Chapter5

Three days later, I met with the lawyer.

That evening, we went back to the house together.

I opened the door. Daniel was already waiting in the living room, as if he knew I'd be coming.

When he saw the person beside me, his expression visibly stiffened.

"What's this supposed to mean?" His voice was low.

The lawyer nodded politely. "I'm Ms. Elena's attorney."

Daniel laughed, as if digesting the scene. "You really want to take things this far?"

I didn't respond to him.

I took the documents out of my bag and laid them neatly on the dining table. "This is the divorce agreement."

He walked over and flipped through a few pages, his expression gradually darkening. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm perfectly clear-headed," I said.

The lawyer added calmly, "The agreement covers asset division and equity distribution. You're welcome to have your own attorney review it."

Daniel looked up at me, his tone mocking:

"You think you can threaten me with these screenshots?"

"It's not a threat," I looked at him. "It's facts."

I placed another document in front of him. "This is a record of your whereabouts on the day of the funeral. Restaurant charges, hotel parking records, and the issue date of that new ID card."

His hand stopped.

I continued, "And the transfer history you've made to her over the past three years. The apartment contract under the company name. Plus documentation of the company's startup funding sources."

The air tightened immediately.

He finally showed a hint of panic. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

"Get a divorce." My tone was steady. "If you don't agree, I'll submit this evidence to the court. And if necessary, to the board of directors."

He stared at me, silent for a long time.

"You won't really leave." He finally spoke, his tone regaining some certainty. "Elena, you're used to your current life. You can't leave me."

I didn't argue.

The lawyer closed his files. "We'll await your response."

With that, he stood and left, giving us space.

Only Daniel and I remained in the living room.

He leaned against the dining table, looking at me. "You're just upset. When the emotion passes, you'll regret this."

"I won't."

He smiled, like he was looking at a child throwing a tantrum. "You can't leave."

I didn't answer again.

That night, after he fell asleep, I started packing.

I opened the closet.

Clothes hung there one by one—the gown I'd worn to galas with him, the anniversary necklace he'd given me, the matching hoodies we'd bought on trips together.

The drawer held jewelry he'd given me. I took it all down and threw it in the trash.

Those weren't things that belonged to me. They were just props from when he'd once wanted to show his feelings.

I took the photo album down from the bookshelf.

I opened to the first page—photos from our wedding.

I looked at myself in the photos, smiling so earnestly.

I didn't cry.

I closed the album and dropped it straight into the trash.

In the corner of the living room sat decorative pieces we'd chosen together. I didn't hesitate, throwing them one by one into a box.

Every memory in this house connected to him—I wasn't taking any of it with me.

I only packed what truly belonged to me.

The jewelry my parents had given me, books I'd bought in college, original drafts of my designs, and those family photos I'd always treasured.

I took my parents' portrait down from the wall.

The frame felt heavy in my hands. I carefully placed them in a cardboard box, wrapping them in soft cloth.

There had been so many things in this house I'd thought were solid.

Now there was nothing left.

I put the hard drive with the evidence in my bag and moved the boxes to the door.

I opened the door, pulling my suitcase out.

The door closed behind me.

I didn't look back.