I have a bad temper. Every time Hugo Vance does something that upsets me, the word *divorce* flies out of my mouth. And every time, on the last day of the divorce cooling-off period, he always bows his head and begs me to stay. The first time, I complained that our villa wasn’t grand enough. I casually mentioned divorce. He had me moved into Harbor Manor the next day. The second time, someone posted about an eighty-million-dollar piece of jewelry. I threw a fit because he didn’t buy me the same one. He rushed to contact an overseas auction house and put the exact same piece in my hands on time. The third time, I said the fertility medicine was too bitter and I wanted a divorce again. He brewed the medicine himself and fed it to me, then worked around the clock without rest. My friends all say I’m Hugo’s one weakness. His one exception. I thought his favoritism would always be my safety net. Then his first love-Luna Lane came back to the country. He came home thirty minutes late. And I mentioned divorce once more. Even my best friend tried to stop me. “Know when you can stop. Don’t be unreasonable.” I looked at the dark circles under Hugo’s eyes. For once, I held back my temper. I told myself this would be the last time I threatened divorce. But this time, the last second of the divorce cooling-off period passed. And Hugo still didn’t come home. The living-room light clicks on and he freezes when Hugo sees me sitting in the dark. “Still up.” His voice is quiet. “Waiting for you.” I’m calm. He loosens his tie and walks past without a word toward the kitchen. I stand and follow him. “Hugo.” He’s pouring a glass of water with his back to me. “This time, the cooling-off period,” I say, looking at his back, “is over.” “Hm.” He takes a sip. Just one “hm.” Seven days of waiting for an explanation—anything, even a perfunctory “don’t be silly”—and nothing. Anger flares inside me. I turn around, grab the vase off the entryway table, and smash it to the floor. *Crash—!* It shatters across the floor. He watches me, shock and anger in his eyes, but not the panicked rush he used to make to check if I’d hurt myself. “What are you doing?” Hugo’s face hardens. “Divorce.” I cover half my face and laugh, “Isn’t this how it always goes? I break things. You clean up. I say divorce, you bow. Every single time.” I step forward, my bare feet crunching on the broken porcelain. “Why aren’t you performing this time? Because the audience has changed? Your first love is back! Isn’t she?” “Is she waiting downstairs? Waiting for us to finish shouting so she can come upstairs and comfort you?” I press. “Hugo, tell me!” “Enough!” He barks. The doorbell rings the next second. His brothers and my friends flood in as if on cue. They take in the mess on the floor. The standoff between us. They wear the same expression: oh, not this again. “Sia, calm down!” Cade Foster (His best friend) steps between us. “Hugo’s been under a lot lately, The company stuff—” “Under a lot?” I cut him off, pointing at Hugo. “He has time to pick someone up from the airport, sit through a three-hour dinner, and come home half an hour late without so much as a word to me?” “Sia!” A friend grabs my arm and hisses, “Don’t keep on… we all know you’re hurting, but this is embarrassing.” “So what if that woman is back? You’re still his wife.” “Wife?” I fling her off. But tears are streaming down my face. “I’m like a child who throws a tantrum when she can’t get candy! And you—every one of you—” I point at each of them. “You all help him hold me down, telling me, ‘Be good, stop making a scene, candy tomorrow!’ But where’s the candy?!” I turn to Hugo. My voice shreds. “Where’s my candy?!” The candy that always comes after I threaten divorce. Why isn’t it here this time?
