For the ninety-ninth time, Lawrence Chavez's secretary got it wrong—booking an appointment for divorce registration instead of marriage licensing.

Furious, I charged into Lawrence's office.

"Lawrence, is this your so-called brilliant hire? The master's graduate from a top university?

"If she can't even do her job right, fire her!"

Lawrence looked up from a pile of documents and glanced at what was on my phone.

Then he said flatly, "I told you already. She's too good for trivial tasks like this.

"Instead of wasting your time making a scene here, why don't you book the appointment yourself?"

He didn't bother to look at me as he spoke.

Without another word, I turned to leave and texted my father.

"Dad, I don't want to be with Lawrence anymore."

Lawrence had no idea—it was his marriage to me that secured his place as heir to the Chavez family.

Once our engagement fell through, his family would be sure to move in and replace him.

My father sighed on the other end of the line. "Hattie, think carefully. Is this really what you want?"

I knew very well—this time, Lawrence and I were done for good.

As I scrolled through the ninety-nine divorce registration notices, memories of him defending his secretary, Clarissa Webb, resurfaced.

"She made a simple mistake. It's hardly a big deal. I'll tell her to be more careful next time."

"She's so swamped. It's understandable that she slips occasionally."

"Don't be so hard on her, alright? She's young and inexperienced. I've reminded her already."

Clarissa had made the same mistake again and again, and Lawrence had found excuses for her again and again.

Behind every excuse lay his utter indulgence toward her.

His every text was a knife, twisting deep into my heart. As my eyes lingered on the screen, tears welled up uncontrollably.

Just as I put away my phone, Lawrence stormed out of his office.

"This is nothing. Yet you had to take it to our parents?

"Harriet Wheatly, when will you stop being so willful?"

He frowned, his tone stern and accusing.

As I was about to retort, someone suddenly took my wrist.

I turned around and saw Clarissa.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Wheatly. I really didn't mean to," she said.

"The page kept redirecting... I swear I clicked on marriage registration!

"I'll book the appointment for you and Mr. Chavez again. This time, I'll make sure it's done properly."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she looked utterly aggrieved.

She pulled out her phone, tapping the screen while sobbing intermittently.

The distress in Lawrence's eyes was palpable.

Clarissa held out her phone, showing me the booking page.

"It won't be necessary," I said coldly, trying to push her phone away.

Just then, her finger slipped—whether by accident or design—and the screen switched to another page. In that fleeting moment, I saw a photo of Lawrence and her, their cheeks pressed together.

I immediately seized her wrist.

Her hand jerked back, and the phone clattered to the floor, shattering on impact.

The entire office turned to look, but no one dared to make a sound.

Clarissa's cries grew louder.

"Mr. Chavez," she wailed, "that phone... it had all the voice messages between my mom and me. They were the only things I had left to remember her by..."

"What to do? What should I do? My phone's broken... It's all gone..." Clarissa sobbed pitifully.

Her delicate appearance broke Lawrence's heart, and he couldn't help but hold her in his arms, murmuring comforting words.

I stood frozen, fists clenched at my sides—that image of them pressed cheek-to-cheek burned behind my eyes.

Lawrence had a phobia of cameras. We'd never taken a single photo together.

He'd refused to even show up for our wedding shoot. Yet there he was, face to face with her, smiling for what was likely not their first picture.

I drew a sharp breath, forcing down the fury. I wouldn't break down here.

I turned to leave, but Lawrence wasn't letting me go that easily.

He snapped at me, "You broke Clarissa's phone, and now you're just going to walk away?

"Didn't you hear her? It had all her voice messages with her mother!

"Harriet, the least you could do is apologize—even if it's not sincere."

The distress in his eyes was long gone, replaced by pure disgust.

"You want me to apologize to her?

"Do you really think she deserves it?"

I met his gaze stubbornly, though inside, my heart had already shattered.

Lawrence's expression darkened further, his voice dropping to an icy pitch.

"If you refuse to apologize to her, the wedding is off."

A wave of gasps swept through the onlookers, all craning their necks to witness the spectacle.

Lawrence threatened this countless times before.

It was always for Clarissa, and every time, I had given in.

Lawrence and I had been together for ten years. He was the one I'd chosen since childhood.

Marrying him was everything I ever dreamed of.

But now, that dream lay shattered at my feet. It was time to wake up.

"Fine.

"The wedding is off." My voice was eerily calm.

Lawrence lowered his hand, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

I turned to leave before he could respond.

"Mr. Chavez," came Clarissa's voice, soft and pleading, "you should go after Ms. Wheatly. Comfort her. I'm fine..."

