Amber and Calvin had been married for three years, but Calvin's heart had never truly belonged to her—it was still irrevocably tied to his childhood sweetheart, Iris. A single phone call from Iris would leave him sleepless and rushing her to the hospital in the dead of night. At her slightest whim, he would compel Amber to eat mango cake, fully aware of her allergy. And if Iris so much as shed a tear, Calvin would abandon everything—including Amber.
It wasn't until the day Amber decided to leave that something shifted. Calvin, driving his sleek Maybach, pursued her all the way to the airport. His eyes, red with desperation, betrayed his fear of losing her. "Amber," he pleaded, voice trembling, "can we not divorce? I'm begging you."
***
After three tumultuous years of being married to Calvin—the crown prince of the elite Newark social circle—Amber had finally made up her mind to let go. But this decision was a fragile secret she couldn't let slip. She knew Calvin well enough to anticipate his reaction. He'd likely destroy the house in a drunken rage and buy three boxes of strawberry-flavored contraceptives, implying that she cheated on him.
The piercing roar of his Maybach's engine shattered the late-night silence, reverberating like thunder through the sprawling mansion. Outside, the dim streetlights flickered erratically, their brief flashes seeping through the curtains, casting fleeting shadows that stretched across the cold, empty bedroom.
Amber stirred, her light sleep fractured. Her sharp ears immediately recognized the deep, guttural growl of the Maybach. Suppressing a sigh, she slid out of bed, her movements purposeful but weighed down with exhaustion. Grabbing the carefully prepared divorce papers from her nightstand, she draped her shoulders with a knitted shawl for warmth. Slipping her feet into soft, well-worn cotton slippers, she padded downstairs.
The sight that greeted her was all too familiar. Calvin had stumbled home drunk yet again. His tailored suit lay crumpled on the marble floor, his silk tie and polished leather shoes discarded like forgotten relics of his pristine public image. The pungent stench of alcohol assaulted her senses, mingled faintly with the bitter tang of cigarette smoke.
Amber's brows furrowed, a deep line etched between them. She hadn't stopped frowning for months now, but tonight her face seemed carved from stone. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, taking shallow breaths to keep the nausea at bay. Calvin knew she despised alcohol and smoke, but he never cared enough to stop. Time and again, he came home like this—reeking, rambling and inconsiderate—leaving her to clean up both the physical mess and the emotional wreckage he left in his wake.
Through bleary, unfocused eyes, Calvin spotted her standing in the doorway. His lips twisted into a pained smile as he staggered toward her. "Amber... Iris is sick again. What should I do?" he slurred, his voice rough and pleading. He collapsed onto the couch and instinctively buried his head against her abdomen, his warmth seeping through the soft fabric of her nightgown.
It wasn't the first time Calvin had sought comfort in this peculiar way, as though her presence alone could ground him, soothe the chaos in his soul. Yet Amber's hands clenched tightly around the divorce agreement.
She stiffened, her expression cold as stone. Refusing to meet his bloodshot eyes, she stared past him, fixating on the mantel clock ticking steadily. She believed—hoped, even—that avoiding his gaze might numb the ache in her chest.
Iris. Always Iris.
Iris, the fragile, porcelain doll of Calvin's past, his childhood sweetheart who could do no wrong. Her battle with depression made her delicate and untouchable, a woman Calvin felt both bound to and obsessed with. She had known him for a decade longer than Amber had and a tragic car accident from their youth—one where Iris had saved his life—cemented her place as his everything. To everyone in Newark's elite circles, Iris wasn't just Calvin's Achilles' heel; she was his entire heart.
But Iris saw Calvin only as an older brother. She never reciprocated the intense, tangled feelings he harbored for her. Even their marriage—Calvin and Amber's—had to remain a carefully guarded secret, all to spare Iris any distress.
So, Calvin also had someone he loved but couldn't have. Amber didn't know if she was envious, jealous, or hateful. Looking at the drunken man before her, she let out a cold laugh and mercilessly pushed his fuzzy head away. She coaxed him into signing the divorce papers.
Calvin and Amber. Two people tied by marriage, each nursing an unrequited love. She didn't know whether to envy, pity, or hate him. As Calvin leaned against her, drunk and vulnerable, her lips curled into a bitter smile. She pushed his head away with calculated detachment.
"Calvin," she began sweetly, her voice masking the steel beneath, "I need your help. I'm starting a studio and need some startup funds. Can you sign this for me?"
Calvin blinked at her, his drunken stupor clouding his judgment. "What's this?" he mumbled, taking the document from her outstretched hands.
"It's just a business agreement," she lied smoothly. "A formality."
Amber's heart pounded painfully in her chest as she watched him scan the paper with glassy eyes. The divorce agreement was clear, listing her terms: the house in Bayview and $4 million—pocket change for a man like Calvin. The precision of her request wasn't born from greed but from survival, a calculated demand for the freedom she so desperately craved.
Calvin's lips quirked into a lazy grin as he picked up the pen. "Oh, my little money-grubber," he teased, his voice laced with drunken fondness. "Good thing your husband has more money than he knows what to do with."
Without hesitation, he scrawled his name across the dotted line in bold, decisive strokes. Each pen stroke felt like a knife slicing through Amber's resolve, the sound of ink scratching paper echoing in her ears. Her body betrayed her, trembling faintly as relief and fear tangled inside her.
When he was done, Calvin tossed the pen aside and pulled Amber onto his lap, holding her hands captive in his own. "Just try finding someone else," he muttered mockingly, his voice laced with both arrogance and affection. "See where you'll find someone like me to bankroll your whims."