The living room tightens into a silence so dense I can hear my own breath. The tension stretches tight as a wire. Cade finally takes a step forward. “She knows Hugo has a bad stomach. She only asked me to bring him some medicine. She knows where the line is. What about you?” His chest heaves. Then he finally spits out the words that have been sitting on his tongue. “Besides asking for things, breaking things, and threatening divorce—what have you ever done for him? You can’t even give him a—” “A what?” I scream, cutting him off. Years of resentment and pain explode out of me. “You want to talk about children?!” “Cade, You can ask him! Ask Hugo why I can’t get pregnant!” I turn to Hugo. Tears and hatred crash down my face. “Tell him! Tell him about the flood five years ago! Tell him how you could have taken me first, but you stayed behind to save Luna’s damn cat! Tell him how you left me alone in waist-deep freezing water for five hours!” Cade freezes. I laugh, my whole body shaking. I point at Hugo. I point at all of them. “Those bitter fertility medicines—I threw up every time I drank them. Every time I make a scene, do you think it’s because I want to?” Cade is stunned by my outburst. He opens his mouth but can’t find the words. Hugo closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s nothing but raw, breaking pain underneath. His voice is hoarse as he tries to step closer. “Sia, that incident was an accident. I later—” “Later you made up for it, right?” I step back, avoiding him. “Fine. Make up for it. Send Luna away right now. I don’t want to see her in Harbor City. Or—divorce.” Divorce. I don’t know what else to say anymore. Silence swallows the room. Cade snorts and turns to Hugo. “Hugo, since she’s raised divorce, why not—” “Get out!” Hugo roars. I don’t know if he’s shouting at them or at me. But everyone is used to this scene by now. They exchange glances and file out. The huge space empties. Just Hugo and me. I stand in the middle of the wreckage. I wait. Like I have a hundred times before. I wait for him to walk over, pull me into his arms, and say in that helpless, indulgent voice: “Sia, stop it.” Or even just a lie. An explanation for why he secretly went to the airport to pick up Luna. An explanation for why, when I texted him that I felt like my heart was dying, he only sent an assistant with a bottle of painkillers. I would take anything. Even a lie. Seconds pass. At last he moves—but not toward me. He stoops and, silently and methodically as after every argument, begins to pick up the broken porcelain. As if sweeping up the pieces is the only salvageable thing left in our relationship. I watch his expressionless face. The place where my artificial heart sits in my chest—it tightens. Slowly I walk to him and crouch at his feet, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Look at me. Answer me one question.” He can’t look away. “All these years—when you held me, when you kissed me, when we were intimate…” I lean closer. “Was the person you’re thinking about me?” His Adam’s apple bobs. But no words come out. A silent admission. I nod. I stand up. The world tilts but I hold on. “…I won’t let her stay in Harbor City!” The words come out sharp. The last bit of stubbornness I have left. He finally looks up at me. His voice is thin with exhaustion. “Don’t do this, Sia. This is her hometown. What right do I have to make her leave?” Of course he has the right. He just won’t tell me that he paid for every cent of Luna’s art studies in Paris. That the venue for her exhibition, the promotion, even her clothes—every single expense went through his accounts. I saw it a month ago in a “casual” finance brief someone left on my desk. The numbers were crystal clear. When she wasn’t here, I could be his [line in the sand]. His [whole world]. With her back, the boundary shifted and his world found a new center. Between us, he couldn’t even be bothered to maintain the illusion of being torn. The fire that has been burning in my chest for so long—it suddenly goes out. I don’t say *divorce* again. I just turn around. One step at a time, I walk upstairs. My phone buzzes. I think it’s a text from him—An apology. But it’s my doctor, Dr. Lee. “Mrs. Vance, your artificial heart is long overdue for replacement. You cannot wait any longer. We advise that you forego the pregnancy.” I laugh. My hand drifts to my lower stomach. All these years, Hugo hired the best medical team to care for me. They made it possible for me to try for a baby even with an artificial heart. What he doesn’t know is that three months ago I refused to replace the failing artificial heart. I had a feeling I couldn’t explain—a fierce, animal certainty. Now I’m pregnant. And my heart is failing.
I go to the art gallery on the west side of the city. Luna looks surprised to see me. “Sia? What are you doing here? Hugo, he—” “He’s busy.” I cut her off. My eyes scan the paintings on the wall. “I heard your exhibition is opening. I came to take a look.” She’s the same as ever—always in that plain white dress. Sunlight pours through the glass roof and turns her into something unreal. “Sia, you and Hugo… are you… okay all these years?”” “Better than okay.” I lift my hand, making sure she sees the huge diamond on my ring finger. The one Hugo forced onto my hand this morning before he left. “He’s just so worried about me. I throw a little tantrum, and he spends hours making it up to me. So annoying.” “He insisted this ring suits me. Such a tacky taste man. Bad taste.” Luna’s eyes flick over the ring and a deeper smile curves her mouth. “Hugo’s always been careful with people he cares about.” She tilts her head slightly. “Just like back then… because my heart condition was bad, Hugo moved me to Harbor Manor to recuperate and even bought anther separate new house for you two as your home.” “You must have been so disappointed then,” she adds slowly. A chill skates across my fingertips. She keeps going, her voice full of fake apology. “Hugo was just worried about me living too far from the hospital. He said the manor was quieter, better for my recovery.” “So sorry for the trouble, Sia.” “I know you loved that manor,” she continues, “But you’re living there now. I guess that makes up for it?” “Back then, he came to see me every day. He said I was the only one who