Chapter 2

I looked right past her plea.

"One hundred and fifty thousand. Wired to my checking account right this second."

"Otherwise, get lost. I'll have the nurses throw you out."

Sean opened his mouth to shout, but Vera silenced him with a sharp glare. She nodded at me.

"Fine. I'll send the money."

"I'll have my attorney draft a revised agreement immediately. You sign it today."

Half an hour later, two freshly printed contracts were delivered to the room.

Vera wired the $150,000 directly before my eyes. Without another word, I signed my name boldly on the final line.

Sean followed suit, pressing the pen down so hard the tip nearly tore the paper.

"Evelyn, marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life."

The sting hit deep, but knowing the multi-billion-dollar empire waiting for me, the pain evaporated in a heartbeat.

I gently patted my sleeping baby and issued my final eviction notice.

"If that's all, get out. It's time to feed my daughter."

"Once the thirty-day waiting period is up, don't forget to show up at the courthouse to finalize the decree."

Not even five minutes after the door clicked shut, my mother's entourage arrived.

Five top-tier maternity nurses filed in. The head nurse carefully lifted my daughter into her arms, while the rest seamlessly packed my belongings to transfer me to the presidential postpartum suite upstairs.

A private nurse bowed respectfully:

"Madam Chairman is already on her private jet. She’ll touch down in two hours."

"Please rest, Miss Vance."

I nodded, utterly drained from labor, closed my eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, my mother was already sitting on the sofa nearby, reviewing corporate dossiers on her iPad.

Seeing me stir, she stood up and adjusted the angle of my luxury hospital bed.

"A measly hundred and fifty grand. You just gave birth; there was no need to waste your breath fighting over pennies with clowns like them. It’s bad for your recovery."

"You have a multi-billion-dollar global enterprise to run after this."

I smiled faintly.

"Mom, it’s not about the money. I just didn't feel like making their lives easy."

As if trying to rub salt in my wounds, Sean went on an Instagram rampage the very next day.

A full nine-photo dump, packed to the brim.

Under the glittering crystal chandelier of a Michelin-starred restaurant, Vera sat before an opulent spread of dishes I’d never tasted in my life. Another photo showed them at a high-end bridal boutique; Vera was draped in a designer gown, with Sean smiling behind her.

Engagement rings, customized party favors, and a caption dripping with romance:

*[The journey was long, but fate brought me back to you.]*

*[Everything falls into place. Finally, I can give my girl the absolute best of everything. Blessed.]*

I stared at the words *"the best of everything."*

My eyes burned unexpectedly.

When I married Sean, he was a broke kid straight out of a rural town with nothing to his name. No formal wedding, no diamond ring—just two small tables at a local diner with immediate family.

And fancy dinners like that?

In our six years together, not once.

He always promised, *“Once we make more money, once the mortgage is a little lighter.”*

Turns out, there was never a "later" for me.

When I was eight months pregnant, I walked past a boutique fruit stand and saw a carton of deep-red, imported cherries. I stood there for five full minutes, picking it up and setting it down, before settling on a tiny basket of clearance strawberries.

I even lied to myself, saying strawberries had more vitamin C anyway.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the lingering bitterness.

My eyes fell on the meal just delivered to my bedside table: a golden, rich fish maw chicken broth, steamed Chilean sea bass, seasoned organic greens, and a bowl of warm, soothing brown sugar millet porridge.

Pure ingredients, impeccably crafted by our private culinary team.

I locked my phone screen, picked up my fork, and savored every single bite.

Throughout the thirty-day divorce waiting period, Sean posted on his story constantly.

He was desperately showing the world that he had landed Vera Collins.

One day taking her on weekend getaways, the next buying her designer bags, and the day after, remodeling their new home. His captions were littered with buzzwords like *"rebirth,"* *"precious,"* and *"worth the wait."*

After the initial sting wore off, I felt nothing.

My mother caught a glimpse of it once. She shook her head.

"Regrets?"

"If you hadn't begged me with tears in your eyes to spare him, his name would’ve been on our first layoff roster."