Chapter 4

The next day, I dragged my exhausted body back to the real estate office.

A client was about to put down a deposit on that million-dollar penthouse duplex. I had to handle it personally.

As I reached the reception area, I saw Ethan sitting on the sofa with Yvonne.

Yvonne flipped through the duplex's brochure and looked up.

"Ethan, these floor-to-ceiling windows are so beautiful. I could practice yoga here."

Ethan affectionately ruffled her hair.

"If you like it, we'll rent it. This can be your art studio."

This property was where he'd knelt on the cement floor to propose to me years ago.

He'd drawn up a design plan, saying he'd lay down wool carpet by the windows for me to read.

This property held all our initial fantasies about home. Later we had to mortgage it when the company's capital chain broke.

He'd promised with red eyes that one day he'd buy it back himself and give it to me.

But now, he wanted to turn our "proposal sanctuary" into Yvonne's yoga room.

I stepped forward and raised my chin toward the sales manager. "Take this property off the market. Not for sale or rent."

Ethan's expression darkened. He stood up accusingly. "What do you mean? You have to compete with Yvonne?"

I cut him off:

"Ethan, I'm the full-price owner of this property. If I want to leave it empty to feed rats rather than let questionable people dirty my floors, that's my choice. Understand?"

Ethan froze.

Yvonne lowered her head, her voice taking on a tearful tone:

"Lily is rich, naturally she looks down on me. Ethan, let's go."

Ethan gripped her hand and turned to me:

"So what if you have money? You don't have an ounce of empathy. Go ahead and grow old with your broken property."

Watching their retreating backs, I recalled how during the company's startup phase, he'd rather do hard labor on construction sites than accept startup capital from my parents.

He gave me every penny of his first earnings, even if it was just a few thousand, while he ate only cheap bread and pickled vegetables..

He said his money was my money. He would never spend a woman's penny.

And now, he shamelessly swiped my supplementary card to please another woman, even turning around to mock me for being rich and heartless.

He pulled Yvonne away without looking back.

I closed my eyes, sat back in the car, and picked up the property deed from the passenger seat.

I tore this fifth anniversary gift along with the diagnosis from my bag into pieces and threw them away.

I opened SnapChat and posted the divorce agreement I'd already drafted along with photos of my son's name change documents to my feed:

"Widowed, single mother, three listed companies under my name. Now seeking handsome husband. Interested parties, DM me."

After posting, I pressed the accelerator and drove toward the unfinished villas in the western suburbs to test nighttime noise levels.