Chapter 5

Watching them walk away, I felt my heart breaking all over again.

Not just the apology statement. I would have the divorce papers ready too.

From now on, we would be strangers to each other.

Adrian didn't come home that night. I didn't care.

Once the divorce papers were printed, I finally let myself fall into a deep sleep.

When I woke the next morning, the warm aroma of soup filled the house.

Seeing me come downstairs, Adrian appeared in front of me holding a bowl of soup.

Eight years ago, he was just starting out.

No money, no standing, crammed into a basement room barely a hundred square feet.

But back then, his whole heart and every ounce of his attention belonged to me.

My stomach was bad, so every morning he got up early to make me soup.

Life was hard, but somehow, that simple bowl of soup had always tasted sweet in my memory.

My eyes stung as I picked up the spoon. Before I could even bring it to my lips, Adrian spoke in a casual tone, as if he were bringing up something trivial.

"I already had someone take down yesterday's post, but plenty of people still saw it. They even dug up Vivi's personal information, and now people are flooding her messages with insults."

"She's young and sensitive. She cried all night and still doesn't dare leave the house."

"There's only one way to put these rumors to rest. I had no choice but to use the company account to issue an official statement announcing that Vivi is the real Mrs. Prescott."

"She's young. If her reputation is ruined, she won't be able to handle it. You've always been sensible. A little unfair treatment shouldn't be a big deal. Once everything settles down, I'll find a way to make it up to you."

His tone was so calm, as if he were saying a little unfair treatment shouldn't be a big deal.

My hand stopped halfway to my mouth. I found it absurd, somehow.

"Her reputation can't be ruined, but mine doesn't matter?"

The smile faded from Adrian's lips.

He frowned slightly and tapped his fingers impatiently against the table.

"Elise, can't you be a little more reasonable?"

"She was the one who stood in for you at the wedding, and she's the one in all the wedding photos anyway. What's the problem with me calling her Mrs. Prescott in public?"

"You’re the one who's actually living this life with me. What difference does the title Mrs. Prescott make? Can you stop being so petty about it?"

I swallowed the accusation on my lips and nodded with a smile.

"Fine. I agree."

We'd be divorced soon enough. Who wore the title of Mrs. Prescott after that was none of my concern.

I had just started to stand up when the hospital called.

My mother was suffering from severe heart failure and had spent the past few years in the ICU.

The aide who looked after her told me she'd seen the viral post branding me a mistress. The shock and anger had been too much for her, and she'd collapsed.

By the time I reached the hospital, she had already been rushed into the ER.

The doctor said the shock had made her condition even worse and that she needed emergency surgery.

The surgery would cost two hundred thousand dollars. It wasn't an astronomical amount, but it was enough to save the only family I had left.

With a trembling hand, I signed the consent form.

When I made my way to the payment counter, I was told my account had been frozen.

I called the bank and learned that Adrian had reported my card lost and had it suspended, claiming he was concerned about fraudulent charges.

I called Adrian immediately, but he didn't answer.

Then I tried again, only to discover he'd blocked my number.

I rushed back to the villa. The moment I opened the door, I found two people tangled up on the sofa.

When he saw me in the doorway, Adrian pulled the half-dressed Vivian into his arms to shield her.

There was nothing but disgust in his eyes when he looked at me. Not a trace of remorse.

"It’s you! You filthy liar! Did you follow me here? First you pretended to be my wife, and now you have the nerve to show up at my door?"

I didn't have the strength to argue with him anymore. I rushed up to him, tears streaming down my face, and grabbed his sleeve, desperately begging him for help.