Today, I Stop Dying for You

I crouched down, picked up the rollerball pen on the table, and, with trembling hands, signed my name.

I had given this pen to Morgan Franklin when I turned 18. He had used it to sign deal after deal, building his business empire. I never imagined its final purpose would be to bring our marriage to an end.

Morgan's name and mine—Milana Brook—were written one above the other on the document, marking the end of the decade we had shared together.

Morgan was no longer lounging against the couch in the private room. He had straightened up and studied my expression. "You've finally thought it through?"

I looked up and met his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry for wasting so much of your time. Consider it my birthday present to you."

I thought he would be ecstatic. After all, out of our seven years of marriage, he had spent five of them attempting to shake me off like a piece of stubborn lint. Yet, he only tightened his grip around his whiskey glass until his knuckles turned white.

The private room was dimly lit, and his voice was unreadable. "What made you change your mind?"

I tilted my head and gave it some thought. There was no catalyst, to be honest. I had simply reached a point where I no longer wanted to be entangled with this man.

For the last five years, we'd played an endless game of chase, degrading from young lovers into two people who couldn't stand each other. To force him to stay, I'd jumped off a ledge, slit my wrists, and ingested rat poison. Compared to everything I'd put myself through, this humiliating scene was nothing.

Humans were such strange creatures. When I chose to let go, it really did happen in a single heartbeat.

I couldn't think of an answer, so I merely shook my head. "Does it really matter? As long as we're separating, shouldn't that be enough for you?"

I gently set the birthday cake I had baked with my own hands on the table. Even now, it still felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing my heart. "Happy birthday, Morgan… and congratulations, you're finally free!"

Morgan shot to his feet, looking as though he had something to tell me.

Just then, Ingrid Calliope pushed the door to the private room open. She strutted up to me and mocked, "Mrs. Franklin, as a woman myself, I sincerely advise you to have some self-respect. Hurting yourself just to get attention is what children do. The waiter just informed me that the ambulance has already arrived downstairs. I'm begging you, please, just let Morgan have a peaceful birthday."

Hearing the title "Mrs. Franklin" come out of Ingrid's mouth was nothing short of ironic. It was no secret in Northhelm that Ingrid was Morgan's true love. The two of them paraded around as a couple, while I was nothing more than the madwoman locked away in the attic of Franklin Manor.

Ingrid, the side piece who had appeared out of nowhere and destroyed my family, actually had the nerve to lecture me about self-respect. I wanted to snap back and humiliate her, but after years on antidepressants, my mind was sluggish and foggy.

In the end, I merely lifted the divorce agreement and shook it. "We've divorced. That title is all yours now."

Ingrid, who had never given me the time of day, froze for a moment. However, very quickly, the look of knowing condescension returned to her face. "I've got to hand it to you, Milana; you've even learned how to play hard to get. I honestly hope you can keep it up for a while."

Sliding past me, she threw herself into Morgan's arms and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. "This is the Michelin-starred cake I ordered specifically for you, Morgan. Oh, am I late? There's no room left at the table."