Chapter 3

Holding the winning hand, my performance became increasingly "committed."

I started "working overtime" frequently. In reality, under Beth's guidance and with the assistance of a reliable private investigator, I was systematically collecting evidence of Noah's tax loopholes, fraudulent expense reimbursements, and Ivy's background details.

Ivy was an extremely vain and flashy young girl who practically wrote "I'm a successful man's new favorite" across every one of her social media accounts. She posted Gucci bags gifted by Noah on Instagram, screenshots of their flirtatious chats on X, and even vaguely boasted on Facebook that "someone" had booked a luxury vacation for her.

I screenshotted, screen-recorded, and downloaded these pieces of electronic evidence one by one, organizing them into a clear digital archive.

During this time, the attitude of Noah and his mother toward me grew increasingly vicious, reaching a point of unbridled insolence.

At dinner that day, I might have put a little too much salt in the cream of mushroom soup. Noah slammed his silver spoon into the bowl, creating a harsh clatter. "Are your taste buds dead? Are you trying to choke me to death?"

Marjorie immediately followed up like a hyena smelling blood. "Exactly! You can't even master basic seasoning! My son works hard out there, and he can't even get a decent meal when he comes home! What use are you?"

I silently cleared the dishes, my eyes quickly reddening—a classic "downtrodden wife" expression I had practiced repeatedly in front of the bathroom mirror.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay attention next time."

"Next time? There is no next time!" Noah stood up abruptly, looking down at me with eyes full of undisguised disgust. "Lian, let's get a divorce."

The living room fell into a brief silence.

Marjorie stopped eating her chocolate. There was no surprise on her face; instead, a look of relief and secret joy emerged. "Divorce! You should have divorced long ago! What's the use of keeping a woman who can't even bear a child? Noah, Mom supports you! That girl Ivy, she's young, healthy—she looks like she can breed."

So, they had already reached a consensus in secret.

I raised my head to meet Noah's gaze, my voice holding a trace of "desperate" persistence. "A divorce is fine. According to the law, I have the right to a share of the apartment's appreciation and the portion of the mortgage paid jointly after marriage. Family savings should also be split equally."

Noah looked as if he had heard the most ludicrous joke of the century. He let out a scoff through his nose. "Lian, are you still asleep? I bought this apartment before the marriage; it's my personal property! It has not one cent to do with you! As for savings? Between paying the mortgage, bills, and living expenses these past few years, my salary is long gone! If you want a divorce, you leave with nothing. Get out immediately!"

"Leave with nothing?" I repeated the phrase.

"That's right! Be smart, sign obediently, and I might leave you with a shred of dignity. Otherwise, don't blame me for using legal means to make this even uglier for you!" Noah roughly pulled a pre-printed draft of a divorce agreement from his cheap briefcase and threw it directly into my face.

The edge of the paper sliced across my cheek, bringing a sting of pain.

I bent down to pick up the document and scanned it quickly. The terms were atrociously harsh: not only did it require me to waive all property rights and acknowledge the apartment as his sole personal property, but it also demanded I assume part of the so-called "joint family debt," which even included his mother's "medical and living expenses" for this trip to New York.

"Fine." I placed the agreement neatly on the coffee table. "Then, I'll see you in court."

Noah froze, then exploded like a lit firecracker, flying into a rage. "See me in court? Can you afford a lawyer? Do you have evidence? Lian, I'm warning you, don't refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit!"

I picked up my prepared handbag, ignoring his exasperated roaring and Marjorie's foul curses behind me, and calmly pushed the door open.

The moment the apartment door closed behind me, I clearly heard Marjorie's shrill voice: "What a piece of trash! Give her an inch and she wants a mile! Without my son, she can just wait to sleep in the subway station!"

I stood in the dim hallway, taking a deep breath of the dusty, cool air.

Sleep in the subway station?

Noah, Ivy... I just hope when the time comes, you won't be kneeling and begging me for mercy.