2: Let's Divorce

Oliver Qin left her in the bathroom and exited the room.

Lillian remained silent, head down, waiting until his departure before she slowly lifted her gaze and wiped away her tears. 

Moments passed. 

With the door locked behind her, she pulled the pregnancy report from her pocket. The rain had blurred the ink, the words now indistinct. She had intended to surprise him with the news, but now it seemed utterly pointless. 

Having shared Oliver's life for two years, she knew him well—his phone was an extension of himself. He wouldn't have carelessly sent that message, asking her to come and then to leave. Someone must have used his phone to play a cruel joke, making her stand outside like a fool for all to laugh at.

After staring at the report for what felt like an eternity, Lillian scoffed and slowly tore it to pieces.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, composed. 

Oliver sat on the sofa, legs propped up, laptop open—still working. He gestured toward a bowl of ginger soup beside him.

"Drink the ginger soup." 

"Okay." 

Lillian walked over, cradling the warm bowl but not drinking, instead she called out to him. 

"Oliver."

"What is it?" His tone was indifferent, his eyes glued to the screen.

Lillian looked at his refined profile, his lips pale. Impatience seemed to emanate from him as he finally looked up, meeting her eyes.

Post-shower, Lillian's complexion was rosy, her lips no longer pale. But perhaps due to the rain, she appeared fragile, almost ill.

With just one glance, Oliver's desire was inexplicably stirred.

Complex thoughts swirled in Lillian's mind, oblivious to Oliver's mood, she marshaled her thoughts, ready to speak. "You... mm!"

Her lips barely parted when Oliver leaned in uncontrollably, pinning her chin and kissing her. His rough fingers turned her fair skin red.

As Oliver's hot breath enveloped her, Lillian struggled for air, pushing against him when his phone rang, abruptly halting him. After a lingering peck at the corner of her lips, he stood up, husky-voiced. 

"Finish your soup, then sleep." 

He picked up his phone and left to take the call.

The balcony door closed behind him.

Dazed by the kiss, Lillian sat for a moment before standing and walking toward the balcony. Through the half-closed glass door, Oliver's deep voice carried softly on the cool night breeze.

"I won't leave."

"Sleep tight, now."

Lillian listened for a while, then chuckled to herself. He could be tender after all, but alas, not with her.

She returned to the bedroom, sitting emotionlessly on the bed's edge.

Their marriage was a mistake, a mere transaction.

Two years ago, when the Shen family fell from grace, Lillian became the laughingstock of the southern city. Once powerful, her family's decline had set the stage for mockery and propositions—all in exchange for clearing their debts.

Even when at her lowest, humiliated, Oliver had returned. He dealt with the scoffers, cleared the Shen family's debts, and then proposed an engagement.

"It's just a faux engagement," he said, to cheer up his sick grandmother who adored her, in exchange for restoring her family's honor.

It was always a charade.

She knew he didn't love her, and yet, she agreed.

Their engagement, awkward and forced, turned into marriage when his grandmother's health worsened, and Lillian became Mrs. Qin, envied by all.

The world thought they were childhood sweethearts who finally united. Lillian laughed bitterly at the thought. It was never about love; it was always a transaction.

"Still awake?" Oliver's voice broke through her reverie.

He lay beside her, his cool presence enveloping the room.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Without turning, she knew what was coming.

"We should divorce," he said.

Even expecting this, her heart skipped. She steadied her voice, "When?"

Her calm was unnerving, "Soon, after grandma's surgery."

She nodded, "Okay."

"That's it?" he asked.

"What else is there to say?" she replied, her gaze clear.

He chuckled, "Nothing, you heartless woman."

They had been husband and wife in name only, a marriage of convenience. His proposal now only confirmed what had always been the endgame. 

Oliver closed his eyes, lying down beside her, but Lillian called out his name again.

"What is it?" he asked, eyes wide open.

She faced him, her voice soft, "Thank you... for these past two years."

Thank you—that simple phrase hung in the air, carrying with it the weight of their shared history, which was about to be dissolved. Oliver responded with a mere smirk, but even as they lay side by side, they were worlds apart, and soon, they would part ways for good.