Chapter 3

Wren's POV

Staring at the empty jewelry box, I didn't even have the energy to confront him.

I was past anger now. I didn't call Jeffrey to scream and fight—I knew he'd just talk down to me and laugh.

I remembered the last time my mother saw Jeffrey.

Mom was already dying then, lying in that hospital bed, just skin and bones. Jeffrey held her hand, tears in his eyes. "Mom, don't worry. I'll take care of Wren for the rest of her life. She's so kind, loves me so much—how could I ever let her suffer?"

With her last bit of strength, Mom's trembling hands placed that emerald necklace around my neck. "Wren, this was your grandmother's, then mine, now yours. Someday you'll pass it to your daughter." She looked at Jeffrey. "This child lost her father young—it's just been the two of us. Jeffrey, you have to protect her."

"I swear I will," Jeffrey said solemnly.

Mom closed her eyes peacefully.

For the year after that, Jeffrey kept his word. He took care of me, helped me through losing Mom. He'd hold me when I woke up crying at night, make Mom's favorite soup, listen patiently when I told the same memories over and over.

That's when I fell hard for him, willing to give up everything to support him.

Later, Jeffrey's company faced a financial crisis and was about to go bankrupt. Watching him worry every day, I offered to sell Mom's necklace to help him.

"No way." Jeffrey refused firmly. "That's the only thing you have left of your mother. I'd go broke before I'd touch that necklace."

He held me and said, "Wren, we'll get through this together. Even if the company fails, I'll protect you and that necklace."

I was so moved then, thought I'd married the best man in the world.

And now? He'd put that necklace around another woman's neck and said "only this necklace is worthy of her."

I picked up my phone and called the downtown luxury apartment's property management.

"Yes, this afternoon at two. Just pack my personal items. Don't touch anything belonging to the man or any furniture."

After hanging up, I started gathering my things.

I really didn't own much. Five years ago, to pay for his leg treatment, I'd sold my apartment and car. These past seven years, I'd never bought skincare products over fifty dollars, and my closet was full of cotton t-shirts and jeans for doing housework.

In this mansion filled with expensive furniture, there was barely any trace of me.

At three PM, the movers arrived on time. Within half an hour, they'd loaded my pitiful belongings.

I stood in the empty walk-in closet, looking at Jeffrey's rows of suits and watches, then turned and closed the door.

I walked to the kitchen island and placed the signed divorce papers neatly on the counter.

Then I slipped off the wedding ring I'd worn for seven years. It had lost its shine, just like this broken marriage.

I set the ring on top of the divorce papers.

Finally, I looked around this "home" I'd carefully maintained for seven years. The spotless floors, perfectly trimmed lawn, the sticky notes on the fridge listing Jeffrey's dietary restrictions.

I walked over and tore down those notes one by one, tossing them in the trash.

Then I walked out, stone-faced, closed the door, and left the keys with security.

Seven years in prison—finally over.

Sitting in the taxi, I gave the driver my new apartment address. Watching the streets blur past the window, I pulled out my phone and blocked Jeffrey's number.

From this moment on, that pathetic housewife Wren was dead.

What survived was Ghost.

...

Eleven PM.

Jeffrey pushed open the front door, reeking of alcohol and Calla's familiar perfume.

"Wren! Get me some water or something—I've got a splitting headache!" He loosened his tie while changing shoes, shouting out of habit.

The house was dead silent. No warm lights like usual, no figure in an apron rushing out to greet him.

"Wren? What's with the attitude now?" Jeffrey frowned, irritated, and flipped on the living room lights.

He walked to the kitchen. The counter was spotless—no hangover soup waiting for him, and those sticky notes he was used to seeing on the fridge were gone.

Something felt off. He stormed upstairs and shoved open the bedroom door.

"Wren, are you seriously done with this marriage or what—"

The words died in his throat.

The bedroom was empty. The bed was perfectly made, the walk-in closet door hung open, and my small section was completely bare—not even a hanger left behind.

Jeffrey froze, the alcohol clearing from his head instantly.

He frantically searched every room—the study, guest rooms, even the basement. Nothing. No trace of her anywhere.

The house felt huge and creepy, empty as a showroom.

He ran back downstairs, his eyes suddenly locking on the kitchen island.

There lay several sheets of A4 paper with a dull diamond ring weighing them down.

Jeffrey's heart sank. He walked over quickly and grabbed the papers.

"Divorce Agreement."

Jeffrey gripped the papers, his knuckles white.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" Jeffrey laughed coldly and pulled out his phone to call Wren.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable..."

The mechanical voice echoed through the empty mansion.

Jeffrey tried reaching her other ways, but every avenue was cut off.

He stared at his screen, and panic finally hit him. He turned to look at that wedding ring lying alone on the counter.

Wren was really gone.