Chapter 2
Bang—
The heavy slam of the door echoed through the villa, sending a tremor through the air and shattering the last trace of light in Claire’s world.
She slowly crouched down and picked up the scattered documents, page by page.
Ethan’s signature sat clearly in the space marked Party B, bold, careless, and painfully conspicuous, exactly like him.
At the center of the first page, the bold title stared back at her: DIVORCE AGREEMENT
It was as if the words themselves were coldly observing her three-year marriage, absurd, humiliating, and painfully futile.
So，this was all it took to end a relationship that had cost her everything, one absent-minded signature and the return of another woman.
Claire sat on the cold floor for a long time, clutching the agreement to her chest.
So long that her limbs went numb.
Finally, she pushed herself up using the edge of the dining table.
She carefully straightened the papers and placed them into her bag, deliberately, with quiet finality.
Then she turned and walked into the kitchen.
The steamed sea bass, his favorite, she dumped into the trash with her own hands.
The lotus root and pork rib soup she had simmered all afternoon went straight down the sink, washed away without hesitation.
And the rest of the dishes she had prepared with such care, along with three years of her unconditional devotion, were reduced to something cheap, useless, and utterly disposable.
She cleaned the kitchen spotless. The counters gleamed, as if nothing had ever happened.
Claire picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. After a moment, her finger stopped on a name she hadn’t dialed in a very long time—Mr. Thompson, Attorney-at-Law.
At last, the faintest smile curved her lips, thin, restrained, and colder than ice.
“Ethan Walker,” she murmured to the empty villa, “game over. It’s time to clear the board.”
…
An hour later.
The lock clicked.
The door opened again.
This time, Ethan wasn’t alone.
He entered almost protectively, one arm guiding a young woman beside him. The intimacy came naturally, without thought.
The girl wore a simple white dress. Her long hair fell loosely over her shoulders. Her features were delicate, clean, soft, and seemingly innocent.
Lily Chen.
In name, Claire’s stepsister.
In fact, the woman Ethan had kept in his heart for years, the one he truly loved.
“Ethan, is this your house?” Her voice was gentle and sweet as she leaned into him.
Those wide, seemingly naive eyes swept over Claire standing in the living room, unmasked, undisguised provocation shining through them.
“Sister.” She smiled, the familiarity in her tone exaggerated, deliberate.
Claire didn’t move. She stood there, watching the scene like an absurd, silent farce.
Ethan’s gaze shifted to her. There was no pause, no hesitation, just the same authoritative tone he used only when he was irritated or when he saw her as nothing more than a subordinate.
“Claire.”
“Lily just got off a long flight. She’s exhausted.”
“She used to stay in that room, but it hasn’t been touched in years,” he continued naturally and casually. “Tonight, she’ll stay in our room.”
Our room?
Claire’s lashes trembled slightly, as if she’d misheard.
It was the master bedroom she had lived in for three full years.
The only place that had ever proven she was his wife.
And now, he was giving it to another woman.
As if that weren’t cruel enough, Ethan added casually, his tone as neutral as discussing the weather. “Pack up your things and move to the guest room.” The air froze completely.
