“Adrian, I’m so sorry—I didn’t know today was the day you were getting your marriage license.”

“I’ll handle the appointment next time!”

I’d heard about how Ethan Miller had been caring for his terminally ill mother all on his own. My sympathy got the better of me, and along with it, my suspicions about him and Claire Bennett faded for a while.

But after he messed up the appointment over and over again, I had no choice but to take another hard look at their relationship.

Claire’s defense of him became more public, more shameless. She even humiliated me in front of others just to shield him.

That’s when I realized—day by day, through endless pity, she had given Ethan not only her sympathy, but her love.

After getting my hand bandaged at the hospital, I returned home. The smell of meat filled the air the moment I opened the door.

Claire was in the kitchen. She froze when she saw me, a steaming bowl of porridge in her hands.

“Take this in to him. Say you’re sorry, and we’ll put this whole thing behind us.”

Before I could refuse, she shoved the scalding bowl into my injured hand.

Her eyes flicked to the bandages around my palm, her tone dripping with disdain.

“Don’t play the martyr.”

“Adrian Walker, honestly, if you have time to throw tantrums, you’d be better off reading a book and learning some refinement.”

“Compared to Ethan, you’re really not even close.”

The burn in my palm was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

I poured the porridge out right in front of her. The bowl shattered against the floor, hot broth splattering everywhere.

I spread my hands. “Claire, maybe it’s your brain and eyes that need checking.”

“I don’t need to compare myself to him.”

Her jaw tightened with fury.

“Adrian, how could you? Claire made that porridge herself!” Ethan’s voice came from the doorway.

I turned to him, my glare sharp. “You want it?”

He froze, not yet understanding, before I grabbed him by the collar.

“Claire made this for you, right? Then you finish it all!”

I shoved his face into the steaming mess. Ethan thrashed on the floor, gagging and choking.

“Adrian, you’re insane!” Claire kicked me hard in the back, dragging him into her arms.

I ignored her screams, walking straight back to my room.

Blood seeped from my palm as I stood at the window, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

I dialed the number my father had given me.

“Tomorrow at one in the afternoon. Can you make it?”

On the other end, a woman’s voice answered softly, “Yes.”

“I’ll have my assistant arrange it.”

Not long after, I received the confirmation for a marriage license. Among all those divorce registrations, this one stood out like a beacon.

So it was this simple all along.

“Who were you talking to so late?” Claire suddenly entered, spotting the bloodied bandages on the floor.

“You’re really hurt?”

For the first time, I saw a flicker of remorse in her eyes. She hurried forward, examining my palm.

“I didn’t know it was this bad. Why didn’t you say something?”

She grabbed fresh bandages and began tending my wound, gentle and attentive.

It had been so long since she’d shown me this kind of care.

Between us, there had been nothing but bitterness and fighting. And when you’ve been starved of comfort, even the smallest kindness can break you.

I couldn’t stop myself—I pulled Claire into my arms.

She embraced me back, patting my shoulder softly.

“I know I’ve neglected you lately. That’s why you’ve been so extreme.”

“It’s all over now. Once I take Ethan back to his hometown for his mother’s funeral, we’ll get our license, okay?”

My arms loosened around her.

So this sudden tenderness—it had only been for this.

And I’d been foolish enough to think she truly saw my pain.

But this time, I didn’t argue.

“Fine.”

Claire lit up with joy.

“That’s my good husband!”

She hugged and kissed me eagerly. Her breath rushed against my ear, lips brushing mine.

I turned my head away. “My hand’s injured. Not now.”

Her face darkened.

“I’m going to shower. You should get some sleep.”

That night, I lay awake. Even through the wall, I could hear the heavy breaths from her room—harsh and infuriating.

By morning, the house was empty. She had left with Ethan for the funeral.

I packed my things, left the house keys and wedding ring on the coffee table, and closed the door behind me.

That was the end of us.

At one in the afternoon, I arrived punctually at the City Hall Marriage Bureau.

A black Maybach pulled up. A woman in a white business suit stepped out gracefully.

“Let’s go. I only need ten minutes.”

I nodded and walked with her.

“Watch out!”

Suddenly, Isabella Bennett pulled me into her arms as a flowerpot crashed to the ground where I’d been standing.

My heart raced as I looked up at her, stunned.

“You’re still the same as when you were a kid. Always walking without watching.”

She released me, but kept hold of my hand as she led me inside.

Within minutes, we had our license.

Isabella had an urgent meeting, so I drove home alone.

I stared at the marriage certificate in my hand, dazed.

“How is she?” My father’s voice came over the phone, full of pride.

“She’s the one I chose for you. I knew I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Since I’d decided to let go of Claire, he had been searching for a suitable match. He’d collaborated with Claire often in business, which was why he once preferred her.

“She’s much better than Claire,” I admitted.

Then my eyes landed on Ethan’s newest post online:

[ Thank you for being there, making my mother’s passing less painful. ]

A scenic photo accompanied it.

I knew he meant Claire. And her “like” beneath the post stabbed me like a knife.

In ten years, she’d never once liked anything I posted.

Even the day my mother died, she had been too busy with classes to offer me comfort.

That vow she made to my mom—it had all been for show.

Bitterly, I pressed “like” on Ethan’s post.

In an elevator somewhere, Claire stared at her phone in shock.

“You liked this? Ethan, did you do it on my account?”

Ethan’s face turned red, stammering nonsense.

But Claire’s hands trembled when she saw it.

Then came a new notification—my post.

[ Turns out getting a marriage license isn’t that hard. ]

Photo: my marriage certificate.

[ Who did you marry? ]

A message popped up from her.

I glanced at it—and blocked her.

[ Don’t joke around. ]

[ Marriage isn’t something you play games with. ]