My Wife's Indifference Led to Our Broken Marriage

During a reality show shoot, my younger brother and I accidentally fell into the water.

My wife, who’s an excellent swimmer, didn’t hesitate—she dove in and rescued him.

With a pale face full of worry, she called over ten bodyguards to carry him away, never once looking back at me.

I was left struggling, nearly drowning at the bottom of the lake, until the crew finally pulled me out.

The next day, I handed Hallie the divorce papers.

Looking at the paper, her expression was gloomy. “Connor can’t swim. That’s why I saved him first. Are you really jealous over that?”

I met her gaze calmly. “Yeah. Just sign it.”

——

We finalized the divorce without a fight.

Hallie’s delicate brows remained furrowed the whole time, but nothing about her expression stirred even the faintest emotion in me anymore.

She tucked the divorce certificate into her limited-edition designer handbag and said, “I’ll drive you.”

“No need.” I shook my head.

Apparently unsatisfied with my tone, she snapped, “Clayton, you don’t have to act like this. We were married for three years. A divorce doesn’t mean we have to cut ties completely.”

I was stunned for a second. I never thought words like that would come from her mouth—especially now that Connor was back. Shouldn’t she be happy that I had the good sense to step aside?

“Miss Barnes, to me, a divorce is a divorce. We’re not family anymore, and we sure as hell can’t be friends.”

“You—!”

“Besides,” I added, “we have no kids and no lingering attachments. There’s no reason to stay in touch.”

Her face flushed with anger as she spun on her heel and walked away.

I watched her retreating figure and sighed.

But the moment I thought about the balance in my bank account, all the sadness vanished in an instant.

I may be the eldest son of the Gardner family, but I never received a dime from them. Ironically, it was the divorce that made me a rich man.

There was no way the Barnes family would agree to a fifty-fifty split. So when I had my lawyer draft the divorce terms, I only asked for twenty million dollars.

Hallie agreed—and added two luxury properties in New York and Los Angeles, three more in London, and six commercial apartments in prime locations.

That alone was enough to ensure I’d never have to worry about money for the rest of my life.

Looking at those cold, hard numbers on the screen, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Finally—I could live for myself.

...

The very next day after the divorce, I moved into a downtown penthouse.

It was already registered under my name, and for the first time in my life, I felt a deep, unshakable sense of security.

I thought I’d feel pain and regret leaving Hallie. After all, I did love her during our three-year marriage.

But to my surprise, that first night, I slept better than I had in years. I woke up the next day at noon, feeling completely at ease.

Hallie and I had been bound by a business arrangement—our grandfathers were war comrades who arranged the marriage decades ago.

But originally, the engagement was meant for Connor.

Why? Simple. He was the golden boy the Gardner family raised for eighteen years—the little prince of the household while I was the biological son who had been switched at birth.

Before all this, Hallie and I lived in separate worlds. She was the school beauty and top student, the kind of girl someone like me would never even meet, let alone fall in love with.

Everything changed when I turned eighteen. The Gardner family found me. With tears in their eyes, they claimed I was their real son—separated at birth due to a nurse's mistake.

Back then, I was living in a welfare home. When I saw their luxury cars and expensive clothes, I naively believed life was about to become easier. At the very least, I thought I wouldn’t have to collect garbage just to pay for school anymore. The orphanage was poor, and not every child had the chance to study.

But instead of receiving love, compensation, or even a simple apology—I was met with indifference. Cold stares. Distant words. Still, I told myself: as long as I could go to school, it was enough.

They said the fake young master’s parents had died, so they wouldn’t send him away. But from day one, the difference in how they treated us was painfully clear.