Chapter 5

It was the first genuine meal I’d enjoyed in months.

When I stepped up to the front counter to settle our tab, a familiar giggle caught my ear.

I glanced across the dining room.

Rachel and Liam were sitting at a secluded booth, tucked close together.

They were sharing a single slice of red velvet cake, laughing and dabbing icing onto each other's lips with their fingers.

It was an undeniable couple’s moment.

I walked over.

Rachel froze when she noticed me standing beside their booth, panic flickering across her face.

"Austin?! What are you doing here?"

Liam immediately leaned in, putting on his victim face.

"Austin, are you stalking us now? Don't you trust Rachel at all? Threatening divorce last night and tracking our locations today?"

I didn't spare Liam a glance.

It was a complete coincidence, but honestly, it didn't matter.

I slid the divorce papers from my coat and laid them on the table before Rachel.

Flustered, she tried to cover her tracks:

"Look, whatever, think what you want, just stop creeping around..."

"I was feeling nauseous, so Liam was just helping me eat something light. Stop making a scene over nothing."

I watched her silently.

She barely skimmed the header, entirely desperate to end the awkward confrontation. Without reading the clauses, she grabbed Liam’s pen and scribbled her signature at the bottom.

Once the ink dried, I quietly pulled the document back.

"You're so desperate to cover this up that you didn't even read what you just signed, did you?"

Her face drained of color. "What is that?!"

"Divorce papers."

Liam couldn't believe his luck. Dropping his innocent act, he blurted out:

"Rachel, watch out! He’s trying to scam you out of your company assets!"

Rachel grabbed the duplicate copy and frantically flipped through the terms.

I sneered. "Relax. I'm taking zero equity from your business. I only want what’s mine."

Our marriage was like that little slice of cake—ruined, dirty, and thoroughly rotten from betrayal.

After that afternoon, I never went back to our shared apartment.

Rachel tried calling me a few times over the following weeks, but I sent every call straight to voicemail.

Her voice, which used to be the sweetest sound in my life, was just white noise now.

Eventually, the calls stopped, giving me the peace I desperately needed.

No drama. No gaslighting.

I poured all my suppressed energy into creating.

My artist friends and I worked tirelessly on the upcoming gallery showcase. My hands remembered every stroke, and the raw heartbreak from the past few months fueled my palette with visceral intensity.

Every single canvas felt like shed skin, marking my rebirth.

After an intense seven-day sprint of non-stop painting, I hit complete physical exhaustion.

To decompress, I booked a weekend at a quiet hot spring resort up in the mountains.

Soaking in the thermal water, surrounded by cedar trees, I finally felt the knot in my chest dissolve.

Until a sharp voice shattered the quiet.

"Austin? What the hell are you doing here?"