Calvin thought nothing of signing the agreement. To him, it was just another routine document. After scribbling his signature, he teasingly tapped Amber on the nose, a fleeting gesture of affection that meant nothing. He failed to notice the sadness lingering in her eyes, veiled by the cascade of her long, dark hair.
Before marrying Amber, Calvin had flitted through numerous lovers—each one more dazzling than the last. Some were the picture of innocence and sweetness; others oozed seduction and sophistication. In the elite world they inhabited, a powerful, wealthy man like Calvin was expected to maintain a roster of paramours. Fidelity was almost a quaint concept, overshadowed by the spectacle of affluence.
When those relationships inevitably ended, Calvin's solution was always the same: a luxury car or a lavish home, tokens of his indifference disguised as generosity. To him, any problem that could be solved with money wasn't a problem at all.
Amber had been Calvin's wife for three long years, during which she came to understand her place in his world. She wasn't his partner, confidant, or even friend. She was a contract, a role he could fulfill with money and public gestures. Amber had tried to console herself with this reality: "If there's no love, at least there's wealth." But even the sparkle of diamonds couldn't hide the emptiness in her heart.
Divorce. It was the only way out. She had repeated the mantra to herself so often that it began to feel true: "I don't love him anymore. I can't love him anymore." Divorce meant freedom—from waiting up alone at night, from covering her silent tears with the sheets and from living in the shadow of Iris.
Amber's love for Calvin had started years ago, on her first day as a transfer student in high school. He had been tall, aloof and devastatingly handsome, the kind of boy who made teenage hearts race. As the daughter of a wealthy family herself, Amber wasn't accustomed to rejection. But Calvin, with his cold indifference, became her first.
She shamelessly pursued him, letting her pride take a backseat to her feelings. She brought him water at basketball practice, only to see it ignored alongside offerings from other girls. Calvin only drank from the bottles Iris handed him. Amber orchestrated accidental meetings on weekends, carefully planning every detail to seem spontaneous. But Calvin saw through it all, refusing even to acknowledge her presence.
Even his best friend, Jason, had once joked about her misfortune: "Amber, you really picked the wrong guy to like."
Now, three years into their marriage, Calvin still celebrated their anniversary with mango cakes. Beautifully decorated and undoubtedly expensive, the cakes were Iris's favorite. Calvin never cared—or perhaps never bothered to remember—that Amber was allergic to mangoes. She ate them anyway, forcing a smile through every bite, unwilling to spoil his mood. The following day, she'd end up at the hospital, her body covered in rashes, all because of him.
That night, as the moonlight faded behind the rain-heavy clouds, Amber lay sleepless once more. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol as Calvin snored softly beside her, his presence a cruel reminder of their reality.
With painstaking effort, she managed to drag his limp body to their bedroom. Suppressing her revulsion, she unbuttoned his shirt, wiped the sweat and liquor from his skin and pulled the covers over him. Then she quietly retreated to her side of the bed, careful not to disturb him further.
Her relief was short-lived. Less than half an hour later, the shrill ring of Calvin's phone sliced through the silence.
Amber flinched, her heart sinking when she saw the caller ID flash on the screen: [Iris.]
Before she could react, Calvin stirred, his hand darting out to snatch the phone. "Shh," he whispered sharply, pressing a finger to his lips as if Amber were a noisy intruder.
"Iris?" His voice was soft, tender in a way Amber had never heard before.
On the other end of the line, Iris's voice was equally delicate, tinged with tears and desperation. "Calvin, I have a fever again. Can you come to the hospital? I'm scared. I don't want to be alone."
Amber's chest tightened as she listened to the exchange, but Calvin didn't so much as glance at her.
"Don't worry, Iris," he said, his voice brimming with concern. "I'm on my way."
Throwing off the blanket, he bolted upright, fumbling to button his shirt and grab his jacket. Turning to Amber, he barked an order: "Get up. You're driving me to the hospital. I've been drinking."
Amber wanted to refuse, to let him feel the weight of his choices, but years of habit kept her silent. She grabbed the car keys and an umbrella before stepping into the storm.
The rain poured in sheets, soaking the ground and turning the air icy. Their mansion, perched in a remote, exclusive area, was surrounded by winding mountain roads. Amber gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, as Calvin sat beside her, restless and anxious.
"Hurry up," he snapped, his eyes glued to his phone as if willing updates from Iris to appear. "Can't you go faster?"
Amber bit her lip, refusing to respond. She could barely see through the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up with the relentless downpour. At one treacherous turn, the tires skidded and the Maybach spun dangerously close to the edge of the road.
Amber's heart leaped into her throat as she slammed on the brakes, fighting to regain control of the car. For a moment, time seemed to freeze—the only sounds were the rain hammering the roof and the squeal of the brakes.
Once the car steadied, Calvin erupted in frustration. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, his face a mixture of anger and panic. "Are you trying to kill us? Can't you even drive properly?"
