Keith arrived at nine, a bag of fruit in hand.

"Brought you some cherries, Anna. Care for a few?"

I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him. The screen glowed with Dorothy’s latest post:

*[I said I wanted something sour and sweet like cherries, and he ended up buying these. Lol.]*

"So Dorothy didn’t want them, and now I get the charity case?"

"Don’t be like that," he frowned.

He stepped closer, his arm slipping familiarly around my waist. "Is this because it’s been too long since we—"

I shoved him away hard, then doubled over, retching dryly right before his eyes.

A shadow crossed Keith’s face. "Anna, that’s enough. Don’t push your luck."

"What luck?" I pressed a hand to my chest, tears spilling freely. "Do you have any idea how many hateful calls I’ve gotten? I’m blacklisted by every major dance troupe. My career is over—just like that. Keith, what did I ever do wrong?"

I’d always had a mild temper, which really just meant I was easy to push around. Keith used to pinch my earlobe, over and over, gazing at me with tender affection. "Anna, you’re so easy to bully. What would you do without me?"

I never imagined he would be the one to discard me.

When my parents died in disgrace, everyone turned away. It was Keith who pulled me from the mud. He fought his family for me—I can still see him kneeling in the rain for what felt like hours. He took me far from that heartbreak, to start anew in another city. Even at my most wretched, he never gave up on me.

Now, after we’ve weathered the worst, this is my reward: his changed heart.

"Let’s get a divorce," I said, closing my eyes. "Just leave me a shred of dignity."

"Anna," he rubbed his temples, weary. "It’s not like you haven’t been criticized before. Why the dramatics now?"

My eyes flew open. I stared at him, disbelieving. "What did you say?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "When your parents killed themselves, the whole country was criticizing you—"

"Get out!" I snatched a cushion from the sofa and hurled it at him like a madwoman. "Get out!"

He stood stunned—he’d never seen me like this—then stormed out in a huff. He even took that bag of cherries with him.

"Don’t want my charity? Fine. Let’s see how long your stubborn streak lasts."

Less than ten minutes after he left, Dorothy posted again.

*[First day officially moving in. The decor is so tacky, what’s with this typical guy’s taste?]*

The attached photo was of the apartment directly above mine. The "tacky" decor she mocked was something I had personally overseen.

Keith commented below: *[It really is pretty dated. Let’s tear it out and redo it.]*

I rubbed my sore, dry eyes. The tears had long since stopped. A home could be renovated. An old love could be replaced. To him, I was just a worn-out toy he’d grown tired of.

My phone buzzed with another harassing call. This time, I simply removed the SIM card and replaced it with the number I’d used years ago during my overseas performances. Back then, a prestigious international dance troupe had extended an olive branch. I’d turned it down because I couldn’t bear to be apart from Keith.

Hands trembling, I dialed the old contact. "Hello, is this Mr. Christian?"

Silence. If not for the faint sound of breathing, I’d have thought the line was dead.

Why wasn’t he speaking? Had he seen the scandal trending?

I clutched the phone, my palm slick with sweat. "Mr. Christian, please listen. I didn’t do any of those things. I tried to post a clarification, but all my accounts were locked. I made a new one, and everything was taken down within seconds. I—"

"Wait for me."

A muffled male voice came through—oddly familiar, yet nothing like the memory of blond-haired Christian.

I froze. "You’re not Christian?"

"Wait for me."

The voice repeated the phrase, and the call ended.

I was still trying to make sense of it when a text arrived: *[Boarding now. Phone off.]*

A few seconds later, another vibration: *[Wait for me to return. I’ll take you away from there.]*

Though the man’s words were baffling, they at least made his stance clear.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Over the next few days, I packed my things while handling the necessary paperwork. I didn’t have much—one suitcase, at most. Everything Keith had bought for me, I left untouched.

It wasn’t out of pride, nor from clinging to some lingering hope. He’d cheated. He’d shattered me completely.

But when my family fell apart, when I became a target of public scorn, when everyone was demanding I pay with my life—just as my parents had for those wrongfully lost children—it was Keith who saved me.

I never knew how he convinced his father. All I knew was that after that long night kneeling in the rain, he was cast out of the Fu family. And at the same time, the online storm condemning me vanished.

He gave me a new name, a new identity. A fresh start.

He truly did catch me when I was falling. He stayed with me through the darkest days.

For all that, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.

Right now, I just wanted a clean break.

After three days of cold silence, Keith showed up at my door again.

“Have you had enough time to think things over?” he asked.

I nodded, perfectly calm. “I have.”

Keith misunderstood. An arrogant lift touched the corner of his brow. “Good. Remember your place, Anna. Behave, and I’ll keep providing for you. Push your luck, and I’ll leave you with nothing.”

He delivered the threat, then paused, watching me. When I showed no reaction, confusion flickered in his eyes.

“Are you finished?” I placed the divorce papers on the table. “If you are, please sign.”

Keith’s gaze dropped to the document. His dark eyes chilled. “Anna, you knew about Dorothy and me from the start. Why couldn’t you just pretend nothing happened, like you used to? You could have played the oblivious Mrs. Keith and kept your comfortable life. You have everything she has—plus everything else I can give you. Don’t be so greedy.”

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn’t believe those words had come from his mouth.

I remembered back in our first year of high school, when Keith’s father had an affair. Sandra found out and raised hell. Ronald had scolded her: “Men of my standing all have mistresses. I’m not divorcing you, so what’s all the fuss?”

Keith, just a teenager then, picked up a baseball bat and smashed a porcelain vase beside his father. Amid the flying shards, he said, cold and deliberate: “A man who can’t take care of his family isn’t a man at all.”

Back then, I thought Keith was the coolest person alive.

But now, years later, that boy full of contempt had slowly merged with the image of his father. Keith at thirty had become exactly what Keith at fifteen would have despised most.

It made me sick.

“That’s not possible,” I said, pushing the divorce agreement toward him again. “After the divorce, you can support as many as you like.”

Keith studied me for a long moment. Then, with two fingers, he picked up the papers.

“You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t you think we should settle the debt you owe me from all these years?”

I nodded and produced a bank card. “There’s five million in here. That should more than cover my living expenses over the years.”

Seeing the card I’d prepared, Keith’s brow furrowed. “Five million? You think that’s enough?”

“Yes.” I met his gaze steadily. “I kept records of every household expense. The ledger is in the study—you can check. All the luxury items and jewelry you bought me are still here. Anything I used has been accounted for and included in the sum. Keith, I don’t owe you anything.”

He was silent for so long I almost thought he wouldn’t agree. Then he let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“I was going to take you to the charity gala tomorrow night. But since you don’t need it, forget it.”

His eyes lingered on my face, probably searching for a flicker of regret.

But I disappointed him. My expression didn’t change. “We kept our marriage secret. The title of Mrs. Keith can go to anyone, anytime.”

Keith pressed his lips together, then tossed an invitation card onto the table. “It’s addressed to you. Come with me tomorrow night, and I’ll sign the papers.”