Chapter 2

After a brief moment of shock, Declan quickly regained his composure.

He knew me too well—or rather, he thought he knew the Adelaide who always swallowed her pride and compromised for the sake of the big picture.

In his eyes, even if I caught him red-handed, I wouldn't dare make a scene in front of so many people just to protect our pathetic marriage.

There wasn't a trace of guilt in his eyes for being caught; instead, they were filled with disgust and impatience. "Adelaide, are you out of your mind? Did your fever fry your brain? I can't believe you stalked me all the way here to cause a scene!"

He lowered his voice, delivering a vicious warning that only the two of us could hear: "Get the hell back right now. Don't embarrass me here, or I'll divorce you immediately!"

I stared at this face—the face that once made my heart race—finding it incredibly foreign and ridiculous now. "Embarrass you? Declan, hosting a party with your mistress on your legal wife's yacht, using her supplementary card to buy aphrodisiacs—who exactly is embarrassing who here?"

"Lady, are you delusional?" Chloe rolled her eyes, her voice shrill and grating. "You say this yacht is yours? Take a good look in the mirror! Look at your pathetic, shabby outfit—is everything you're wearing even worth 500 bucks combined? Declan rented the Poseidon specifically for me. You are truly pathetic!"

"Exactly. Dressed like a nun and claiming the yacht is hers. It's hilarious."

"Declan is so unlucky. How did he end up stuck with a woman like her? She's like a leech he just can't shake off."

The people around us began hurling venomous insults at me. They ruthlessly mocked my appearance and belittled my dignity, acting as if I were the homewrecker destroying someone else's relationship.

Hearing this, Declan didn't try to stop them; instead, a smug smile crept onto his face.

He seemed to believe that the harder he trampled me in front of everyone, the more it showcased his success and charm.

"Adelaide, have you caused enough of a scene? We aren't blind," Declan said, burying his hands in his pockets and playing the victim of unendurable harassment.

"We agreed to a divorce half a year ago! For the sake of our past, I let you keep the big house and even sent you monthly alimony. What more could you possibly want? You can't even fulfill the most basic reproductive duty of a wife—what's wrong with me finding someone else? Apologize right now, then get off this boat, and I can pretend tonight never happened."

"Agreed to a divorce?" The boiling rage in my chest actually made me laugh out loud.

"Declan, you really have no shame at all just to cover for your mistress. We are still legally married right now!"

I took a step closer, glaring dead into his eyes. "As for having children—Declan, have you forgotten why I hemorrhaged and struggled to conceive? When your pathetic company's cash flow broke and you were ready to jump off a building, I was the one who downed three bottles of high-proof vodka for you to secure that life-saving investment! And now you have the absolute gall to use that as an excuse for cheating?"

Declan's face drastically changed. Clearly struck where it hurt, he pointed furiously at my face and roared, "Shut up! That is all in the past! Now you're nothing but a parasite living off me. What right do you have to point fingers here?!"

"Living off you?" I looked at him with sheer mockery.

I pulled out my phone, pulled up a digital document, and shoved the screen right in front of Declan and Chloe's faces.

It was a yacht title certificate issued by a top-tier Swiss law firm.

Printed clearly on it was the Poseidon's registration information, hull number, and at the very bottom, a gilded signature—Owner: Adelaide Beatrice.

"See that clearly?" I stared into Declan's suddenly widened eyes and enunciated every single word. "This yacht—from its keel to every single screw on this deck—belongs to me. And you, Declan, are nothing but a kept man swiping my supplementary card to play the billionaire!"

Chloe leaned in and saw the name on the screen, but she was still stubbornly in denial. "This... this has to be forged! How could a shabby woman like you own a yacht of this caliber?! Declan, hurry up and tell everyone she faked it, right?!"

Declan stared dead at the title deed on the screen.

In a setting like this, if he admitted the yacht was mine, the persona he had so carefully cultivated would instantly shatter. He would become the laughingstock of Miami's high society.

A mix of extreme vanity and terror completely warped Declan's rationality.

He lunged forward and snatched the phone from my hand.