Chapter 1
1222words
Olivia Woods sat before the polished mahogany table, eyes downcast, her long, thick lashes casting delicate shadows beneath them. The nib of her pen hovered over the final stroke of her signature at the bottom right corner of the divorce agreement—and had been frozen there for a good three seconds.
Sitting across from her was Alexander Shaw—the man who was about to become her ex-husband in the eyes of the law. His fingers, with their pronounced knuckles, tapped the table surface once, very lightly. The sound barely registered, but in the suffocating silence of the room, it landed like an unspoken command, carrying his trademark authority that never invited debate.
He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the gray, hazy sky outside the window. His profile could have been carved from marble—cold and sharp like an ancient Greek sculpture, even the curve of his frown seemed calculated and remote. Three years of marriage, and all he'd ever given her was this ice-cold profile and endless silence.
The corner of Olivia's mouth twitched upward—so briefly it might have been a trick of the light. Without further hesitation, her pen descended, flowing through the signature she'd practiced countless times. The handwriting was bold and elegant, utterly at odds with the meek, forgettable wife he thought he knew.
"Done," she said, her voice as casual as if commenting on the weather forecast, not a hint of emotion breaking through.
Alexander finally dragged his gaze back, landing on her and the signed agreement. His eyes, dark as bottomless wells, held more calculation than feeling. He verified her signature, then slid his own copy across the table—the entire exchange as clinical as closing a business deal: efficient, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"The compensation agreement has been prepared by Lawyer Nathan Quinn," Alexander said, rising to his feet to tower over the still-seated Olivia. "The westside villa, that art gallery you admired in England, and three percent of company shares—all transferred to your name. As compensation, it should keep you comfortable for the rest of your life."
Lawyer Quinn, standing nearby, promptly handed over a thick document with a slight, deferential bow. "Mrs.—oh, pardon me—Miss Woods, please take a look."
Olivia rose to her feet. She was tall with long legs, though she typically hid her striking figure beneath loose, plain dresses that concealed both her curves and her edge. Yet now, simply by standing, she created a subtle but unmistakable confrontation with the imposing Alexander Shaw.
She ignored the offered document, instead extracting a thin sheaf of papers from her handbag and handing it to Nathan Quinn. "This is our prenuptial agreement and the complete records of my personal accounts since marriage. I'm only taking what's mine." She paused, and for the first time, her gaze locked directly with Alexander's. Those eyes—usually so gentle—were now glacial.
"As for your compensation," she smiled faintly, with just a whisper of mockery, "I appreciate the thought. But I'll pass."
Alexander's brows twitched almost imperceptibly. This wasn't in his script. He'd expected tears, drama, or at the very least, the predictable greed or gratitude that women leaving wealthy families typically displayed when presented with such astronomical compensation. But there was nothing. She remained detached, as if their three-year marriage and the fortune at her fingertips were completely irrelevant to her.
"What game are you playing, Olivia?" Alexander's voice dropped several degrees. "Without the Shaw family behind you, you're nothing."
This wasn't a threat but his fundamental belief. A woman whose only notable traits were docility and silence would, once stripped of the "Mrs. Shaw" title, be swallowed whole by Harbor City's cutthroat social scene—not even scraps would remain.
"Perhaps," Olivia replied noncommittally. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, her steps light and unburdened by even a hint of regret. "Mr. Shaw, I wish you… the best of luck getting what you want."
The last sentence floated like a feather in the air, yet it landed with enough weight to darken Alexander's expression completely.
"Well, that's quite the ex-wife you've got there, Alexander," Nathan Quinn ventured, approaching only after Olivia's figure had vanished through the doorway. "I've handled countless divorces, but damn if this isn't the first time I've seen someone kick a gold mine to the curb."
Alexander said nothing, his gaze fixed on the closed door, experiencing for the first time the sensation that events had slipped beyond his control. A strange, deeply unsettling feeling—like a splinter working its way into his heart—took root inside him.
Meanwhile, in the group chat of Harbor City's elite socialites, all hell was breaking loose.
[OMG! Alexander Shaw just got divorced! Papers signed TODAY!]
[About damn time! What did that Olivia Woods bring to the table besides a pretty face? Always clammed up at parties—you'd need a crowbar to get three words out of her. How Alexander put up with her for three years is beyond me!]
[Right? She's practically invisible. At our last gala, she was tucked in some corner, and I swear I thought she was just a new waitress until everyone left.]
Someone shared a blurry profile shot of Olivia in a beige dress, quietly reading by a window. Beautiful, sure—but beautiful like a lifeless painting hanging on a wall.
[Seriously, what's she gonna do now without the Shaw name? I'll bet good money she comes crawling back begging for a remarriage within six months.]
[Remarriage? As if! Haven't you seen the news? Universal Group's golden girl Sophia Sullivan is back in town. She's Alexander's childhood sweetheart and actually from the right social circle!]
[I'll bet my new Hermès scarf she completely vanishes off the face of the earth within three months. Total ghost.]
Messages flooded the group chat, each dripping with that special brand of refined cruelty that only the upper echelon could perfect.
None of them realized that their favorite punching bag was currently sitting in the back of a taxi, methodically deleting every contact related to the Shaw family from her phone.
The taxi didn't head toward any Shaw family property but pulled up in front of a sleek serviced apartment building in the city's trendy new district.
This was the place Olivia had secured six months ago, paid for with her pre-marriage savings.
She unlocked the door to find everything inside unfamiliar yet pristine. Walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows, she gazed down at the river of traffic flowing below. For the first time in three years, she could finally breathe freely.
She stripped off her plain, insipid beige dress and tossed it into the trash without a second thought—like shedding a suffocating second skin. Then she strode into the walk-in closet.
Unlike the dreary blacks, whites, and grays that had filled her wardrobe for the past three years, this closet burst with sharply tailored, vibrantly colored power suits.
She selected one and slipped it on. When she emerged from the dressing room, the woman in the mirror was transformed—eyes razor-sharp, lips crimson as blood, every inch of her radiating fierce confidence.
This was her. This was the real Olivia Woods.
