For our Wedding Anniversary, I Gifted Him Divorce Papers – “Attorney, I want to divorce Desmond and resign from his company. Please draft two agreements for me.” The attorney frowned slightly, his tone cautious. “Lavender, your marriage didn’t come easily. I advise you both to think carefully before signing anything.” Lavender had been Desmond Hackett’s secretary for three years—and secretly, his wife for just as long. A month ago, she was kidnapped. That night, the kidnappers made countless calls to her husband, demanding a hefty ransom. But he didn’t pick up a single call. Eventually, the kidnappers threw her into the cold ocean. She nearly died, but a nearby fisherman found her in time and rescued her. That same night, Desmond was in a hotel… with Cyanne, his wife’s younger sister. At that moment, everything Lavender had once cherished—years of love, three years of marriage—shattered. She finally woke up from her fantasy.
And this time, she was ready to walk away for good. “I’ve made up my mind,” Lavender told the lawyer, nodding. “And Desmond won’t object.” She had known all those years—not a single day did her husband love her. But she had loved him since they were younger. When he said he was willing to marry her three years ago, she was crying happy tears as she exclaimed yes. Soon, it’s their third wedding anniversary. She had already prepared one final gift for him—divorce, also known as freedom from her. *** That evening, Lavender went back to the villa and found Desmond cooking in the kitchen. He had always been a clean freak, especially fussy about the mess cooking made. She remembered the first year of their marriage—he had stepped into the kitchen mid-meal, wrinkled his nose, and muttered, “Is this place doubling as a landfill?” But when Cyanne said she liked his cooking, he enrolled in a culinary course just for her. Tonight, he brought out the dishes. “Didn’t you say work was quiet today? Why are you home so late?” Even in an apron, Desmond’s tall frame and broad shoulders exuded a magnetic charm. Lavender smoothed over her expression and replied lightly, “The company hired a batch of new recruits. I’ve been busy preparing their training materials.” Desmond didn’t question it.
To him, she was always busy with work. “Alright then, dinner’s ready. Come eat.” She sat down. He placed a slice of bitter melon onto her plate. “I remember you like this. I made it especially for you.” A dull ache stirred in Lavender’s chest. Cyanne was the one who liked bitter melon. Lavender was allergic to it. Three years together, and he still hadn’t noticed. If he had paid even the slightest bit of attention, he wouldn’t have gotten it so wrong. Desmond noticed her hesitation. “Avy? Why aren’t you eating?” She gently pushed the dish away and pulled two documents from her bag. “Dinner can wait. There are two agreements I need you to sign.” Desmond didn’t like talking business during meals. “What contracts are so urgent?” Just as he reached to take the papers, his phone buzzed. Though he moved quickly to cover the screen, his wife still caught a glimpse of the caller ID. It was Cyanne. He stood and walked to the balcony to take the call. His abrupt movement knocked dishes off the table, making glass shattered across the floor. A shard flew up and sliced Lavender’s fingertip, and blood dripped quietly into the tiles. Desmond didn’t notice. He spent 15 minutes on the phone, then grabbed his coat from the chair, ready to leave. “I’ve got something tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.” Lavender stopped him
. “You haven’t signed the agreements yet.” He frowned, annoyed. He thought she was being unreasonable, but he quickly flipped to the last page and scrawled his name. “There. Happy? Can I go now?” She looked at his signature on both documents and nodded blankly. “Yeah. Go.” As if even one more second in the villa was unbearable, Desmond walked out without a word. Watching him leave, Lavender let out a bitter laugh. If he cared even a little, he would’ve noticed the agreements were a divorce and resignation. And that her hand was still bleeding. But Desmond had always loved Cyanne—her younger sister and the “real” daughter of their parents. Twenty-five years ago, their nanny and Jospehine, Lavender’s mother, gave birth in the same hospital. One mistake switched the babies. Lavender, the true heiress, was raised by the nanny. Cyanne grew up as the beloved daughter of the Winslets. It wasn’t until five years later, when the nanny passed away that the truth came out. The Winslets accepted Lavender, but they didn’t let go of Cyanne either. Josephine had said, “Avy, hearts are made of flesh.
We’ve raised Yannie all these years. Now that her mother’s gone, she only has us.” They told her that if they revealed Cyanne’s true identity, people would look down on her. So to the world, Cyanne remained the heiress while only the Winslets and Hacketts knew who Lavender really was. Desmond and Cyanne had been childhood sweethearts. Just before their engagement, Cyanne met an elite French bachelor and insisted on chasing her “true love” in Paris. The Winslets didn’t want to offend the Hacketts, so they asked Lavender to marry in Cyanne’s place. Desmond, heartbroken and indifferent, agreed. Unexpectedly, a month ago, Cyanne returned—and Desmond betrayed Lavender. To force Lavender out of the Hacketts, he even leaked his intimate videos with Cyanne online. Lavender had seen the video of them talking. Desmond had said, “Lavender never did anything wrong, but if I just ask for a divorce, neither family will accept it. We need to ruin her reputation so her parents can’t argue.” Cyanne asked him, “You’ve been married for three years. Did you ever love her?” “She’s just a stand-in. I married her just to shut everyone up.” Lavender had once believed that Desmond’s heart could be earned through patience and sincerity. Unfortunately, she had been mistaken.