"No need. She'll regret it and come back to me—three days, tops."

Hearing Lawrence's dismissive tone behind me, I drew a sharp breath, forcing back the tears.

He was wrong.

This time, I wouldn't regret it.

I was still getting married ... just to someone else.

Did he think he was irreplaceable? He was not!

That same night, Clarissa updated her Instagram, and her friends instantly flooded the comments.

The caption read, "Am I the luckiest master's grad or what? Best boss ever!"

Three pictures were attached. The first showed an elegant table at a five-star Michelin restaurant, and the second showed the latest smartphone, its screen brightly displaying a transfer receipt for 200,000 dollars, with "I love you" stark and unmistakable in the memo line.

And the last was a shot of Lawrence cutting steak, then offering the plate to Clarissa.

I swiped through those three photos over and over.

The longer I looked, the more my ten years with Lawrence felt like one pathetic joke.

For ten years, he never bought me a single gift—let alone transferred money.

"We're getting married soon," he had said. "Everything I have will be yours. Why bother with all these gestures now?"

But now, he sent another woman 200,000 dollars without a second thought.

Whenever we ate out, he'd just sit there, waiting for me to arrange everything before he picked up his fork.

Every time I wanted to take a photo together, his answer was always a firm "No".

And now, Clarissa got everything I had ever wanted—without even asking.

My vision blurred, and the tears I'd been holding back finally fell.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

A delivery courier stood at the door. "Hello, I'm here to deliver your wedding photos."

I was taken aback. "I never took any wedding photos."

"That can't be right. This is Mr. Chavez's residence, right?"

I nodded, and he insisted this was the right address.

He then carried in several packages of various sizes.

After he left, I opened one of the cardboard boxes with trembling hands.

It was the wedding photos of Clarissa and Lawrence.

There were eight in total, each showing them in a different outfit and location. Though the settings changed, their radiant smiles remained the same.

The blade of those photos plunged deep into my heart.

Just then, I looked up and saw Lawrence standing in the doorway, his arm wrapped firmly around Clarissa's waist.

"Give me a hand. She's drunk."

Bossing me around had become Lawrence's habit. He had probably forgotten our confrontation in the office.

I didn't stand up. Instead, I pointed toward the stack of boxes behind me.

"You have five minutes to get this garbage out of here.

"Including that."

I pointed at Clarissa, her face flushed from drink as she leaned weakly against Lawrence, seeming aggrieved.

Lawrence's expression darkened instantly. "That was uncalled for.

"The wedding photos were for Clarissa's mother. She wanted to see Clarissa married before she passed away.

"We took the photos to fulfill her last wish. Don't make a big deal out of it."

With red-rimmed eyes, Clarissa nodded. "I only wanted to make sure my mom didn't have any regrets.

"I thought I put my home address... I never meant for these to come here.

"Please don't be angry with Mr. Chavez, Ms. Wheatly... This has nothing to do with him."

Clarissa sobbed, layering every word with a tone of grievance as always.

It sounded like I was unreasonably finding faults with her.

I let out a cold laugh. "You're a master's grad from a top university. And you're telling me you can't even get the address right?

"Are you stupid? Or pretending to be?

"Fine. If you don't want to deal with them, I will."

I turned around, picked up a pair of scissors, and cut every wedding poster and album into shreds.

Then I smashed the frames and display stands one by one and sliced the photos inside into pieces.

"No!

"Ms. Wheatly, please! I can take these away!"

Clarissa cried out while lunging forward and trying to stop me with her bare hands. My scissors ended up slashing across her palm.

Her piercing scream cut through the air, snapping Lawrence out of his drunken haze.

In a surge of fury, he stormed over and shoved me backward. I lost my balance, falling hard onto the floor—where a shard of broken glass dug deep into my palm.

"Enough, Harriet!

"Smashing things isn't enough for you? Now you've even drawn blood! You're such a shrew!

"Clarissa's mother just passed. Your mom's dead, too. Can't you show even the slightest of empathy and kindness?"

Lawrence's words pierced my heart.

The loss of my mother remained my deepest regret.

Back then, Lawrence and I were studying abroad, trapped under strict lockdown, so I couldn't return in time to see her one last time.

She left this world while I could only watch through a screen helplessly.

Even now, I still woke from midnight dreams, my pillow drenched with tears.

Lawrence knew all of this. Yet now, for Clarissa's sake, he deliberately brought this up to use it against me.

Lawrence picked Clarissa up and left without even glancing at me.

