Adrian didn’t sign the papers that night.
He sat opposite me for almost ten minutes without touching them.
Then he asked:
—Are you trying to scare me?
I nearly laughed.
Four years of marriage, and he still thought every decision I made revolved around getting a reaction from him.
—No.
—Then why are you rushing?
—Fifteen days ago, you asked for a divorce.
—I was angry.
—And I said yes.
His jaw tightened.
—People say things during arguments.
—You’ve said it three times.
That silenced him.
I closed the folder.
—My lawyer will contact yours tomorrow.
I stood.
Adrian suddenly caught the edge of the folder.
—Wait.
I looked at his hand.
He released it immediately.
—Marcus’s wedding is Saturday.
—I remember.
—Everyone expects us together.
There it was.
Not “I want you there.”
Not “Please come with me.”
Everyone expects us together.
—Then tell them the truth.
His eyes darkened.
—What truth?
—That we’re divorcing.
He stared at me.
For the first time, Adrian seemed to realize divorce didn’t end when the argument ended.
It continued into breakfast.
Wedding invitations.
Empty closets.
Separate bedrooms.
Lawyers.
Addresses.
Lives.
I went to sleep.
The next morning, I found him in the kitchen.
Two cups of coffee were waiting.
One had exactly the amount of milk I liked.
Adrian pushed it toward me.
I walked past it and poured water instead.
His hand remained beside the untouched cup.
—You always drink coffee in the morning.
—I’m trying to sleep better.
—Since when?
I looked at him.
—You don’t need to memorize new things about me now.
He went completely still.
My phone rang.
It was my real-estate agent.
I stepped onto the balcony.
“Yes?”
“The apartment you liked is available. If you want it, the owner can sign Friday.”
“I’ll take it.”
Behind me, something hit the counter.
I turned.
Adrian had dropped his spoon.
He waited until I ended the call.
“You found somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Westbridge.”
His expression changed.
“That’s forty minutes away.”
“I know.”
“Why so far?”
“Because it’s close to my office.”
“But far from here.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s the point.”
He looked as though I had slapped him.
That evening, Adrian came home earlier than usual.
I was packing books.
He stood at the guest-room door.
“You’re actually moving.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Friday.”
“That soon?”
“You wanted a divorce fifteen days ago.”
“Stop saying that.”
I straightened.
“Why?”
“Because you know I was angry.”
“And you knew I was your wife every time you said it.”
His face hardened.
Then softened again.
It was strange watching him search for the version of himself that used to work on me.
Cold Adrian frightened me.
Gentle Adrian made me forgive him.
Silent Adrian made me chase him.
But none of them worked anymore.
Finally he asked:
“Is there someone else?”
I stared at him.
Of all possible explanations, that was the one he chose.
“No.”
“Then why are you so eager to leave?”
“Because I finally believe you.”
He didn’t answer.
Saturday morning, I woke to three garment bags hanging outside my room.
I opened one.
A silver evening dress.
The second contained shoes.
The third contained jewelry.
Adrian appeared behind me.
“For Marcus’s wedding.”
“I told you I’m not going.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“People will ask questions.”
“Answer them.”
His voice dropped.
“Olivia will be there.”
I looked at him.
Perhaps he expected jealousy.
Instead I said:
“Then you won’t have to attend alone.”
Something flashed across his face.
“Nothing happened between Olivia and me.”
“I didn’t say anything happened.”
“You’ve believed those rumors for months.”
“No.”
I folded the garment bag closed.
“I believed my husband should care that they hurt me.”
He became quiet.
“That’s different.”
“It was.”
I handed him the dress.
“Now it isn’t.”
I moved into my apartment that afternoon.
Adrian didn’t attend Marcus’s wedding.
I discovered that from Sophie.
Apparently, he arrived at the venue, remained outside for less than ten minutes, then left.
Olivia attended alone.
I felt nothing.
That surprised me most.
On Sunday morning, Adrian appeared at my new building.
The receptionist called upstairs.
“Ms. Jiang, your husband is here.”
I almost corrected her.
Instead I said:
“Please tell him I’m unavailable.”
Twenty minutes later, a message arrived.
We need to talk.
Then:
I brought breakfast.
Then:
Claire, please.
That word stopped me.
Please.
Adrian rarely used it.
I didn’t answer.
At noon, Sophie visited.
She saw the messages.
“He’s panicking.”
“That isn’t my responsibility.”
She studied me.
“You’ve changed.”
“No.”
I placed my phone facedown.
“I stopped negotiating against myself.”
Monday brought another surprise.
My lawyer called.
“Adrian’s attorney contacted me.”
“Did he sign?”
“No.”
Of course.
“He’s requesting mediation.”
“For what?”
