Chapter 2

Max sat slumped on the leather sofa, the divorce papers in his hands glowing pale white in the night.

Everything had happened too suddenly—Ruby's provocation, Delia's composure, and that casually delivered "I have fallen in love with another." He thought this was just another one of Delia's emotional threats, like countless arguments over the past ten years that could be smoothed over with a few gentle words.

But when he carelessly flipped open the first page of the agreement, his expression instantly froze.

"Family Property Inventory" leaped out at him, followed by rows of numbers precise to the decimal point:

Lake Michigan Lakefront Villa (Estimated Value: $185,000)

Chicago Downtown Townhouses x3 (Estimated Value: $420,000)

Lincoln Park Mansion (Estimated Value: $95,000)

...

Max's fingers began to tremble. This property list was terrifyingly detailed, including not only the specific addresses and market valuations of all properties, but also the quantities of investment stocks, bank account numbers, and even his collection of antique clocks was itemized one by one.

"Seventeen properties," he muttered, his voice sounding strangled.

Delia remained standing by the fireplace, her slender silhouette appearing particularly cold in the firelight. Without turning around, she said flatly, "I'll take eight, you keep nine. Consider it compensation for your years of... tolerance."

"Tolerance?" Max jerked his head up, his glasses nearly sliding off. "Delia, what are you talking about?"

"And the Wisconsin lakefront club—I hold 22% of the shares. You can buy me out at market price, cash payment." Delia turned around, her tone as calm as discussing the weather. "The lawyer says this distribution is quite fair."

Max asked, "When did this start?"

Delia walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a whiskey. "I don't believe I'm obligated to inform you."

Max shot up from his seat, the agreement papers scattering to the floor. "You betrayed me?!"

"Betrayed?" Delia laughed lightly, the amber liquid swirling gently in the crystal glass. "Max, when did our marriage ever become a contract of fidelity? You and Ruby, me and... someone else—isn't this the arrangement we've always had?"

Max strode toward her, the gold buttons on his suit glinting in the firelight. "Now you're going to completely destroy our family!"

"Our family?" Delia raised the glass to her lips, a trace of mockery flashing in her eyes.

Max's face turned ashen.

"Who is this man?" His voice dropped to an extremely low, dangerous tone.

"Does it matter?"

"Who is he!" Max roared, his voice echoing through the spacious living room.

Delia remained silent for a few seconds, then spoke flatly: "Philip Cole. That young piano player from the South Side."

The air seemed to freeze instantly.

Max stared at his wife in disbelief, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Ha!" Max suddenly burst into harsh laughter. "Have you lost your mind? What can that green boy possibly give you? Could he afford that coat you're wearing with a year's wages? Can he give you the life you have now?"

He pointed at the French couture silk dress Delia wore, his voice dripping with mockery: "Do you know how much he makes in a month? Fifteen dollars! Not enough for you to buy a pair of stockings! You'd give up all this for some penniless nobody?"

Max spread his arms wide, gesturing at everything around them—Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, paintings, antiques, and all the luxurious furnishings that represented Chicago high society status.

"Do you think he can take you to the lakefront club's summer balls? Can he let you continue being the queen of Chicago's social circle? Without me, you are nothing!"

Delia listened quietly to this tirade, then gently shook her head: "It doesn't matter. I don't care about these things."

"Don't care?" Max's voice shot up an octave. "Don't care about your jewelry? Don't care about your status? Don't care about those society ladies who show you such deference?"

"I don't care."

"Don't care about this hundred-thousand-dollar house?"

"I don't care."

"Don't care about the Reed family name and honor?"

"Max, I never cared." Delia's voice was terrifyingly calm. "What I do care about, you could never give me."

This sentence hit Max's heart like a heavy blow.

Just then, Max's gaze fell on Delia's left hand.

On her ring finger, the five-thousand-dollar diamond ring was gone, replaced by an extremely simple silver band. The ring's design was laughably simple, looking like cheap goods that could be bought for a few cents at a street stall.

But the way Delia wore it was more precious than when she had worn the diamond ring he'd given her.

Max's sanity snapped instantly.

"Delia!" He lunged at his wife, his rough hands gripping her throat tightly. "Who gave you permission to love someone else?!"

Delia's glass crashed to the floor, whiskey splashing everywhere. She pushed against Max with all her strength, her voice hoarse from the chokehold: "You... you're fucking insane!"

"I'm insane? I'm insane?!" Max's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging. "You're the one who's sick! Betraying your own family for some pauper! Betraying our marriage!"

Delia struggled desperately, her nails leaving bloody scratches on Max's hands. "Let go of me... Max... let go of me..."

"That ring is from him, isn't it?" Max's voice became hysterical. "Take it off! Take it off right now!"

"No!" Delia shouted with all her remaining strength.

Max's grip tightened, and Delia's face began to turn purple. Just when she thought she would be strangled to death, Max suddenly released his hold.

Delia collapsed to the floor, coughing violently, tears streaming uncontrollably.

Max stood over her, chest heaving, his eyes fierce like a cornered wild beast.

His voice was terrifyingly low. "You want a divorce? Fine. But don't think I'll let you have your way."

He bent down, picked up the scattered agreement papers, and tore them to shreds.

"Those assets you want? You won't get a penny."

"The freedom you want? I'll make you understand the price of betraying the Reed family."

Paper fragments drifted down like snowflakes in the living room, Max's laughter echoing through the midnight mansion, sinister enough to chill one to the bone.

Delia touched her throat, her eyes no longer showing fear, only bone-deep disappointment and unwavering resolve.