Chapter 3

With a friend's help, I quickly found a suitable apartment.

I've never been picky about living conditions, so that same afternoon I finalized the lease with the landlord.

By the time I finished cleaning thoroughly, it was already nine o'clock at night.

I decided to return to the villa to talk to Bren face-to-face about the divorce and breaking our mate bond.

But I waited until eleven o'clock at night, and Bren still hadn't returned.

I sat blankly in the living room waiting for him.

At one in the morning, Bren pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol.

Seeing me sitting there, he immediately showed signs of impatience.

He took off his suit jacket and casually threw it over the back of a chair, saying coldly to me, "Going to fight again? I don't have time for that."

With that, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and was about to head straight to his room.

The whole time, he didn't glance once at the divorce agreement I'd placed on the table, nor did he say an extra word to me.

My throat tightened slightly, but I still called out to him, "Bren, this is the divorce agreement. Please sign it. Let's get divorced and break our mate bond."

Bren's steps paused slightly. He turned back irritably to look at me.

"Still angry about the breakup agreement with my ex? You're my wife now. Don't you even have that much grace?"

Hearing these words, I suddenly wanted to laugh.

So in Bren's view, the only reason I wanted a divorce was because he gave his ex a breakup settlement?

But if it were really just about money, I wouldn't have chosen to marry him in the first place.

Maybe Bren will never know that I've silently loved him for many years.

I once wrote him 99 love letters but never dared to deliver them personally.

Like a humble observer, I quietly watched everything about him from the sidelines.

I watched Bren fall in love with Vivian, watched Vivian break up with Bren and leave for another pack, watched Bren look utterly devastated.

Not long after, I discovered Bren and I were fated mates.

At that time, Bren took the initiative to ask me to date him. I was beyond thrilled—I thought he'd let go of Vivian.

Even if he didn't love me that much, I wasn't afraid. I thought people can change, that my sincerity would eventually move him.

After we started dating, although he rarely took initiative with me, he always maintained a certain politeness.

He spent very little time with me, but he was willing to accompany me to a movie on Valentine's Day.

He'd give me gifts on my birthday, though the gifts were only chosen by his secretary.

But even these small bits of sweetness made me feel very content.

After dating for a year, we got married smoothly.

There was no touching marriage proposal, no romantic wedding.

It was simply because his parents urged him to get married, so he agreed to marry me.

Four years of secret love, one year of dating, seven years of marriage.

Now it's enough. I don't want to continue anymore.

Suppressing the stabbing pain in my chest, I took a deep breath,

"Bren, I really want a divorce."

With that, I stood up first, repeating calmly and firmly, "So, I hope by tomorrow morning, this agreement will already be signed. After that, we'll find a day to break our mate bond."

After saying this, I imitated his usual cold manner, walked past him toward the guest bedroom, and locked the door.

Bren suddenly shouted angrily behind me, "Fine, Una! You want a divorce, right? Okay, I'll sign it right now. Even if you come crawling back begging me later, I won't take you back!"

Soon, the sound of a door slamming came from the next room.

Listening to the commotion outside, even though I was mentally prepared, I still felt a dense, stabbing pain in my heart.

Perhaps Bren had long forgotten that during these seven years of marriage, I had begged him in a low voice countless times.

On the first anniversary after our marriage, I pleaded with him to celebrate at the beach.

He agreed readily, but when the appointed time came, he sent me a last-minute message saying he had an emergency meeting that evening.

After that, he never explained again and just hung up the phone directly.

Seven years have passed, and every year I ask if he has time, saying I want to travel somewhere with him.

But every year, he says his schedule is too tight and he has no time.

Just like that, the trips he owes me have been postponed again and again.

Actually, I never understood before why even after years of marriage to Bren, there always seemed to be an invisible wall between us.

Not until that gift agreement surfaced.

Only then did I understand—it's all simply because he doesn't care about me at all.

I have to admit one thing:

Where a man spends his money is where his love is.