3

Chapter 3

Alexander's gaze darkened for a few seconds after my question, as if he didn't understand.

When I looked up again, his expression had turned cold and hard.

"Clara, don't try to deceive me with words like that."

"No matter what, I won't abandon Evelyn."

He frowned, seeming to want to defend himself, but in the end just sighed.

"You really need to see a therapist."

Evelyn sobbed softly against him. He held her tighter, his expression tender and focused.

Watching that scene, I suddenly felt like a plaintiff in court—

The evidence was right there, but the defendant never pleaded guilty.

"Let's go." He said to Evelyn, his tone so gentle I barely recognized it.

She nodded against him.

They left side by side, without a single backward glance.

The surgery ended quickly.

The doctor instructed me to rest. I just nodded.

That night, I returned to the apartment alone.

The place was pitch dark.

It was our shared home, yet it felt as empty as a case file—cold, flat, without warmth.

I took off my coat and walked to the desk.

On it lay several legal documents. They were stock revision agreements I'd drafted for the company.

I suddenly realized—I should also draft a new contract for my own life.

I opened my laptop, created a new document, titled:

"Grant Marriage Dissolution Agreement Draft."

Professional habit made me instinctively write logically rigorous terms:

Article One: Both parties voluntarily dissolve the marriage without fraud or coercion.

Article Two: Property division follows fair principles, with equity under both names liquidated proportionally.

Article Three: Neither party may interfere with the other's life under any pretext.

When I reached Article Three, I stopped writing.

It turned out even "emotional termination" could be formatted into legal documentation by me.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and heard my phone vibrate.

The screen lit up with an IG notification.

Evelyn had posted.

In the photo, Alexander wore a casual shirt, cutting vegetables in the kitchen.

Her caption read:

"He's making dinner for me. The doctor said I have no appetite, but he's more worried than anyone."

At the end, she added a heart emoji.

I looked at that photo quietly, without even anger.

I was just thinking—

A man who once pulled three all-nighters for the Global Biotech Summit

was now carefully preparing meals for another woman's morning sickness.

Laughable, and pathetic.

A few days later, Alexander called.

"Come home for dinner tonight." His tone was commanding.

"I have cases to handle." I responded flatly.

"Mom wants to see you," he said.

I wanted to refuse, but somehow, I went anyway.

The Grant family's main residence was as bright as ever.

Metal chandeliers cast cold light, his father's portrait hung on the wall.

This house had always been cold.

As I entered the dining room, I saw Evelyn sitting beside the head of the table, her hand covering her swollen belly.

She wore an off-white knit dress, looking fragile and harmless.

"Clara." She stood up, smiling docilely, yet her presence felt like the lady of the house. "You're here. Alex said you haven't been feeling well lately. You should eat more. I sincerely hope you'll feel better soon."

Before I could respond, she added softly: "Auntie specifically asked me to stay for a few days to rest properly during the pregnancy."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are you comfortable here?"

She looked momentarily embarrassed, but before she could speak, Alexander's mother emerged from the kitchen.

She was a typical upper-class woman—conservative, proud, scrutinizing everything.

She looked at me, her tone carrying slight dissatisfaction.

"Clara, you've been married all these years without giving our family a child.

Now that Evelyn is carrying Alex's... child, someone needs to care for her. I'm having her move in. You don't mind, do you?"

The air felt frozen.

I smiled, my voice calm.

"Of course not."