“To discuss reconciliation before proceeding.”
I closed my eyes.
“He requested the divorce.”
“I reminded his attorney.”
“What did they say?”
My lawyer hesitated.
“Mr. Ji claims he spoke impulsively and never intended to terminate the marriage.”
I laughed.
The first time Adrian threatened divorce, I had spent the night crying.
The second time, I begged him never to say it again.
He had hugged me afterward and promised.
Then he used it a third time.
A weapon only works while the other person fears it.
Adrian had simply discovered his was empty.
“Proceed with the divorce.”
“I will.”
That afternoon, Olivia Lu contacted me.
I almost deleted the message.
Then I read it.
Claire, I think there are things you should know. Not because I expect forgiveness. Because Adrian is allowing you to believe something that isn’t completely true.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
I never asked him to come to the hospital.
He came because someone from the production called him.
I didn’t respond.
She continued.
And I never knew you had been in an accident that day.
That part bothered me.
Not because it changed Adrian’s behavior.
But because I had spent months imagining Olivia deliberately competing with me.
Maybe Adrian had created that competition all by himself.
I agreed to meet her in a public café.
Olivia arrived wearing a cap and plain coat.
Without cameras and makeup, she looked exhausted.
She didn’t waste time.
“Adrian and I dated years ago.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the version he told you.”
I remained silent.
“We were engaged.”
My fingers tightened around my cup.
“He said you were never serious.”
Olivia gave a bitter smile.
“Of course he did.”
She placed her phone on the table.
“There’s more.”
I didn’t touch it.
“What?”
“Adrian invested in my production because my contract was tied to his company.”
“So?”
“So the rumors weren’t accidental.”
I frowned.
Olivia looked directly at me.
“His publicity team encouraged them.”
I felt something cold settle inside me.
“Why?”
“Because my new series needed attention, and Adrian’s company needed publicity before a financing round.”
I stared at her.
“He knew?”
“He approved it.”
Every headline.
Every photograph.
Every article suggesting my husband still loved another woman.
He had watched me read them.
Watched me become insecure.
And said:
Don’t be jealous.
Olivia pushed her phone toward me.
An email was open.
A publicity plan.
Adrian’s approval appeared beneath it.
My chest tightened, but I didn’t cry.
Not anymore.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because after you left, he blamed me.”
That sounded exactly like Adrian.
“He demanded my team publicly deny everything. He threatened to withdraw funding.”
She paused.
“Then yesterday he asked me something strange.”
“What?”
“He asked whether you had contacted me.”
I looked up.
Olivia’s expression became serious.
“He wasn’t worried that I’d tell you about the publicity.”
“Then what?”
She opened another document.
My name appeared in the middle.
CLAIRE JIANG.
I leaned closer.
“What is this?”
“A shareholder agreement.”
I stared at her.
“I’m not a shareholder.”
Olivia slowly shook her head.
“According to this, you are.”
My pulse quickened.
Years earlier, before Adrian’s company expanded, I had helped him during a financial crisis.
I had invested money inherited from my grandmother.
Adrian later told me the amount had been repaid.
Apparently, that wasn’t the entire story.
Olivia pointed toward a paragraph.
“Your original investment was converted into equity.”
“How much?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“Enough that your divorce could affect an upcoming transaction.”
Everything inside me became still.
Suddenly, Adrian’s behavior looked different.
The coffee.
The dress.
The breakfast outside my apartment.
The mediation request.
Maybe regret wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want me leaving.
My phone rang.
Adrian.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice was tense.
“Why?”
“Claire, don’t sign anything your lawyer gives you.”
Olivia and I looked at each other.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just promise me.”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Where are you?”
I ignored the question.
“Adrian, how much of your company do I own?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then:
“Who told you?”
That was enough.
I stood.
“How much?”
“Claire, come home and we’ll discuss it.”
“I don’t live there anymore.”
“Stop saying that!”
His voice cracked.
For the first time, Adrian wasn’t cold.
He wasn’t angry.
He sounded frightened.
Then he said something that made Olivia’s face change.
“If you complete the divorce before next month, everything changes.”
I gripped the phone.
“What changes?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
Olivia suddenly grabbed a napkin and wrote three words.
ASK ABOUT THE TRUST.
I stared at her.
Then spoke into the phone.
“What trust, Adrian?”
Silence.
His breathing stopped.
And in that instant, I knew Olivia had just opened a door he had desperately wanted to keep closed.
Finally Adrian whispered:
“Claire… who are you with?”
I looked at the shareholder agreement.
Then at Olivia.
And for the first time since he asked for divorce, I understood something.
Adrian wasn’t afraid of losing his wife.
He was afraid of what his wife would discover once she stopped trying to save the marriage.