could make him forget his worries.” “Then I got better and went abroad to study.” She looks at me. “If I hadn’t, maybe I’d still be living in the manor.” She looks up at me, waiting for me to break. Am I supposed to collapse? Of course I should. How could I not? But the collapse happened long ago. Back then, I was drowning in grief over my mother’s death. I was recovering from my artificial heart surgery. I didn’t have the energy to notice anything else. Then Luna celebrated her recovery with a party at the manor. She posted a Moments update—deleted quickly but she had explicitly tagged me. The location was Harbor Manor. In the corner of the photo, I saw Hugo’s silhouette. All his friends were there. I drove straight to the manor. Through the iron gate, I could see lights. People moved and laughter leaked through. I heard someone joking: “Luna, Hugo’s kept you so well hidden in this manor for two years. what, not planning on finding a boyfriend?” A soft, teasing laugh followed. Then I heard Hugo murmur something indistinct. And a servant called out, “Mrs. Vance, your tea.” Mrs. Vance. No one in that room corrected her. I stood there in the dark. And suddenly I understood. Those nights when he said he had business trips, or late meetings—he spent them here, with another woman called “Mrs. Vance”, living in what was supposed to be our home. I stood there for a long time. Then I drove home. I waited for him to come back at dawn, I put a divorce agreement in front of him. No drama. Just the paper. “Hugo. Let’s get a divorce.” It was the first time I meant it. He looked panicked. “What happened? What are you talking about?” I laughed bitterly and made up a childish and petty lie. “This villa isn’t grand enough. I want to live in Harbor Manor. If not, divorce.” He stared at me for a long time. I took out my phone and applied for the divorce online in front of him. In a sense, I think waiting was a very agonizing process. On the last day of the divorce cooling‑off period, he put the keys to Harbor Manor in my hand. “Sia,” he said. “This is your home now.” Back then, I thought he had chosen me. I gave him one more chance. But really, he only gave me the manor because she was leaving. Becausa she has to pursu her dreams. The place she had lived was just something he could throw my way. “Sia?” Luna’s question pulls me back to the present. Luna is looking at me. Her eyes look curious. My heart lurches. My phone screen lights up by itself. It’s the app connected to my artificial heart. The heart rate graph spikes and dips. Alerts flash: “Abnormal emotional fluctuation detected. Please calm down immediately and avoid sustained stimulation.” I pause, dark the screen. “Really,” I hear my own dry voice. “I never knew there was a whole story behind it.” “Sia, you look so terrible… I heard from Hugo that you have an artificial heart. You can’t handle strong emotions. Should I call him to come get you?” “No!” My voice comes out too loud. A few people in the gallery turn to look. Luna reaches for my arm. “Sia, don’t get so worked up…” Her face is full of worry. Then she leans close to my ear. “You should take care of yourself. After all, your heart is still beating in my chest. ” “Healthy, and warm.”
Her last words fall into my ear, as a stone. Time seems to stop. The air in the gallery, the distant murmur of laughter, the riot of color on the walls—all of it drains away in an instant. I only hear the sudden, frantic thrum of the artificial heart inside my chest. That face—played so innocent, flickers with a flash of satisfaction. I clamp my hand down on her wrist. “How dare you—!” Luna lets out a soft *ah* of pain but doesn’t pull away. Then a tense voice cuts in from behind me. “What are you doing?” Hugo strides through the gallery doors. Every stride a burst of rare panic and anger. I watch him come forward. His eyes find Luna’s red-rimmed ones first. Then they land on me. His frown deepens. “Let her go.” Several people rush over, forming a circle around Luna. Protecting her. Luna’s voice is hoarse. “Hugo, don’t misunderstand. Sia just came to look at the paintings—” “Does she look like she’s here to see paintings?!” Cade shoves me aside. “This is exactly what Hugo’s spoiled out of her!” “If without Hugo and see who’ll bother with her then. Society will put her in her place in no time!” I grit my teeth and stay locked on Hugo’s face. He’s looking down at Luna’s wrist, cradling her hand like it’s fragile. That look—so focused, so full of concern—cuts into me, slicing away the last of whatever shaky sanity I have left. “Hugo—” I force the name out one syllable at a time, my throat raw, “My mother…was it really an accident? Was my heart really dead?” He falters and presses a thumb to his brow. “Sia…” he starts. “How many times are you going to drag this up? I told you. It was an accident. Who can guarantee a surgery is a hundred percent—” “I want the truth!” My voice rises. “Hugo, look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me—what really happened?!” “Enough!” His anger finally snaps free. I want to scream. I want to lose my mind. I want to demand the truth in front of everyone… But the artificial heart in my chest buzzes like a hive about to burst. My vision blurs. *Beep. Beep. Beep.* Hugo’s face—full of worry for her, was floats in front of me. How cruel. Even the right to go insane is being stolen from me because someone else wears my heart. Hugo grabs my arm. “Let’s go home.” I try to pull away. But I can’t move anymore. Fatigue closes my eyes for a beat. “Divorce,” I whisper, the last of my defiance. “This is the last time.” “Crazy. You’re absolutely crazy.” There’s nothing but disgust in Hugo’s eyes now. In the chaos, my bag gets knocked over. The divorce agreement falls out. The one I drafted long ago. The one I drafted so many times and never signed He bends, snatches up the papers, pulls a pen, and signs with a hard, precise stroke. He slams the pen and the signed document back at my feet. “As you wish.” — The madness drains out of me. I pick up the papers, brush off the dust, and without a word, walk out of the gallery.
Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607018fOy6AJJhB 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni548016”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix
Leave a Reply