Chapter 3 I have signed the divorce papers

Scarlett’s POV

“Madam, it’s done.”

The stylist’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror.

And froze.

The woman staring back at me wasn’t the same Scarlett Taylor who walked into this salon an hour ago.

Gone was the soft, obedient wife with dull eyes and a timid posture.

This woman had sharp eyes lined with quiet fire. Her long hair had been chopped into a sleek, shoulder-length cut that framed her face like a crown. Her lips were a bold shade of red—confident, unapologetic. Even her expression had changed. Steady. Unyielding. Dignified.

For a second, I didn’t recognize myself.

And for the first time in years… I liked what I saw.

“I look…” I whispered, touching the mirror lightly, “…free.”

The stylist smiled. “You look powerful, Miss Taylor.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I paid the bill, left a generous tip, and walked outside. The afternoon sun kissed my face as a warm breeze played with the ends of my new hair. I stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, pulling out my phone to book a taxi.

Ding.

A message.

I opened it without thinking.

It was a photo.

My heart skipped once.

A hospital document. I squinted—no. A test result.

Then I saw the words:

Pregnancy Confirmation. 4 weeks.

Name: Amelia Martin

Father: Everett Robinson

And beneath it, a message.

Scarlett, so what if you married him?

He never loved you.

You were just keeping his place warm for me.

Now I’m carrying his child.

If you have even a shred of dignity left, sign the divorce papers and leave.

The air around me seemed to still. Cars passed. The breeze fluttered. Life moved on.

But inside me, everything… stopped.

I stood there, the phone heavy in my hand. My chest tightened. My stomach churned—not with jealousy, but with a hollow ache that no words could fill.

He was going to be a father. And it wasn’t my child.

It was hers.

Amelia.

The woman who left him in a hospital bed to chase her own dreams. The woman who vanished when things got hard. The woman whose return burned everything I had built for three long years.

And now… she had everything.

His heart.

His attention.

His child.

A dull pain throbbed beneath my ribs. It crawled up my throat, threatening to choke me.

But I swallowed it back.

No more tears.

No more begging.

No more pretending I was fine.

I stared at the message for a long second, then typed just three words.

Then congratulations.

I hit send.

Then I turned off my phone, slipped it into my purse, and raised my hand to flag a taxi.

The yellow car pulled up. The driver leaned out. “Where to, ma’am?”

I slid into the back seat, my voice calm and clear.

“To WS Group.”

I stared out the window as the city blurred by.

There was still one thing left to settle.

****

Everett Robinson’s POV

The temperature in the conference room seemed to plummet the moment I walked in.

I could feel the tension coiled tight in the air as I took my seat at the head of the table. The executives stiffened. A few lowered their eyes to the polished mahogany surface like schoolchildren caught misbehaving. One director dropped his pen and didn’t even dare to bend down for it.

Good. Let them squirm.

I steepled my fingers, my suit jacket pulling taut across my shoulders. The faint tick of the clock grated on my nerves.

I was irritated. No—agitated.

This wasn’t because of some failed merger or a market dip. I could handle those in my sleep. This was different.

Scarlett Taylor hadn’t come to work.

Not only that, she hadn’t answered my calls. Or my texts. Or the email I sent at 3 AM.

Three years. Three damn years as my personal secretary and she had never taken a single day off. Never been late. Never ignored me. She was reliable to a fault—quiet, efficient, unobtrusive, always there when I needed her.

And now? Vanished.

My jaw tightened. The coffee in front of me had gone cold. Not that I had touched it anyway. I hadn’t touched anything all morning.

Someone cleared their throat at the far end of the table. I shot them a look and the sound died instantly.

Scarlett… what the hell are you doing?

I pulled out my phone under the table, thumb hovering over her name. Maybe I should call again—

Click.

The door opened.

Every head in the room turned.

And so did mine.

A woman stepped in.

“I’m sorry, everyone, for disturbing like this.”

The voice froze me.

Scarlett?

I blinked. My mind couldn’t reconcile what I was seeing.

This wasn’t the Scarlett Taylor I knew.

Gone was the demure woman who wore plain blouses, hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses.

This Scarlett…

Her hair was loose, long black waves cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. Her eyes—free of glasses—were striking and clear, sharp enough to cut through the silence in the room.

Her lips were painted in a deep rose color that made her look almost… untouchable.

Her figure was wrapped in a tailored suit that hugged every curve with a deliberate elegance. She didn’t walk. She strode. Confident. Purposeful. Heels clicking like punctuation in the thick, suffocating air.

It wasn’t just her appearance.

Her aura had changed.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

Even the board members, men twice her age and status, stared at her with wide eyes.

And me?

I couldn’t look away.

After three years of marriage, I thought I knew Scarlett inside and out. She had always been soft and quiet, the perfect picture of composure and discipline. At the office, sleek black skirts and neutral blouses. At home, floral dresses and gentle smiles.

But this woman?

This wasn’t the Scarlett I married.

This was someone else.

She looked straight at me.

And for the first time, her gaze didn’t hold warmth. Or tenderness. Or the quiet affection I had grown so used to seeing.

It was cold. Indifferent.

Something in my chest tightened, sharp and unfamiliar.

Fear?

No. It couldn’t be.

“What the hell is she playing at?” I muttered under my breath.

The murmurs in the room were nothing but static in my ears.

Scarlett walked toward me, unhurried, unflinching. And I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She stopped just a foot away.

From her bag, she pulled out a crisp envelope and held it out.

“Mr. Robinson,” she said, voice calm and cool. “This is my resignation.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.

The silence in the room was deafening.

I didn’t take the envelope. My hand stayed by my side, clenched into a fist.

“You think throwing a tantrum is going to change anything?” I hissed.

Her eyes didn’t waver.

“I’m not throwing one,” she replied. Her voice was like a blade—sharp and precise.

Before I could speak, she reached into her bag again.

Thud.

A thick folder slammed against my chest. The sound echoed off the walls.

I caught it by reflex, the weight almost making me drop it.

Papers slipped out, scattering across the floor.

Divorce papers.

My breath hitched. My pulse stopped.

Scarlett looked at me, chin tilted high.

“Since you’ve been so eager to send them,” she said, “I’ve saved you the trouble.”

The edges of the folder crumpled in my grip.

“I’ve signed every copy,” she added. “Ten, to match the ten times you reminded me how disposable I am.”

My throat closed. Words wouldn’t come.

“Please clear your schedule tomorrow, 8:30 AM. Civil Bureau. Let’s get this over with.”

Then she turned.

No hesitation. No second glance.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked out, her hair swaying like a final flourish.

The room stayed frozen long after she was gone.

And I—

I stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum.

For the first time in years, I realized—

Scarlett was really leaving me.

And I had no idea how to stop her.