He Asked For Divorce, I Said Yes & Revenged

Chapter 2

The next day, I headed back to our old marital home to pack up my things.

When I pushed the door open, Mia was sitting on the living room couch, cuddling a pregnancy pillow in her arms. She was wearing Victor's cashmere cardigan, her hair loose over her shoulders, a perfectly calm, self-satisfied look on her face.

The second she spotted me, she smiled and slowly stood up, deliberately puffing out her six-month baby bump to strut right in front of me. "Finally, you're here! I was starting to think you weren't even gonna bother coming to get your stuff. I already sorted everything out for you. Just take a look and pick whatever you want to take with you." Her voice was soft and syrupy, like arsenic wrapped in honey, but when she brushed past me, she lowered her voice to a purr. "This house is so big, the baby and I have been super comfortable here. Oh, right, I replaced the master bedroom bed too. The old one, Victor and I both thought it brought bad luck."

Every single word that came out of her mouth was a sharp knife. Worse, she was using the exact same gentle tone I'd used when I first brought her home to live with us.

Mia was my adopted sister. She'd grown up in my family since she was little, and my parents had always doted on her more than they did on me.

After I got married, I felt bad that she didn't have a real place of her own, so I offered to let her move into our new house. I'd held her hand and said to Victor back then, "This is my little sister. You have to treat her well, okay?"

He'd smiled and promised he would.

And how did that work out for me?

She showed up in my bed wearing my pajamas, with my husband lying right next to her.

I stared at Mia's stomach, and flashbacks from my past life came flooding back in an instant.

Right after that baby was born, Victor had lost the last shred of patience he had for me.

I was tied to a bed in the psychiatric ward when I heard the news that "Mr. Cross signed everything over to this son immediately." I couldn't cry, no matter how badly I wanted to.

White-hot rage bubbled up like molten lava inside me. My nails dug into my palm so hard they left bleeding crescent marks in the skin. I wanted to lunge at her, scratch that fake sweet face right off, make her feel every single bit of the agony I'd gone through.

But I couldn't.

I didn't come back to life just to wind up locked in a psych ward a second time.

I took a deep breath, kept my face completely blank, and started packing my things. There wasn't much in the suitcase, a few clothes, a handful of books, and one old photo frame.

That was all seven years of marriage had left me with.

When Mia saw I wasn't reacting, she got flustered instead. "Why aren't you saying anything? Are you upset about something?"

I looked up at her and curled the corner of my mouth into a cold smile. "Mia, what do you want me to say? 'Congratulations'?"

She froze for a second, clearly thrown off, not expecting that response.

I kept going, "I don't want this house anymore. Enjoy living here." Then I grabbed my suitcase and walked out.

Right before I left, I glanced at the hidden corner of the study. I'd installed a hidden camera there the same day I'd agreed to the divorce.

In my past life, I lost because I had no proof.

This time around, I was gonna plan every single move down to the last detail.

That evening, Victor asked me to meet him to sign a supplementary agreement.

He glanced at the documents I handed over, then said out of the blue, "Grace, you've gotten a lot more sensible this time around."

I set my pen down and looked straight at him. "Victor, you really think this is me being 'sensible'?"

The hand holding his coffee cup froze mid-sip.

I continued, "Don't act like you're the hurt one here. If word gets out that you cheated on me with my adopted sister, it's not gonna look good for you, is it?"

His brows furrowed for a second, but he didn't blow up.

I knew a little verbal jab like that wouldn't make him lash out at me.

The last thing he needed was for me to kick up a huge fuss. He needed me to leave nice and quiet, all polite and dignified, so everyone would swallow his little fake story.

He needed everyone to buy the story that our divorce was a "mutual, amicable split due to irreconcilable differences", not that he’d cheated on me with my own foster sister.

I was spot on.

See? I knew him inside and out.

But he never bothered to know me, not even a little.

Just as I finished signing the papers and was getting ready to leave, Mia burst in from outside. She clutched her stomach as she stumbled over, her voice thick with tears. "Victor, the baby won’t stop kicking me, I feel so awful…"

Victor set down his coffee cup so fast it sloshed, then practically ran over to steady her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, rubbing gentle circles over her belly with the other, his voice so unnaturally low and gentle. "Don’t be scared, I’m right here."

That raw, unguarded worry and affection on his face? I’d barely caught even a hint of that look in seven whole years of marriage.

I stood by the entryway watching the whole show, and suddenly huffed out a bitter laugh.

What a joke.

This man had written me off as a raving lunatic, but he treated this other woman with such sickening tenderness.

And he had no clue the baby in her stomach wasn’t even his.

I pulled the front door open, and a gust of cool night air swept in.

Victor’s voice drifted over from behind me. "Be careful on the road."

Save the fake niceties, asshole.