The year the Fabian family was on the brink of bankruptcy, my father treated marriage as a transaction and married me off to Fabian.
At the time, I did not know that Fabian already had someone in his heart, a childhood sweetheart who had nearly become his wife.
Later, my father was dragged into a workplace sexual harassment scandal, and the company teetered on the edge of collapse.
It was then that Fabian brought Thalia back home, saying he wanted to compensate her with a grand wedding.
I did not cry. I did not make a scene. I simply began packing my luggage in silence.
Fabian stood to the side, watching me with a cold laugh.
“Stop playing those childish games of feigned retreat,” he said. “Do you really think you are still the eldest daughter of the Yvette family?”
Fabian did not know that I still had the divorce agreement he had written with his own hand while drunk.
In seven days, my father and I would be leaving the country.
1
On the day my father was reassigned by the group to an overseas branch, Fabian brought his newly divorced first love back into the house.
Fabian stood at the door of my room, his expression indifferent, his tone as casual as if he were announcing something utterly ordinary.
“Next week, I will have Thalia move in.”
He paused, then added, “I have owed her too much over the years. No matter what you think, you will have to accept it.”
My father’s scandal had only just been exposed. He had barely warmed the president’s seat before being forced to step down.
Yet Fabian could not wait even a single extra day.
I looked up at him.
Fabian’s eyes were as cold as a lake sealed by winter, without the slightest ripple.
After three years of marriage, I had never once entered Fabian’s heart.
I turned my face away in a hurry, afraid my emotions might slip out of control.
“Alright,” I said softly.
In any case, I would be leaving soon.
Who Fabian chose to bring home no longer had anything to do with me.
Fabian seemed slightly surprised.
His lips moved, but in the end he said nothing.
He had always been a man of few words with me.
After Fabian left, I opened the safe and pulled out a stack of documents from the very bottom of my jewelry box.
It was the divorce agreement Fabian had written with his own hand three years ago.
It bore his signature, along with his fingerprint pressed beside it.
All that remained was a stamp from the civil affairs office, and Fabian and I would be completely unrelated.
At that business banquet three years ago, I had fallen for Fabian at first sight.
He stood at the center of the crowd, refined features, calm bearing, drawing almost every gaze the moment one looked his way.
Less than three days later, news spread that the Fabian family intended to form a marriage alliance.
I thought it was fate.
It was only later that someone told me Thalia was getting married.
That night, Fabian drank himself into a stupor.
I cooked him some sobering soup and carried it into the study.
Fabian lay slumped over the desk, his eyes red, calling out softly.
“Yvette.”
My heart warmed, and I hurried toward him.
The next second, Fabian grabbed the glass on the desk and smashed it violently onto the floor.
Shards scattered in all directions.
I stumbled back two steps in shock.
