Chapter 2
Amelia's words hit the silent room like a grenade.
Eric blinked through his hangover, briefly stunned, then sneered as sarcasm spread across his face. He steadied himself and looked down at the woman curled up at the edge of the bed.
"Divorce?" He let out a cold chuckle, voice laced with mockery. "Amelia, what's this—another one of your little games?"
She met his eyes, her voice calm and steady. "I'm not playing around. I mean it, I want a divorce."
Eric's brows drew together. "Why?"
"Why?" Amelia let out a bitter laugh, finally unable to hold back the tears slipping down her cheeks. But she wiped them away quickly, then asked the question she'd buried in her heart for far too long: "Eric, is it that you don't want kids, or you just don't want to have them with me?"
That question cut deep and bare—it flung her last shred of dignity at his feet like broken glass.
His eyes went cold instantly—like someone had shut off the warmth. He looked at her streaked-with-tears but stubborn-as-ever face and felt an unfamiliar surge of frustration. The alcohol made his tongue sharper, his words careless. "Does it even matter?"
Does it even matter?
Those four light-sounding words slammed into Amelia's heart like a ton of bricks, smashing her last bit of hope into dust.
So it wasn't about not wanting kids. It was not wanting hers. Chloe's kids were fine, apparently.
Everything—every compromise she made, every time she swallowed her pain, every second of the last three years—went up in smoke.
"I see now." Her tone was eerily calm, so quiet it chilled the air. She threw off the covers, stepped barefoot onto the floor, walked to the vanity, and picked up the divorce papers she'd drafted long ago.
Amelia wrote them late at night, alone and crying, never thinking she'd actually ever use them. And yet, here they were.
She placed them on the nightstand beside Eric, signed her name in a single fluid motion, no hesitation.
"Here. Sign it, Eric. I'm letting you go—and myself, too."
Eric's gaze darkened. The way she moved, how ready she was—he hadn't expected her to be this prepared.
Rage kicked in hard.
He snatched the papers, didn't even glance, tore them in half without blinking, crushed them into a ball, and threw them to the floor.
"You think divorce is that easy?" he roared, red-faced, voice tinged with drunken fury. "Stay put and stop testing me!"
With that, he stomped away, reeking of alcohol and rage, slamming the door so hard the echo rang in Amelia's ears.
It didn't just shake the walls—it shattered the fragile illusion she still clung to.
Amelia slowly looked down at the crumpled paper on the floor, deadpan. So this was what it meant when your heart died. No more hurt. No more waves.
Eric didn't come back that night. And Amelia? She didn't shed another tear.
The next morning, Amelia got up early, carefully did her hair and makeup, and went to meet the most famous divorce lawyer in North City.
The lawyer glanced at the poised, elegant woman sitting across from him—Mrs. Reeves, no less—and couldn't help being curious.
Scandals in high society weren't new to him, but seeing this woman—always known for being gentle and composed—take the initiative to file for divorce? That was something else entirely.
"Mrs. Reeves, could you tell me the main reason you've decided to file for divorce? It'll help us figure out the best approach—like whether there's a fault party, and how to handle asset division."
Amelia picked up her coffee. The image of Eric from last night flashed through her mind; that face filled with coldness and disdain. She set down her cup, looked straight at the lawyer, and said, "He's not capable."
"Pfft—" The lawyer just about choked on his water. His face turned beet red as he coughed violently, struggling to swallow and breathe at the same time.
Not capable? Wait... not capable in sex?
Eric—the president of Jeson Group, the sharp, ruthless business mogul—that Eric—isn't capable? Now that... that was hands down the wildest tea he'd heard all year.
Catching the lawyer's stunned expression, Amelia couldn't help but feel a flicker of mischievous satisfaction.
"Ahem," the lawyer finally got his breath back, quickly switching to professional mode, afraid she might drop an even bigger bomb, "Uh, Mrs. Reeves, let's get back to the property division. What exactly are you thinking?"
Amelia's expression shifted. Her tone turned calm and assertive. "I want at least half. All property gained after marriage is shared by law, and I have every right to it. I also have assets and investments from before the marriage that need to be clearly separated."
The lawyer blinked. Half?! She's going for half of the Reeves empire? Well, someone's not pulling any punches.
Legally speaking, she's got grounds. But knowing Eric's personality and how he plays the game, there's no way he's going to just say yes.
Still, the lawyer nodded, tucking away his doubts. "Understood. I'll start drafting a formal agreement based on your terms immediately."
Stepping out of the law firm, Amelia felt like a weight had lifted from her chest.
Back at the house—that familiar cold shell of a home—she started calmly packing her things. Everything she took belonged to her before the marriage, or had been bought with her own money during the last three years. Jewelry, designer bags, high-end gifts Eric had given her? Untouched. Left neatly in the walk-in closet.
Dragging her suitcase down the stairs, she was met by Mrs. Collins emerging from the kitchen. Seeing Amelia all packed up, she looked surprised. "Mrs. Reeves, are you going somewhere? Do I still need to take lunch to Mr. Reeves today?"
Usually, rain or shine, Amelia would personally cook and deliver lunch to Eric at his office. No exceptions.
Amelia paused, gave Mrs. Collins a gentle smile. There was a peace in her expression, distant but resolute. "No need. Starting today, he's on his own."
Mrs. Collins froze, sensing something was off. "Ma'am, you and Mr. Reeves..."
Amelia took out a copy of the signed divorce agreement from her bag—it had just been faxed over by her lawyer—and handed it to her. "Please pass this to Mr. Reeves for me. I've already signed it."
Mrs. Collins accepted the document, her hand trembling as she finally realized how serious things were.
Panicked, she rushed to the landline and quickly dialed Eric's number.
"Sir! It's bad! Mrs. Reeves left a divorce agreement and just walked out with her suitcase!"