I looked down at the bleeding cut across my palm. A bitter smile touched my lips as overwhelming heartache washed over me.

A wave of bitterness overwhelmed me as I tugged at my lips. "Mom, the man you chose for me... He let you down.

"I don't want him anymore."

The living room stayed utterly still and silent.

My mother had always adored Lawrence.

She and his mother were the closest friends, and they'd arranged our marriage since we were children.

Everything seemed to point to a shared destiny—Lawrence and I were meant to be.

That was why my father had staked everything to help Lawrence fulfill the bet when the Chavez family was choosing an heir.

By the time Lawrence was just twenty, he'd secured 150 million dollars in funding—all through my family's backing.

At my mother's final moment, he looked into the camera, his voice solemn, and vowed to her.

"I promise I'll make Hattie the happiest woman in the world."

Later, we graduated and came back to the country, and wedding plans were set in motion.

But early this year, a new intern joined the company—Clarissa.

From that moment, everything shifted. My life veered off course like a derailed train, hurtling toward a future I never saw coming.

As Lawrence's secretary, Clarissa called and texted him even late at night.

He always answered without hesitation—even in bed, not bothering to pull his pants up before taking her call.

I'd been suspicious and once checked his phone in secret.

But I found nothing.

The first time I saw Clarissa, she was sitting in Lawrence's passenger seat.

We were supposed to get our marriage license that day. But just before we stepped into City Hall, Lawrence got a call from her, and then he left without even telling me why.

I waited until City Hall was closed.

Finally, Lawrence came to pick me up. The moment Clarissa saw me, she sensibly slid out of the passenger seat and moved to the back.

Clarissa looked at me with pitiful eyes and said, "It was all thanks to Mr. Chavez today. Without him, my mom wouldn't even have been admitted to the hospital.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Wheatly. I didn't know you were getting your marriage license today.

"Please let me make it up to you. I can help book your marriage registration appointment next time."

Knowing she had been caring for her critically ill mother all alone, I was overwhelmed with empathy.

Just like that, my suspicions about her and Lawrence faded.

But then, she kept messing up the appointments, over and over, forcing me to take a harder look at what was really going on between them.

At the same time, Lawrence began defending her more boldly, even embarrassing me in front of others for her sake.

It was only then that I realized—what he felt for her was no longer just pity. It was ... love.

I hailed a cab to the hospital to have my wound bandaged, then returned home.

As I stepped inside, the rich aroma of home-cooked food filled the air.

Lawrence was busy in the kitchen—and just then, he walked out holding a mug of soup. When he saw me, he froze for a second.

"Take this soup to Clarissa and apologize to her. After that, we can put this behind us."

He shoved the scalding mug into my hands before I could respond.

When his eyes fell on my bandaged palm, his expression twisted with disdain.

"Playing the victim? Nice move.

"Honestly, if you have nothing better to do, try reading a book. Improve yourself.

"Clarissa and you are worlds apart. When will you ever be half the woman she is?"

The physical pain ran deep, but it was nothing next to the raw ache in my heart.

I poured the entire mug of soup onto the floor in front of Lawrence.

The mug shattered violently against the floor, hot liquid splattering everywhere.

I shrugged. "Lawrence, go get some help if you need.

"She doesn't even get to be mentioned in the same sentence as me."

His jawline tightened, betraying his fury.

"How could you do that, Ms. Wheatly?

"Mr. Chavez made the soup himself!

I turned around to look at Clarissa, who was leaning against the door. "You want the soup?"

She gawked at me. Before she could react, I pulled her close.

"Sure enough, the soup he made shouldn't go to waste.

"Go on, have at it—drink every last drop!"

I pressed her head down against the floor. She struggled violently, her hands patting and scrabbling at the tiles as she sobbed.

Lawrence immediately kicked me in the spine, shoved me away, and pulled her into his arms.

"You're crazy, Harriet!"

Ignoring his snarl behind me, I turned and walked back to my room.

As I looked down at the blood seeping through the bandage, I finally broke. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Standing by the window, I dialed the number my father had given me.

"Is 1:00 p.m. tomorrow OK for the marriage license?" I asked.

He sounded like he was in a meeting.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice soft, "I'll have my assistant schedule it."

Shortly after I hung up, the marriage license confirmation arrived.

Amidst the ninety-nine reminders for divorce appointments, that one notification was particularly eye-catching.

So, this was actually that simple.

"It's so late. Who are you talking to?"

Suddenly, Lawrence pushed the door open and came in.

At the sight of the bandage stained with blood on the floor, he asked, "You were really injured?"