In five years of marriage, Christian had asked Samantha for a divorce three times.

The first request came after a car accident left his leg injured. He told her he didn’t want to be a burden.

She refused to give up on him. Miles she walked to a temple, praying for his safety, and returned with a red protection cord—only to find that same cord already wrapped around the wrist of his childhood sweetheart, Abigail.

The second time, photos of him and Abigail having sex in a car splashed across the front page of the entertainment section. He wanted Samantha to publicly announce they were already divorced, to salvage Abigail’s reputation.

Samantha still wouldn’t agree to the divorce. But facing the cameras, she graciously declared her belief in her husband’s character and called Abigail a mutual friend.

From then on, the label stuck: the desperate, pathetic doormat. It spread through their entire social circle.

The third time was last night. A call from one of Christian’s buddies—he’d killed a man.

It was the dead of winter, a blizzard raging outside. Samantha didn’t even change. She ran out into the swirling snow and reached the clubhouse still in her pajamas and slippers.

The private room was ringed with people. In the center, a man lay on the floor, his face a mottled mess of bruises.

“What happened? Why did you fight?”

“Christian’s fault—he’s so impulsive. The guy just called Abigail a homewrecker, and Christian went for the kill. Can’t stand anyone saying a word against her…”

“What’s done is done. A life for a life. Samantha, you love Christian so much—why don’t you turn yourself in for him?”

Samantha froze. Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze sweeping the room.

“Where is Christian?”

“He took Abigail to another room. Said a dead body was bad luck—would sully her eyes.”

Silence.

“Samantha, Christian has such a bright future. If you don’t help him, who will?”

“Exactly! You’re always going on about how much you love him. Can you bear to watch his life get ruined?”

Samantha’s hands, hanging at her sides, slowly clenched into fists.

“Fine. I’ll go to prison for him.”

Dead silence held the room for a few seconds.

Then, thunderous laughter erupted.

“Holy shit! You really are the legendary doormat! Willing to do anything for Christian…”

“Christian called it! He didn’t get you wrong at all!”

Under Samantha’s stunned gaze, a hidden door in the private room swung slowly open.

There sat Christian in the small room behind it, Abigail nestled in his arms. He was feeding her grapes.

Beside them, the “dead man” on the floor nimbly got up and retreated to the wall.

Finally, Samantha understood. She’d been played.

Christian snapped his fingers.

One of his lackeys tossed a document onto the floor in front of her.

“Samantha, if you’re willing to take a murder charge for him, signing a divorce agreement shouldn’t be a big deal, right?”

She looked down at the papers, then raised her eyes to Christian.

“Christian, do you really want a divorce this badly?”

“Can’t the doormat see? Christian’s just sick of you clinging—”

“I want to hear him say it!”

Samantha cut the lackey off.

Christian shrugged, his expression one of weary resignation. *See? I told you this woman is a pain.*

“Samantha, if you’re going to force me to spell it out, don’t blame me for being blunt.”

“Go on. Say it.”

“I’ve asked for a divorce more than once over the years, and you always find a way to dodge it. Honestly, it’s gotten tiresome. I’m worn out.”

“You know perfectly well I only married you because of my grandfather’s will. Now that I’ve secured the inheritance, this marriage has lost its purpose. Besides, I can’t stand women who cling and won’t let go.”

“Abigail and I grew up together. Childhood sweethearts. But my grandfather misunderstood her, never liked her. All these years she’s stayed by my side with no real status… suffered in silence. She’s gentle. Pure-hearted. I can’t just stand by and watch her get hurt. I need to give her the name she deserves.”

As he spoke, he kissed Abigail’s cheek.

Samantha nodded slowly.

“I understand, Christian. You really do want a divorce.”

“Alright then. I’ll give you what you want.”

She scooped the divorce agreement from the floor and signed her name with a few swift strokes of the pen.

It was over in moments—so fast it left the room stunned.

Bewildered glances were exchanged all around.

That was it? Just like that?

"Christian, I've signed. I'll move out of the villa as soon as I can."

Without another word, and without a backward glance, she walked out.

The door clicked shut, and a low buzz of conversation erupted.

"What's Samantha playing at now?"

"Strategic retreat, obviously. She'd never really leave Christian. It's been the same act for years—honestly, I'm tired of watching it."

"True. I give it a week before she comes crawling back."

"She won'tt even wait that long."

Christian's smile was cold and utterly certain.

"I give it three days. Three days, and Samantha will be back here in tears, begging me to tear up the papers. But this time," he said, his voice flat, "I won't be so soft-hearted."

"Damn, Christian, you've really got her wrapped around your finger! How do you keep that pitiful hanger-on so completely under your thumb?"

Waves of raucous laughter filled the room.

...

Samantha took a taxi home.

Inside the villa, she went straight upstairs to the bedroom. From a desk drawer, she pulled out a small, worn metal box—it had clearly seen better days.

