The Signed Divorce Papers

[I've signed the divorce papers, and they'll be sent to you tomorrow.]

The harsh blue glare of the phone screen illuminated Serena Sterling’s face. She sat frozen in the dining chair. The cruel text message washed out the warm, flickering candlelight that danced across the long mahogany table. She read the single line of text again. Then a third time. The words did not change.

Across from her, the chair remained empty. The expensive steak on the porcelain plate had long since turned cold, a thick layer of congealed grease pooling around the edges. In the center of the table sat an untouched birthday cake. Two unlit candles jutted from the pristine white frosting, mocking her in the silence of the massive dining room. Today was her twenty-third birthday. This was her husband’s present to her.

Ding, ding!

A news notification dropped down from the top of her phone screen.

[Breaking news! Vivian Mercer, the Best Actress winner, was seen having dinner with the CEO of Sinclair Corporation, Damian Sinclair. Are they about to rekindle their old romance?]

Serena’s thumb hovered over the notification. Her chest tightened, the air trapping itself in her lungs, yet some masochistic urge forced her to tap the alert anyway. The article loaded on the screen, displaying a high-resolution paparazzi photo. It was taken through the glass of an upscale, dimly lit restaurant. Vivian Mercer, flawless and radiant, sat across from Damian. The restaurant lighting cast a soft glow on his sharp, handsome features. He looked relaxed. Engaged. The way he looked at Vivian—with a soft, focused intensity and affection—was an expression Serena had never received in their three years of marriage.

Her knuckles turned stark white as her grip on the phone tightened. The metal edges of the device dug painfully into her palms, but the physical sting was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through her ribs.

She stood up. The wooden chair scraped against the floorboards, echoing in the quiet house. She didn't bother blowing out the decorative candles on the table. She just turned and walked up the sweeping staircase of the empty mansion.

Ten minutes later, she dragged a single suitcase down the hallway. The winter wind howled against the windowpanes, rattling the glass in its frames. Outside, snow fell in thick, blinding sheets, already burying the driveway under a heavy white blanket. Serena shoved her suitcase into the trunk of her car, slammed it shut, and got into the driver’s seat.

Three years of marriage went down the drain. Three years of twisting herself into knots, swallowing her pride, and fighting for a man who never looked her way. And it all shattered the moment his first love returned to the country.

The tires slipped as she pulled out of the estate gates. The heater blasted warm air against her frozen hands, but she could not stop shivering. The road was treacherous, coated in slick black ice hidden beneath the fresh snow. The windshield wipers squeaked as they fought a losing battle against the heavy snowfall. Serena gripped the steering wheel, her vision blurring.

She reached an intersection. The traffic light up ahead glowed a hazy green through the flurry of snow.

Then came the noise.

Honk!

An ear-piercing blast of a truck horn shattered the quiet hum of her car engine. Blinding high beams flooded her peripheral vision, illuminating the interior of her car in a stark, terrifying white light. Serena realized what was happening, but it was too late.

Serena jerked her head to the right. A massive grille was mere feet from her passenger door, barreling through a red light. There was no time to swerve.

Another car came crashing into hers. Metal shrieked and crumpled upon impact, ramming her sedan over with crushing force. The car flipped sideways, shattering the glass inward. Her head slammed against the side window, and then, the deafening noise faded into an endless, heavy darkness.

One month later, in a VIP ward of a hospital.

The stark white ceiling of the room offered nothing interesting to look at. Serena shifted her weight against the elevated pillows, scrolling through the Konnekt app on her phone. She stared at the timeline on her profile, swiping past photos of a life that felt like it belonged to a stranger.

The sound of the heavy door clicking open broke the sterile silence of the room.

Serena sat upright, setting her phone down on the bedside table. A genuine smile touched her pale lips as she looked up.

"Tessa, what delicious food have you brought me today..."

Serena trailed off mid-sentence.

