A young woman, no older than twenty-Five, stood stiffly in front of a man seated behind a sleek office desk, clutching a stack of papers in trembling hands.
"J-James... what do you mean by this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, stuttering with disbelief.
The man, focused on the file he was signing, didn't look up at first. When he finally did, his gaze was cold and indifferent.
"I'm divorcing you. Isn't it obvious?" he said flatly. "Sign the papers, and we'll go our separate ways."
Without another glance, he returned to writing, as if dismissing her presence entirely.
Emilia stared at him, shocked. Her body trembled. Her voice cracked as she spoke again.
"James... we've been married for three years. Didn't you feel anything during all that time?"
James sighed and rubbed his eyes, irritation flashing across his face.
"Emilia, you know how this marriage happened. If you hadn't schemed that day, none of this would've happened."
"James, I've told you a hundred times, that night wasn't—" she started, but he cut her off sharply.
"Enough! Stop talking, Emilia. What did that innocent girl Sophia ever do to deserve what happened? Why would your own sister drug you to force this marriage?"
Emilia flinched at the fury in his voice. Her breath hitched, tears welling in her eyes.
"Are you really going to do this?" she asked softly, one hand clutching her chest as if trying to ease the ache there.
James nodded without hesitation. "Yes. Sign it. Pack your things. And leave."
Emilia closed her eyes tightly, refusing to let the tears fall. She steadied herself.
I don't love him... Emilia, stop feeling hurt. He never trusted you. He never believed in you. He's not worth your tears...
When she opened her eyes again, they were dry but lifeless. She walked to the table, picked up the pen with shaking fingers, and placed the papers flat on the desk.
The scratch of the pen filled the silence as she signed the divorce papers. Her hand trembled, but she didn't stop.
James watched her, eyes narrowing slightly. An unexpected flicker crossed his expression—a flash of memory.
Emilia, waking early to make him breakfast…Emilia, waiting at the dinner table with hopeful eyes, only to be rejected again…Emilia, smiling faintly even as her warmth was met with cold silence…
His fists clenched under the desk.
Why are these memories surfacing? he thought bitterly. She's a gold-digger. Isn't that all she ever was?
After signing, Emilia looked up at James. His expression remained cold—unmoved, untouched.
Not a flicker of emotion.
Taking a shaky step back, she turned around without another word and walked slowly toward the door. Her footsteps echoed in the heavy silence of the office.
As soon as she stepped outside, the door clicked shut behind her. She leaned back against it, her legs weak, her chest heaving. The dam broke.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She raised a trembling hand to wipe them away, but more followed.
Still, she forced herself to move. One step. Then another. She walked down the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last.
She didn't go back to her room. Didn't pack. Didn't look back.
At the foot of the stairs, a familiar figure appeared.
An elderly man in a crisp butler's uniform stood before her. His brows furrowed deeply, concern etched into every line of his face.
"Miss Emilia…" he said softly, voice laced with worry.
She lifted her head to meet his eyes. There was kindness in them—genuine care she hadn't seen in a long time. It almost made her cry all over again.
But instead, she forced a bitter smile.
"Don't worry, Uncle Ben. I'm okay," she whispered, even as her voice trembled. "Goodbye."
Without waiting for a reply, she walked past him and out the grand front doors.
The cold air stung her face, mixing with the warmth of her tears.
She opened her car door, climbed in, and drove away.
Ben watched the car disappear down the driveway, its taillights glowing faintly in the distance. He stood still for a long moment before shaking his head, his voice barely a whisper.
"I'm sorry, young miss… I wasn't able to protect this marriage."
Inside the car, Emilia gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her foot pressed hard on the accelerator as the vehicle roared down the dark, empty highway. Wind howled past the windows, matching the storm raging in her heart.
Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't slow down.
She just wanted to escape. From the pain. From the betrayal. From everything.
Suddenly, a blinding white light flashed in front of her.
Startled, Emilia instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes—just as a loud BANG echoed through the car.
Her head slammed against the steering wheel. The world spun wildly around her.
In that split second, she caught sight of a massive truck hurtling toward her—its headlights like twin suns. But what made her heart stop wasn't the truck itself…
It was the driver's seat.
Empty.
There was no one behind the wheel.
Her eyes widened in horror.
What…?
But before she could think, the light intensified again—so bright it swallowed everything.
Reflexively, she covered her face.
And then—
Darkness.
An hour later, a call reached emergency services—someone had reported a wreck on the outskirts of the highway. The responders arrived too late. The car was mangled beyond recognition, flames long extinguished by the rain.
The woman inside had no pulse.
Back at the Lancaster mansion, James stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the quiet dining room below. The long table, perfectly set, stretched into silence. He found himself scanning it—subconsciously looking for her.
For Emilia.
But of course, she wasn't there.
He sighed and shook his head, as if trying to shake away the thoughts. Why am I even thinking about her now? She left. It's over.
He turned to go back to his study when something on the television caught his eye.
The evening news was playing in the background.
"...a fatal car crash was reported just an hour ago along the southern highway..."
The anchor's voice barely registered as his eyes locked onto the screen.
A photo flashed beside the wreckage.
Her photo.
Emilia.
James froze.
His breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer to the TV. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The news anchor continued:
"...the victim has been identified as twenty-Five-year-old Emilia Lancaster, wife of prominent CEO James Lancaster..."
His hands clenched at his sides. The room felt suddenly colder, heavier.
"No…" he whispered. "She… she's dead?"
The weight of those words crashed down on him like a tidal wave. His knees almost gave out.
He stared at her photo on the screen—her smiling face frozen in time.
Gone…
And all at once, those memories came rushing back again—her laughter, her quiet patience, her fading hope.