Chapter 4

At eight in the morning, inside a penthouse in downtown Grimildale.

The warm light spilled through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding the plush wool carpet with a golden trim.

Harper stood barefoot on the rug, wearing a burgundy slip dress. She was tall, boasting a figure that was far from scrawny. She was curvaceous in all the right places with a breathtaking silhouette.

Long, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was radiating a lazy, wild allure.

In her industry, she was the notorious Legal Queen, a sharp-tongued powerhouse in the courtroom who tore opposing counsel apart in court.

Yet right now, as she stared at the minute-and-a-half call log on her phone screen, a slow grin spread across her striking face until it nearly overflowed, making her look like a cat that got the cream.

"Filing for divorce, huh? Asher, you've finally woken up," she chuckled, her thumb gently tracing the name on the phone screen.

Her eyes gleamed with electric excitement, as if saying, "It's finally my turn."

No one knew that beneath that sharp exterior, she had been carrying a torch for the same man for five years.

Back in college, she was known as a relentless workaholic and a fierce tomboy no one dared to cross. On a torrential rainy afternoon, when everyone else had run off, Asher had been the only one to shove his only umbrella into her hands.

Drenched to the bone, he had shouted at her with a goofy grin. "Harper, you're going to be a big-shot lawyer someday! You can't afford to get sick!"

She still kept that umbrella locked away in her safe. And for his sake, she grew her hair long, learned to wear makeup, and softened her sharp edges.

But on the very day she had finally worked up the courage to lay her feelings on the line with a direct confession, Asher had walked up to her with an invitation in hand, his eyes shining like stars.

"Harper, I'm getting married."

In an instant, Harper felt like the world had gone mute. All she could do was laugh, punch him lightly in the shoulder, and fight back her tears.

"Alright, man. Don't forget the little people when you make it big."

For the past five years, she had watched with a bleeding heart as that once-vibrant young man broke his back for Katherine, humbling himself into the dust.

She felt for him, yet she didn't even have the right to show it.

"Katherine, oh Katherine..." she muttered, walking over to her vanity where she picked up a tube of bold crimson lipstick.

That was a shade she usually avoided for being too aggressive. The lipstick glided across her lips like a flame. In the mirror, the woman looking back had razor-sharp eyes and an undeniable, overwhelming aura.

"Since you mistook a pearl for dirt and stomped it into the mud..." She pressed her lips together and cocked an eyebrow at her reflection. "Don't blame me for taking him back with interest. This time, I'm never letting him go."

...

The old neighborhood, the West Side.

This was the forgotten corner of the city. There were no skyscrapers here, only a tangled mess of overhead power lines and ivy-covered brick walk-ups, bustling with gritty, everyday life.

Asher stood before a faded security door, his worn-out backpack slang over his shoulder. This was the old apartment his parents had left him; it was his home before marriage.

Ever since they got married, Katherine had visited only once. She had wrinkled her nose, covered her mouth, and sniffed that it smelled like poverty and desperation.

From then on, Asher had never set foot in it again. Now even inserting the key into the lock felt stiff and unfamiliar.

The lock turned, as if unlocking a sealed chapter of forgotten time. The door creaked open, and a stale odor of mold mixed with dust rushed to meet him.

The interior was dimly lit, with white sheets covering the furniture, where countless dust motes danced in the pale shafts of light.

Asher set his bag down, walked over, and whipped off the dust sheet covering the sofa. A cloud of dust rose into the air, making him cough.

He sat down on the hard wooden couch, running his fingers across the rough armrest. There was no temperature control here, no expensive leather sofa, and no Katherine staring at him with her perpetually critical eyes.

There was only silence. An absolute, uninterrupted peace that belonged solely to him.

He took a deep breath. Strangely enough, this slightly musty air allowed his nervous system to relax for the first time in five years. Even if it meant living simply, freedom tasted sweet.

He got up and began to clean. As he was wiping down the desk drawers, a yellowed notebook fell out with a sharp clack.

He picked it up and opened it to the first page. It was a message written by his younger self before marriage, the handwriting slightly immature yet pressed firmly into the paper.

[Asher, keep pushing. In this lifetime, you have to give Katherine the warmest home possible and never let her shed another tear. You're going to be her safe harbor.]

His finger rested on those lines, unmoving for a long time.

Back then, Katherine had just taken over the Spears Group. Abandoned by Lucas and bullied by board members, she had been fragile as a porcelain doll.

He had truly wanted to tear his heart out to mend hers. Too bad she hadn't needed a safe harbor; she had wanted her first love who had flown across the world.

He snapped the notebook shut and tossed it casually into the nearby trash can. The dull thud felt like putting a final, if imperfect, period to that chapter of his life.

All those self-sacrificing vows seemed like nothing more than a pathetic joke now.

He sat in the one corner he'd managed to clean up as dusk slowly settled outside the window. As he stared at the journal in the trash, his mind became remarkably clear.

Over the past five years, they had enjoyed happy times and moments of sadness. They had exchanged vows to grow old together.

But later, he'd learned from one of her friends that, in Katherine's eyes, he'd never been the man she loved. He was only medicine—the painkiller she'd used to numb the emptiness Lucas had left behind.

At first, he hadn't believed it. He had honestly thought that if he was good enough, if he provided endless emotional support, gentleness, and unconditional care, even a stone heart could be melted.

But now that Lucas was back, it had taken only a month for Asher to see the truth. Once the pain was gone, the medicine was no longer needed.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh, pulled out his phone, and sent the digital copy of the divorce agreement he had saved last night directly to Katherine.

There was no fluff, just one brief line: [Sign it. Let's save whatever dignity we have left.]

After sending the message, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table, leaned back against the sofa, and closed his eyes to rest.

He knew Katherine all too well. She wasn't inherently evil, and there were times when he had been hopelessly enamored with her.

But she had been spoiled rotten since she was a child, arrogant to her core. As the heiress to the Spears family, one of the city's most powerful dynasties, she was used to looking down on others.

She would never tolerate a "freeloading househusband" taking the initiative to dump her. To her, this wasn't just a marital breakdown; it was a direct challenge to her authority.

Sure enough, in less than a minute, his phone vibrated relentlessly. They weren't replies from her, but a barrage of bank notifications.

[The authorized user credit card ending in 8899 has been frozen by the primary cardholder.]

[Your secondary card privileges have been suspended.]

[Your access to the joint account has been revoked.]

...

The string of pinging alerts sounded piercingly loud in the quiet apartment.

Asher looked at the screen, perfectly calm, as if he were reading someone else's story. There was no hysterical rage, only bleak realization.

He didn't care about those things. They were Katherine's money anyway; they had nothing to do with him.

Then the next notification stunned him: the bank account he'd been using for his freelance income had been frozen too. That money was what he had earned over the years by taking online gigs, drafting customized business plans for clients.

It wasn't much by her standards, but he'd managed to save a little over thirty grand. If he lived frugally, it could keep him afloat for two years.

Then it hit him that the account had originally been opened under Katherine's name. He'd done it that way to reassure her and let her keep tabs on his finances.

This was clearly Katherine's tactic—simple, blunt, and dripping with high-and-mighty arrogance. In that world, financial control was the most effective way to keep an unruly kept man in line.

She thought that once she cut off his money, he'd have no choice but to crawl back like a starving dog, beg at her feet, and admit he'd been wrong.