Chapter 2 Goodbye
At eight o'clock the next morning, the low rumble of an engine sounded at the villa's entrance.
James was back.
James wore a perfectly tailored custom suit, his handsome face expressionless, showing no trace of exhaustion from being out all night. It seemed he'd been very well taken care of at Sophia's place.
The moment Erik saw James, he immediately shook off Emily's hand and charged toward him like a firecracker with its fuse lit, his face puffed up with anger.
"Dad, where's Ms. Brown? Why didn't she come back with you!"
"Ms. Brown promised she'd go to the amusement park with you and me."
His childish voice was filled with undisguised anticipation and excitement.
Emily stood in the entryway, listening to Erik's heartbreaking words, but she didn't say anything. She was waiting for James to speak.
James unhurriedly removed his suit jacket and handed it to Echo, his gaze sweeping over Emily without warmth.
"Why haven't you been coming to the office to make coffee lately?"
With one casual sentence, he completely reduced Emily to nothing more than his tool.
Echo awkwardly took the jacket and immediately stepped aside.
Emily was still wearing yesterday's clothes. The last bit of warmth she'd held onto—the feeling of "home"—completely cooled and turned to ashes during that father-son exchange.
She turned and walked back upstairs to the study, expressionless. She opened her computer and without hesitation, downloaded a template online and began drafting a divorce agreement word by word.
She couldn't wait for Martin to draft it. She wanted to divorce James immediately!
She wanted nothing.
The Smith family's massive fortune had nothing to do with her.
The only thing she wanted was custody of Erik.
But deep down, she knew better than anyone that with the Smith family's power and Erik's current attitude, it was impossible.
In the end, she left only one cold statement: No joint property disputes during marriage, no financial dealings after marriage, custody of the child goes to the mother.
She pulled out a black bank card from the depths of a drawer.
This was the household card James had casually tossed to her seven years ago when they married. Every month, an enormous sum she couldn't be bothered to count was automatically deposited.
In seven years, she had never touched a single cent.
She'd maintained her dignity as an artist through her own savings and occasional commercial performances.
She once thought this was pride.
Now it seemed more like a silent, seven-year-long self-punishment.
Emily printed out the divorce agreement in duplicate.
She picked up a pen and signed her name at the bottom.
—Emily.
The strokes were sharp, without a hint of hesitation or attachment.
She placed the signed agreement and the untouched bank card side by side in the most visible spot on the desk.
This was her final accounting to him.
After finishing everything, she walked into the dressing room.
In the enormous space, one side was filled with James's crisp, perfectly pressed suits and shirts, all neatly organized.
On the other side, her clothes—just a few lonely pieces.
A few performance gowns stored away, a few casual outfits.
She pulled out only a small suitcase, packing those few gowns that had witnessed her glory days and several music scores she treasured like jewels.
This place where she'd lived for seven whole years turned out to have so few traces of her.
She didn't take the front door.
She didn't want to face Echo's eyes full of sympathy and regret in her final moment of leaving.
She carried her suitcase and left through the villa's back door, like a shadow finally escaping into the night.
The garage held a row of cold luxury cars, all James's.
Only in the farthest corner sat a white Porsche—the one she'd bought herself before marriage.
A thin layer of dust covered it, like a treasure forgotten long ago.
Emily got into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The familiar roar came to life, like a sleeping beast awakened. That power traveled through the steering wheel into her heart, giving her a long-lost sense of control.
She drove away from Serenity Peaks Estates. In the rearview mirror, that steel fortress grew smaller and smaller. She never looked back once.
The car headed straight for a luxury apartment in the city center.
This was her premarital property, a place with an open view.
She parked the car and walked into the long-vacant apartment.
The air smelled of dust, but afternoon sunlight was streaming through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating every particle of dust and driving away all the cold.
She called a cleaning company and scheduled the most thorough deep clean.
Then she sank into the living room sofa, pulled out her phone, and began saying goodbye to her past self.
Her phone's notes were densely filled with James's habits and preferences.
Just the notes about his coffee preferences ran over a dozen items. Over the years, to hand-brew coffee that satisfied James, she'd approached it as seriously as learning violin—visiting renowned coffee masters, practicing repeatedly, to the point where her hands were stained with coffee bean color for a while.
But as long as she saw James show satisfaction when tasting her coffee, Emily felt everything she did was worth it.
She'd thought James noticed her efforts.
But now it was clear—he was completely blind.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
...
Every note about James, not one left—all cleared out.
She was using this method to try to destroy her connection to James.
Meanwhile, at Serenity Peaks Estates.
James finished handling an international conference call and walked into the study with his coffee.
He immediately spotted the glaring divorce agreement on the desk, and the black card beside it.
He picked up the agreement, casually flipped through two pages, and his lips curved into an extremely mocking smile.
Divorce? How could she possibly bear to leave?
They'd been married seven years, Erik was already five—she could never divorce him in this lifetime.
James tossed what he saw as worthless paper into a drawer, along with the card.
He didn't even bother to look at the signature he'd long grown tired of.
In his view, without him, Emily was nothing.
She'd soon come back crying and begging him to reconcile, just like countless times before.
From downstairs came Erik's excited cheering.
"Awesome! Mom really didn't come down! No piano practice today!"
He couldn't wait to grab his phone watch and excitedly send Sophia a voice message.
"Ms. Brown, Ms. Brown! My mom seems to have left in anger again! Now we can definitely go to the amusement park this weekend!"
James heard Erik's voice without even raising an eyebrow.
He picked up another document, his mind already completely back on next quarter's financial report numbers.
Dozens of miles away in the single apartment, cleaning staff were bustling about.
Emily stood before the sunlit floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the endless stream of cars below.
She pulled out her treasured music score from the suitcase, her fingertips gently brushing over the dense notes that looked like black flames.
Her violin had been gathering dust for far too long.
A burning light rekindled in Emily's eyes.
Not for anyone else.
Only for herself.
She would restart her interrupted career. She would return to the spotlight, back to that world that truly belonged to her—where all eyes were on her.
She opened her phone and dialed her agent's number.
"Hello, Aria Clark, it's me."
Her voice was calm, but carried an unquestionable firmness.
"Emily."
"Help me arrange something. I want to do a solo tour."
