteriously. "Just come with me!"

In his office, Percival stared at the location his assistant had sent. His brow furrowed instantly.

Florence was at a bar. And not just any bar—a bar that catered specifically to wealthy women.

In three years of marriage, Florence had always stayed home. She never went to places like this.

'Fine. Just fine, Florence. You've really outdone yourself.'

A restless, indescribable irritation rose in Percival's chest.

He grabbed his jacket and strode out of the office, heading straight for the bar.

Percival got out of the car and looked up at the sign flickering with suggestive purple light. His frown deepened.

Expressionless, he walked inside. The moment he entered, he saw a dozen muscular men dancing in the center of the floor, their movements provocative.

Percival's face grew darker. He'd just started crossing the dance floor when a blonde woman sidled up to him with a flirtatious smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Hey, handsome. Here alone? Want to—"

"Get lost." Percival's voice was ice-cold. He didn't even glance at her.

Percival pushed through the crowd. He was convinced he'd lost his mind, coming to a place like this to look for Florence.

At the end of the hallway, Percival stopped abruptly.

He heard a voice. Florence's voice.

"Come on! Tonight's on me! Let's drink till we drop!"