Amelia Carter was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone aimlessly.
Golden sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows—it should've been a peaceful afternoon. But that calm shattered the moment she came across Chloe Harper's new post on social media.
It was a photo of a pregnancy check-up slip, captioned simply:
"A new life begins. Grateful."
The bold words "6 weeks pregnant" practically jumped off the screen.
Her finger froze mid-scroll, and a strange feeling stirred deep inside. Still, she quickly brushed it off.
Chloe was a rising star in showbiz, so pregnancy wasn't exactly shocking. Sure, there'd once been all kinds of rumors linking her to Eric Reeves—but that was old news.
Amelia looked down at the wedding ring on her finger, gently rubbing the band as she tried to push down the sudden wave of unease.
But right as she was about to lock her screen, a breaking news alert lit up:
"Exclusive: Chloe Harper spotted at OB-GYN with mystery man!"
For reasons she couldn't explain, Amelia tapped the link.
The photo was clearly taken in secret, an awkward angle but crystal clear. Chloe stood in a sterile hospital hallway, sunglasses on, and next to her—
Amelia's heart stopped.
That man, with the tall frame and charcoal-grey suit jacket—that was the very jacket she had picked out for Eric just last month.
It wasn't off-the-rack. It was a custom order. No one else would have it. And that watch on his wrist? She had given it to him for his birthday last year.
So, the one who went with Chloe to her prenatal check-up… was her own husband?
The chill hit her in waves, starting from her fingertips, spreading until she felt like she'd been dunked in ice water.
Her hands trembling, she picked up the phone and dialed. The ringing echoed in her ears like a ticking time bomb. Just when she thought he wouldn't pick up, the call connected.
"What is it?" Eric's voice was clipped, laced with impatience.
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "Where are you?"
"At the office. Emergency meeting." His tone was sharp, no hesitation. "I won't be home for dinner."
A lie. A blatant, obvious lie.
Amelia shut her eyes tight, her chest tightening like someone had reached in and squeezed her heart.
"Really?" she murmured, trying to stay calm, though her voice was barely holding together, "That's strange… someone said they saw you at the hospital."
Silence. The line went eerily quiet.
Then, Eric's voice came back, cold and biting: "Are you stalking me?"
That hit like a punch to the gut—he didn't even try to flat-out deny it. Didn't explain. His first instinct was to accuse her.
"So… that baby…" Her words caught in her throat, like something heavy was blocking the way.
"Amelia, watch your tone," Eric said icily. "You're stepping out of line."
With that, the line went dead.The dial tone echoed through the empty living room. Amelia Carter slowly set her phone down, her eyes sweeping across the home she had poured three years of her life into. Every piece of furniture, each tiny detail, had been carefully picked out by her—but now, it all felt like some kind of cruel joke.
She couldn't help but think back to their extravagant wedding three years ago. Eric Reeves had looked her straight in the eye at the altar and said, "This marriage is for our families. I won't love you. So please, don't expect anything from me."
Back then, she'd naïvely believed time could change things. That her genuine feelings might eventually be returned.
Clearly, she was wrong.
Late at night, for the first time ever, Amelia didn't wait in the living room for Eric to come home.
She got ready for bed early and lay down with her back to the door, pretending to be asleep. Eyes wide open in the dark, she listened to the ticking clock until, at around one in the morning, the sound of the front door unlocking finally broke the silence downstairs.
Eric stumbled in—there was no mistaking he was drunk. He wobbled up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door before flicking on the lights.
"Already asleep?" he mumbled, his tone laced with annoyance.
Usually, no matter how late it was, Amelia would be downstairs waiting with tea to sober him up.
She kept her eyes shut, lying still.
Eric staggered toward the bed, leaning over her. His breath reeked of alcohol and made her frown.
"Faking it?" he snorted softly near her ear, his breath hot against her skin. His hand slid around her waist, wandering.
"Don't touch me," Amelia said sharply, unable to hold it in any longer.
But Eric ignored her. The alcohol made him more aggressive than usual. He forcibly turned her to face him and pressed a kiss to her neck. Amelia struggled, pushing at his chest with both hands. But his scent—the one she knew so well—only made her heart hurt more, and her body betrayed her, going soft against him.
Three years of marriage might not have brought love, but habits die hard.
Sensing her resistance fade, Eric grew more urgent. His kisses trailed upward until they landed on her lips, full of heat and force—so unlike his usual cold demeanor. Her heart cried out in protest, yet her body reacted on its own, her arms winding around his shoulders subconsciously.
Just as Eric's hand slipped under her pajama top, right on the edge of no return, Amelia finally spoke up. "Eric Reeves, did you ever love me? Even just a little?"
His body froze. He held himself above her, staring down in the dim yellow nightlight. That dazed look in his eyes gave way to clarity—and then the familiar chill returned.
"I told you on our wedding day," he said flatly, without the slightest hint of warmth. "I don't love you. Never will."
It was like someone dumped ice water over her head. Amelia snapped back to her senses. She shoved him off with enough force to make him stumble backwards.
"What the hell are you doing?" Eric frowned, annoyed.
Curled up at the edge of the bed, Amelia felt like her heart was splitting apart, but she forced herself not to cry. Taking a shaky breath, she looked him in the eyes. "Eric Reeves, I want a divorce."
