Chapter 3

Anya POV

I contacted a lawyer, leaned against the headboard, and laboriously signed the documents with my left hand.

Mr. Jenkins, the lawyer, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Are you certain you wish to proceed with the divorce? You do not wish to discuss the prenuptial settlement with Mr. Thorne first?"

"No, I don't."

I put down the pen.

"I just want to divorce Jacob, as soon as possible."

"Understood."

Mr. Jenkins collected the documents.

"Since you're waiving asset division, as long as Mr. Thorne doesn't object, the process will be very quick. An electronic summons will soon be sent to Mr. Thorne's phone. If he doesn't respond within the specified time, the court will consider him absent, and we will proceed directly to litigation."

I took a deep breath and nodded.

A week later, I insisted on being discharged.

I took a taxi back to the villa where I had lived for three years.

I was only back to retrieve my IDs and the few personal belongings my mother had left me.

However, the villa entrance was a mess.

Renovation trucks were parked haphazardly in front, and the drilling noise was deafening.

I rushed into the living room.

Dust flew everywhere; the minimalist decor was utterly unrecognizable, having been torn apart.

In the center of the living room, my things were piled into a small mountain. Limited-edition decor shattered, art books torn and covered in footprints, privately collected oil paintings slashed through the canvas, piled like trash.

"Who's this?"

Celeste's voice drifted down from the second floor. She was wearing a silk robe, holding a glass of red wine, looking down from above.

I looked at her.

"Who gave you permission to touch my things!"

Celeste slowly walked down the stairs, nudging a slashed oil painting with her toe.

"Jacob said this decor was too depressing, and I don't like it. Besides-"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice.

"He said all your things reeked of cheapness and paint. That he's been wanting to clear them out forever. I just got back to the country and had nowhere to stay, so he told me to come take out the trash."

"Clear out trash?"

I stared at my mother's painting, Autumn Day, trampled on the floor, and felt something inside me begin to fracture.

"That's right."

Celeste chuckled.

"These paintings are just an eyesore. Jacob said since your hand is ruined, they're pointless now anyway. Better to make room for my piano. After all-"

"-a crippled hand is just a decoration."

I couldn't take it anymore.

"Celeste, you make me sick!"

I raised my left hand and slapped her with all my might!

The sharp sound of the slap echoed.

Celeste stumbled backward, red wine spilling all over her, leaving a vivid red handprint on her face.

"You dare hit me?"

"If you like picking up other people's trash, then I'll grant your wish!"

"Anya Reed! What are you doing!"

Jacob's furious shout came from the doorway.

He roughly pushed me aside, shielding the trembling Celeste behind him.

I stumbled backward, my back slamming hard against the corner of a cluttered table.

Sharp pain shot through my lower back, and my fractured right arm throbbed agonizingly, making my face go stark white.

Jacob didn't even glance at me.

"Jacob... I'm so scared..."

Celeste cried, her face drenched in tears.

"I just wanted to help her tidy her things, I didn't expect her to suddenly... Maybe she's upset because of her hand injury, I don't blame her..."

"Anya, Celeste was trying to be kind, and you actually laid hands on her?"

Jacob glared at me.

"Where are your manners?"

I steadied myself against the table, pointing at the mess on the floor.

"Kindness? She destroyed all my paintings, and you call that kindness?!"

"Changing the villa's decor was my idea."

Jacob interrupted me.

"That's no excuse for hitting someone. Apologize!"

"Or what?"

I looked up at him.

"I won't apologize," I said, enunciating each word.

"Jacob, since you haven't checked your phone, I'll tell you face-to-face."

I pulled out a copy of the divorce papers from my bag and flung them hard at his face.

The papers scattered between him and Celeste.

"You can have the house. I don't care for it."