Now, tears blurred her vision as she pulled a small notebook from her bag. Three years ago, she had made herself a promise. If she’d be disappointed 99 more times, she would leave for good. The video was her 99th disappointment. Tonight, she placed three items into a box, sealed it, and locked it in the safe. It was her final wedding anniversary gift to Desmond. He would probably like it. With everything in place, Lavender picked up her phone and called the man she hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Red… My divorce cooling-off period ends in a month. Please, come and take me away then.” Chapter 2 Lavender thought it would take a long time to hear from the other end of the line. Little did she know, the line had already connected at the first ring. “Lavender,” his voice came sharp and low, “you’re not messing with me, are you?” She stayed silent. “I’ve been chasing you for as long as you’ve been pining for Desmond. You—cold as a diamond for seven years—and now you’re suddenly giving in? What changed?” Red Ralston. Her old lover. One of North Carolina’s elites. He chased her for seven years. In fact, she almost chose him. It was just that on the night she was supposed to make the decision, Desmond gave her hope. So she left Red. Faced with his questions, she took a breath. “I’m sorry.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forget I said anything.” Suddenly, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor cracked through the speaker. “You think I’m someone you can call when you’re bored and drop when you’re not? Huh, Lavender?” His voice rose. “You chose me this time. Don’t think about running away from me again.” “I’m giving you one month,” he warned. “Handle that cheap man. After that, I’m going to take what’s mine.” Red didn’t give her a chance to refuse. With a click, the line went dead after that warning. A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. ‘He’s still the same,’ she realized. That night, Desmond didn’t come home. She spent the hours in silence, sorting through closets and drawers, folding things into boxes. Morning light spilled across the floor when the front door finally opened. He stepped in, still wearing last night’s shirt. “What are you throwing out?” She flinched, just slightly. Then she straightened, brushing hair behind her ear. “Just some garbage.” He walked over, glanced into the box. It was full of clothes and other gifts he had bought for her. “You call these… garbage?” “Old gifts, old clothes,” she said lightly. “They take up space. I thought I’d donate them under your name—some kids in the mountains could use them. Might even earn you a good reputation.” Hearing the last line, Desmond’s thin straight lips slightly curved. “Well, you know better.” Seeing that he believed, she breathed a sigh of relief, but she also couldn’t be fooled. It was not that he believed her. It was just that he didn’t want to waste more time on her. Suddenly, there was a sound of something breaking behind her. She turned around, only to see her sister.
Cyanne stood by the shelf, wide-eyed, a broken sculpture at her feet. The smile on her face looked innocent, the kind that would make anyone fall in a trap. “Oops… sorry, Mondy, Avy. I didn’t mean to.” Desmond didn’t care about the broken item at all, and quickly brushed past Lavender to check if Cyanne was injured. Seeing no wounds over her body, the worry in his eyes seemed to have faded, “It’s okay, nothing is more important than you.” But getting Desmond’s attention wasn’t enough. Cyanne also stared at Lavender and tilted her head, asking, “You don’t mind, right, Avy?” Lavender’s gaze dropped to the floor. The sculpture had been one of a kind—commissioned after a trip, the only piece with both of her and Desmond’s faces carved into it. But now, it was just broken pieces. If it happened years ago, Lavender would definitely be mad and even say a few words. Now, she looked back up and was kind enough to say, “It’s fine.” A flicker passed across Cyanne’s face—gone before it settled. She smiled. “Aww, you’re really so kind.” Then, without missing a beat, she turned to Desmond. “With a sister like that, I’m sure she won’t mind my next request either.” He didn’t even look at Avy when he spoke. “Yannie’s just returned to North Carolina. Her parents aren’t in the state, and she’s not comfortable staying home alone. “In the meantime, let her live here. “Oh, and—you room faces the sun. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Let her have it.” Chapter 3 Even after three years of marriage, they didn’t always sleep in the same bed. Desmond had said he didn’t like having someone next to him at night. Lavender understood—it wasn’t just “someone” he didn’t want next to him. It was her. She also knew he’d always been careful when it came to Cyanne.
He’d probably rehearsed a long explanation, but when Lavender agreed without a fight, it caught him off guard. “Alright,” she had said lightly. “There’s a lot of my stuff in there anyway. I’ll just move it all out.” Besides, it made no difference whether she moved out sooner or later. The moment she said she’d take all her things, Desmond almost spoke—an instinctive protest on the tip of his tongue. But Cyanne cut in before he could. “Thanks, Avy.” Lavender didn’t answer. She bent over, her thin arms hauling a box toward the stairs. There was too much packed into it. Her foot slid across a shard of glass, hidden on the floor. She went down hard. Her knee slammed into the ground, the sharp fragments tearing into skin. Pain shot through her so fiercely her back stiffened and sweat beaded along her spine. She bit down on her lip, wincing in silence. But Desmond didn’t see it; Cyanne had already tugged him away. Lavender stayed on the floor, her body trembling as the pain sank deeper. One drop, then another—her tears pattered softly on the tiles. In the Winslets’ place, Desmond would never let Cyanne carry so much as a handbag. “Our Yannie is a little princess,” he’d say, warm and indulgent. “She should be treated like one.” Unlike Cyanne, when Lavender had been the maid’s daughter, she’d done all the dirty and heavy work. No one cared if she got hurt. Now Lavender was a rich man’s daughter. Now she was Desmond’s wife. Yet, still, nothing had changed. Everyone still stood on Cyanne’s side—without question, without pause. Lavender had learned to live with it. It took her the whole afternoon to sort through her things. By sunset, she’d loaded everything onto a truck. “You didn’t have to throw so much out,” Desmond said, frowning. “Yannie’s only staying for a while. Once she leaves, you’ll move back in. What’s the point?” To him, something about her felt off these past couple of days—she was too calm. “They’re old,” Lavender explained, her voice steady. “I figured it was time to let them go.” “You’re not the wasteful type.” No, she wasn’t. She’d never lived a life of luxury. The things she owned, she made last. But she only smiled.