Chapter 3

Stella Sterling POV

When I returned to the mansion, it was already two in the morning.

I didn't change out of my soaked clothes or treat the now-congealed wound on my palm. Instead, I went straight to the basement.

At the far end of the basement sat a large temperature-controlled case.

I entered the password and opened it. Inside lay a deep brown cello.

It was my eighteenth birthday gift from my grandfather, and my "comrade-in-arms" through countless international competitions.

Since marrying Ethan, this cello had never seen daylight.

I reached out with trembling hands and gently caressed the cold wood grain of the instrument's body.

I carefully packed the cello and carried it back to the master bedroom.

Over the next several hours, I methodically packed my belongings.

I actually didn't own much. Over these three years, to match Ethan's minimalist, cold aesthetic, I'd thrown away all my brightly colored clothes. My jewelry box contained only a few plain accessories.

I stuffed the few items of clothing and documents that belonged to me into my suitcase. Finally, I placed the divorce agreement that Mr. Williams had sent over and printed overnight squarely on the massive black-and-white marble coffee table in the living room.

After finishing everything, dawn had broken.

At eight in the morning, the sound of fingerprint unlocking came from the mansion's main door.

Ethan walked in carrying a chill and the faint scent of tobacco.

His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his tie slightly loose, his brows showing traces of exhaustion from staying up all night.

When he saw me sitting on the sofa with a suitcase at my feet, his steps paused briefly, and his brows immediately furrowed.

"What are you making a fuss about now?"

Ethan's voice dripped with impatience.

"Wasn't making a scene at the Livehouse last night enough? Now you're staging a runaway drama at home?"

I looked up at him.

No hysterical questioning, no tears of grievance and compromise.

"I'm not making a fuss."

My voice was soft.

"Ethan, let's get divorced."

Ethan's movements froze abruptly.

As if hearing some absurd joke, he laughed coldly, casually tossed his suit jacket on the sofa, and walked over to look down at me from above.

"Stella, do you think you can force me to yield to you this way?"

Ethan's eyes filled with mockery.

"Miranda spent seven years abroad and developed severe depression and claustrophobia. Her therapist suggested she visit crowded, lively places for exposure therapy. I was only there last night as a friend accompanying her for treatment. As Mrs. Lancaster, with perfect health and everything you could want, must you compete with a sick person?"

A sick person.

A friend.

Listening to these high-sounding excuses, I felt nothing but churning nausea in my stomach.

"What about your neurasthenia?"

I looked into his eyes and asked word by word.

"Weren't you supposed to get headaches and nausea from sounds over fifty decibels? The sound system at the Livehouse last night was deafening. Why didn't your condition flare up?"

Ethan's expression darkened instantly, anger at being exposed flashing in his eyes.

"I took medication."

He looked away coldly, his tone forceful.

"Stella, my patience has limits. Don't push it."

"Right, you took medication."

I smiled.

"For her, you can take medication to endure the noise you hate most. But for you, I didn't touch my cello for three years and even walked on tiptoe. Ethan, don't you think you're a hypocrite?"

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

Ethan's patience completely ran out, his voice rising.

"I'm saying I'm done."

I stood up and pushed the document on the coffee table toward him.

"I've already signed the divorce papers. I'll leave with nothing. I don't want a cent of the Lancaster fortune. Just sign your name, and we can divorce tomorrow. From now on, you can accompany your beloved for her treatment, and we'll owe each other nothing."

Ethan looked down, his gaze falling on that black-and-white document.

He stared hard at my face.

"Stella, you've grown quite bold."

Ethan laughed in fury, grabbed the agreement, tore it to shreds right in front of me, and threw the pieces violently on the floor.

"Think you can threaten me into cutting ties with Miranda through divorce? You've chosen the wrong method."

He closed in on me, his eyes menacing.

"Let me tell you. I won't agree to this divorce. You'd better put that suitcase back right now and be the obedient Mrs. Lancaster you're supposed to be. Otherwise, I guarantee that once you walk out that door, you won't get anywhere in this city!"

With that, he turned without hesitation, strode out of the mansion, and slammed the door.

I looked at the scattered paper fragments on the floor. No anger, no sorrow.

I simply bent down, picked up my suitcase, shouldered my cello, and walked out of this prison that had trapped me for three years without looking back.

If he wouldn't sign, fine. I'd just file for divorce in court.

Either way, I was never coming back.