Chapter 4

After I hung up. All words felt as light as a breath of white mist. Scattered in the air, not even a shape remained. I didn't even bother to wave my hand to clear them.

With three days left on the countdown, every minute and second was precious. I opened my laptop and sent the divorce agreement I had already drafted to my lawyer.

The terms were simple: I'd walk away with nothing. In the reason column, I typed five words: a ghost marriage.

After handling that, I took a thick stack of brochures from my bag. I had picked them up from the cemetery that afternoon. If I was planning a grand funeral, the location couldn't be sloppy.

I chose a plot on the hillside, facing south, with an open view of the city lights. Most importantly, it was quiet there. No Ethan, no Serena, no cursed loops.

The door suddenly slammed open.

Ethan was back. Faster than I expected.

He hadn't even had time to change his shoes, striding into the living room, carrying the dampness of the rain and unrestrained fury. I knew that phone call had completely enraged him, making him rush back without even finishing dinner with his "true love."

"Scarlett, what did you mean on that call just now?" He yanked the coffee table in front of me, sending the brochures scattering across the floor.

They were pictures of various tombstone styles and landscape photos of the cemetery.

Ethan's gaze fell on the brochures, emblazoned with phrases like "Rest in Peace" and "Forever Missed." His pupils suddenly constricted. He froze, the questions he'd prepared stuck in his throat, his expression becoming strange and absurd.

"What are you doing?" He pointed at the brochures on the floor, his voice laced with incredulous mockery. "To get attention, you're really pulling out all the stops now, aren't you? Even bringing this morbid stuff home? Are you trying to threaten me with death?"

In his eyes, everything I did was to get his attention. Before, it was faking illness, running away from home. Now, it had escalated to looking at cemetery plots.

I bent down, picking up the scattered brochures one by one, my movements slow and stiff. My fingers trembled slightly from the pain, but to him, it probably looked like shame and indignation from having my intentions exposed.

I picked up the last picture, a black marble tombstone, and looked up, meeting his eyes filled with disgust.

This time, I didn't rush to explain like before, nor did I cry and say, "I didn't."

I looked at him, my gaze as empty as if I were looking at a dead man, or rather, looking through him, at the person I was about to become.

"Threaten?" I chuckled softly, handing him the picture. "You're overthinking, Mr. Evans. This location is good."

I paused, my tone eerily gentle. "Yes, I picked it for you. A double plot. Even though we're getting divorced, I still saved a spot for you. Consider it my final gesture of goodwill. So, do you like it?"

Ethan's face instantly went ashen, then turned livid. He probably never imagined that one day, his subservient wife would smile and ask him if he liked his own cemetery plot.

"You're irrational!" He violently swatted the brochure from my hand. The sharp edge of the paper grazed my cheek, leaving a thin red scratch.

Pain flared, but I just stood there quietly, watching the tombstone picture flutter to his feet, like a prematurely delivered verdict.