Opening it, she found a single black-and-white photograph: her grandfather with an old comrade-in-arms. On the back was a phone number.

She dialed.

"Hello?"

A familiar, deep voice resonated through the receiver. For a moment, a hot sting of tears pressed behind her eyes.

"Grandpa Louis? It's Samantha. Billy's granddaughter... Do you remember me?"

"Oh, Samantha! Of course I remember you, my dear! I'm so happy you called!"

"Grandpa Louis, you once told me... that if I was ever willing, I could inherit my grandfather's badge number anytime. Does that offer still stand?"

"Of course it does! But, my dear child, are you sure? Have you really thought this through?"

"Yes," she said, her voice firm, solemn. "I have."

"Give me one month, Grandpa Louis. I'll wrap up everything here in Rivermouth, and then I'll come to Kingsport to find you."

"Good. I'll be waiting."

Hanging up, Samantha stared blankly at the wedding photo on the wall.

Five years ago, Christian's grandfather, Logan, had passed away after a long illness. When the lawyer read the will, it was clear: Christian, as the eldest legitimate grandson, would inherit the entire family fortune—on one condition. He had to marry Samantha. Otherwise, he would lose everything.

So, Christian married her.

For five years, his polite courtesy slowly chilled into indifference, until today, when he no longer bothered to pretend, openly carrying on with Abigail.

And through it all, Samantha had stayed. She never left.

Everyone believed she was desperately, pathetically in love with him.

Only she knew the truth: she was merely keeping a promise to Old Mr. Logan. At his sickbed, she had vowed not to leave—unless Christian himself asked for a divorce. Unless he asked three separate times.

Now, the condition was met. He had asked three times. She was finally free.

Samantha looked at the photograph and whispered softly, "Grandpa Logan, I tried my best. But I couldn't make Christian love me."

She let out a slow breath. "Maybe... maybe divorce really is for the best."

Only a few days later, the headlines blared: Christian had paid a fortune for Abigail at auction.

Abigail was now signed to Christian’s entertainment company. Rumors about her and her boss had circulated for years—but this time, unlike before, Christian’s Group openly acknowledged that their president was actively pursuing Miss Abigail.

According to the announcement, Christian had divorced his ex-wife long ago. As for Miss Abigail, she had not yet accepted his advances and was still considering them.

Well-wishers flooded the comments with blessings for the couple, and many voiced their envy of Abigail.

【Christian is so devoted and handsome. If I were Abigail, I’d be over the moon.】

【Our Abby is a total catch! She’s got her pick of wealthy bachelors. Let’s be real—Christian’s divorced. If anything, *he’s* the one marrying up.】

Samantha smiled faintly when she saw the news.

Christian and Abigail had already done everything behind closed doors. Yet publicly, he played the humble admirer, acting as if she were out of his league.

He really did think of everything for her.

Setting the magazine aside, Samantha headed upstairs to pack.

Just then, her phone rang—Christian.

“Abigail’s birthday party is tonight. You’re coming.”

“I don’t want to.”

They were already divorced. Samantha refused to play along any longer.

But Christian wasn’t asking.

“Samantha, when I say come, you come. No arguments.”

“The divorce isn’t final for another month. Legally, I’m still your husband. You *will* be there.”

He hung up.

Samantha listened to the dial tone, bitterness sharp in her throat.

He called himself her husband—yet paraded openly with another woman.

In the end, she went. She just wanted to get through this last month quietly, then leave. No more conflict.

Abigail’s birthday party was lavish, drawing celebrities from every corner of the city—clearly arranged with great care by Christian.

The two appeared hand in hand, soaking in the guests’ flattery and toasts.

When it came time to cut the cake, Abigail blew out the candles and made a wish. The moment she opened her eyes, Christian laid a key before her.

“Abigail, this is for you—the estate at the peak of South Mountain.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“So Christian was the one who bought that three-billion-dollar house on South Mountain—for Abigail.”

“Incredibly generous. She’s hit the jackpot.”

On stage, Abigail looked genuinely moved. Amid the cheers, she rose shyly onto her toes, leaning in as though to kiss Christian’s cheek.

But Christian suddenly took control—cupping the back of her head and capturing her lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

The venue erupted. Screams and applause pushed the atmosphere to its peak.

Samantha slipped away alone into the garden for air.

She stood in the breeze, clearing her head, and was about to turn back when the sliding door opened.

Abigail swept out, posture haughty.

“Samantha, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why?”

Abigail stopped in front of her and smiled.

“I had a reason, of course. Do you know why I insisted Christian invite you tonight?”

So it was Abigail’s idea.

Samantha regarded her calmly.

“Because I wanted you to see with your own eyes how much Christian dotes on me, and…” Abigail’s smile turned cold. “I wanted you… to be punished by him.”