It was not her assistant standing in the doorway. It was a man. He stepped into the room, bringing a wave of oppressive, freezing energy with him. He stood nearly one hundred and ninety centimeters tall, his broad shoulders filling out a dark, flawless bespoke suit. His features were striking—thick eyebrows, long dark eyelashes, and a jawline carved from stone. His dazzling eyes were cold like water collected from a deep well, chilling and aloof.

He stood there in silence, looking so handsome and striking that he possessed a powerful aura, spreading throughout the room just by standing quietly. He looked at her condescendingly. His gaze was so sharp and fierce that most people would not dare to make eye contact with him.

Serena carefully examined this unfamiliar face, her brow knitting in confusion. A deep-seated instinct warned her to lower her gaze, but she fought the urge.

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

The man’s sharp gaze narrowed. The corner of his thin lips curled upward into an indecipherable smile. His eyes gleamed coldly, suggesting incomprehensible sarcasm.

"It's fine that you want to play tricks," his deep voice resonated in the quiet room, cold and flat. "But risking your life in the process is just plain stupid. These are the divorce papers. I've signed them."

He threw the manila folder onto the bed. It landed with a dull smack against the blankets. He turned to leave the ward, treating her presence like an annoyance.

At this moment, Serena finally realized who this man was. This was the husband who hadn't bothered to show his face once for the past month while she was admitted to the hospital. This was Damian Sinclair.

Serena looked at her husband's tall, retreating figure. "I've lost my memory."

Damian stopped upon hearing this. He didn't turn around immediately. When he finally looked back over his shoulder, a playful, mocking look appeared on his face.

"Ms. Sterling," he drawled, his tone laced with contempt. "You lost your memory again?"

Serena frowned. Again? Did she lose her memory before?

Before she could ask, Damian turned around and coldly added, "Self-torturing, loss of memory, car crash... Serena Sterling, are these the only tricks you know to repeat?"

Serena clenched the crisp white bedsheets. During this period in the hospital, she had more or less gotten to know about herself before the crash. Tessa had explained things to her, and she had read her own irregular diary. She knew she had used many stupid methods in the past to stop Damian from leaving her. She had fought with women at dinner parties, clung to him, and acted like a desperate soap opera wife trying to force a man to love her.

Nonetheless, the man's contemptuous tone and mocking eyes triggered a shift inside Serena. It was true that she had been acting stupidly in the name of love in the past, but it was also true that Damian was an asshole.

The lingering instinctual fear vanished, replaced by a cold, defiant clarity.

"It'll never happen anymore," she replied indifferently. Her voice was steady and calm. "Don't worry. Me losing my memory this time is not a trick that I'm using to stop you from leaving me. Once I'm discharged, we can file the divorce papers."

Damian's eyes twitched as though he heard something unbelievable. His dark eyes darkened further, and he started to examine the woman in front of him with a piercing intensity.

She was a beautiful woman with exquisite, flawless facial features. Despite how pale she looked sitting in the hospital bed, her beauty was not diminished whatsoever. He searched her face for the crack in her facade, waiting for the tears or the usual desperate pleading.

She gave him nothing.

Damian looked at her and coldly said, "What did you just say?"

As Serena made eye contact with him, her heart tightened inexplicably. Her memory was gone, but her instincts remained intact, like she had a lingering physical fear of this man. Even so, she roughly pieced the story together. Damian had a childhood sweetheart he was about to marry before Serena snatched him away and became Mrs. Sinclair. For three years, he only offered her the title of his wife and nothing more, always wanting a divorce.

She even saw the text message where he proposed a divorce on her birthday, while dining with that other woman. Those blows led to her car crash and a severe head injury. She was unconscious for nearly a month, woke up a few days ago with amnesia, and her so-called husband only came today because he wanted a signature.

How ironic. How hilarious.

Serena tilted her chin up slightly, looking straight into Damian's deep eyes.

"I agree to the divorce," she said coldly.

Damian's eyes twitched for a moment because of the surprising answer. The brief flash of shock was quickly masked, and he became expressionless as usual soon after. He didn't move. He stood rooted by the side of the bed, fixing his heavy, silent gaze on her as if trying to see if she was lying.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, as he refused to break eye contact. It was seconds later that he finally replied.