Chapter 1 Let's Divorce

Sloane's POV

"Congratulations, you're six weeks pregnant. The fetal heartbeat is very healthy."

When I got the pregnancy test results, it felt like a dream. Was I really pregnant?

I touched my belly, feeling both surprised and excited.

I knew the Montclair family had always wanted a child. If Jared—my husband—found out he was going to be a father, he'd be happy, right?

On the way home, I made a special detour to buy the freshest salmon and ribeye steak.

These were Jared's favorite foods.

In the evening, I heard the sound of the door opening.

I set down the last dish, wiped my hands, feeling inexplicably nervous.

Jared pushed the door open, his suit jacket casually draped over his arm, his tall figure and handsome features striking.

I hurried over to him, reaching out to take his jacket, but instead caught a document. On it were five large words: "Divorce Agreement."

I froze in place. The paper was blindingly white, stinging my eyes until they gradually blurred.

"She's back."

Jared loosened his tie, exhaustion written across his face. "Whatever you want, just say it."

My fingers tightened on my apron, nails digging into my palm.

How foolish I was, still hoping for happiness that was never meant for me.

The "she" Jared mentioned was my sister Keira, the pampered princess, Jared's childhood sweetheart.

Three years ago, Keira refused to marry into the Montclair family and went abroad under the pretense of studying.

And I, the daughter who'd been lost for over twenty years before being found, naturally took her place in this arranged marriage.

Now that the real deal was back, I, the substitute, naturally had to step aside.

I lowered my eyes, gently placing my hand on my belly, feeling bitter that this child had come at such a bad time.

Jared's gaze lingered on the table full of dishes for a moment. He frowned. "Why so much food? Is today some special occasion?"

I smiled and shook my head. "I was in a good mood, so I made extra."

Jared looked at me deeply, his expression somewhat uncomfortable. "Sorry, I've ruined the mood."

"Come on, don't just stand there. The food's getting cold."

I changed the subject, turning toward the kitchen. "You eat first. I'll get the soup."

"Sloane." He called after me.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"Thank you for taking care of me these three years."

His voice was calm. "Don't worry, I'll compensate you."

I didn't say anything, just continued toward the kitchen.

Looking at the steam rising from the ladle, I finally couldn't hold it in. My nose stung, blurring my vision.

Tears fell without warning.

I quickly wiped them away, took a deep breath, put on a relaxed expression, and carried the soup bowl back to the dining room.

Jared was already seated but hadn't picked up his chopsticks.

He looked at me, his gaze intense. "You've been crying?"

"Let's eat." I placed the soup in front of him and sat across from him.

Throughout the meal, neither of us spoke.

Jared, as usual, scrolled through his phone while eating.

But today, he looked at his phone for an unusually long time, seemingly texting someone, the corners of his mouth occasionally turning up slightly.

I knew that person must be Keira.

After dinner, I cleared the dishes while he went to his study.

I scrubbed the dishes over and over, until my fingers turned white and wrinkled, but I didn't stop.

Because soon, I wouldn't have to do these things anymore.

By the time I finished cleaning the kitchen, it was past nine. I returned to the bedroom. Jared had already showered and was leaning against the headboard reading documents.

The warm yellow light outlined his sharp profile.

Once, I thought I only loved his appearance.

But after three years, my feelings had changed.

I'd gotten used to being Jared's wife, even started imagining we'd grow old together.

Too bad this dream ended too quickly.

"Should I sleep in the guest room?" I asked quietly.

We were getting divorced—sleeping together didn't seem appropriate anymore.

"No need." Jared's tone was flat. "If the maid Nora finds out we're sleeping in separate rooms, she'll report it to my mother again."

He paused, then added, "I don't want anyone to know about the divorce yet."

I hesitated for a moment, then finally changed into my nightgown and lay down on the other side of the bed, with a person's width between us.

This had been our norm for three years—sharing a bed but living separate lives, each with our own thoughts.

But tonight's circumstances made this distance feel especially awkward.

In the darkness, his hand suddenly reached over, caressing my waist.

My body stiffened, my heart pounding violently.

"I haven't touched you in a long time."

Jared's voice sounded by my ear, low and magnetic, his warm breath brushing against my neck. "One last time?"

In three years of marriage, I could count on one hand the number of times Jared had touched me.

But today he was unusually passionate, holding me tightly, kissing me longer than usual, as if trying to fill in three years of emptiness all at once.

Just as his body touched my belly, I suddenly realized something and grabbed his hand as he tried to unbutton my nightgown. "Not today."

He paused, confusion on his face. "Why?"

I avoided his gaze, making up an excuse. "I'm on my period today."

"Liar." He held me again, planting kisses all over my shoulder. "We're married. You think I don't know when your period is?"

I didn't answer him, just pushed him away again and turned over with my back to him.

In the darkness, his breathing grew heavy. After a long while, I heard him laugh coldly.

"You actually want this divorce, don't you?"

His voice was icy. "You think I don't know you've kept that painting all this time."

My heart jolted.

The painting showed a man's back—I'd drawn it the first time I saw him when I was eighteen.

I'd carefully hidden it in a drawer, only taking it out occasionally late at night.

But I hadn't looked at that painting in a long time. Jared was still bothered by it.

"That's none of your business, is it?" My voice was calm.

Jared fell silent for a moment, then I felt the space behind me empty as he threw off the covers and got out of bed.

The bathroom door slammed shut, followed by the sound of running water.

Soon, the water stopped. Jared came out but didn't return to the bedroom—he went to the guest room next door.

"Sloane, you have no right to be angry. Because we're the same kind of people."

That was the last thing Jared said to me before leaving.

I slowly curled up, burying my face in the pillow as tears flowed silently, soaking the pillowcase.

All night long, I couldn't sleep.