Chapter 2
852 Words
Today, Clifford had made her lose everything.
Tears welled in Jane’s eyes as she blew out the candles, plunging the villa into darkness.
Moments later, two bright headlights cut through the night. A Rolls-Royce Phantom sped into the driveway and stopped on the lawn.
Her eyelashes trembled.
He had come back.
She had thought he wouldn’t.
The door opened, and Clifford stepped inside, carrying the chill of the night with him.
Clifford Sean—the heir of the Sean family—had been a business prodigy since youth. At eighteen, he earned a master’s degree from Harfield. He later took the Sean Group public on the Seanthrone, gaining international fame before returning to lead the company as Hovendale’s wealthiest man.
“Why didn’t you turn on the light?” he asked, his deep voice calm as he flicked on the lamp.
The sudden brightness made Jane blink. She looked at him.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, Clifford radiated cold aristocratic elegance—the kind that made countless women dream of him.
“It’s your birthday,” she said.
His gaze swept over the table, indifferent. “Don’t waste your time. I don’t celebrate such things.”
Jane smiled faintly. “Is it that you don’t celebrate… or just that you don’t want to celebrate with me?”
“Think what you like.”
He turned toward the stairs.
Just like always—distant, unreachable.
“It’s your birthday,” Jane called. “I have a gift for you.”
“I don’t need it.”
She laughed softly. “Clifford, let’s get a divorce.”
He froze.
Slowly, he turned back, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
“Let’s get a divorce,” she repeated lightly. “Do you like your birthday gift?”
“You want a divorce just because I didn’t celebrate with you?”
“Miracle has returned, hasn’t she?”
At her sister’s name, his lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. He stepped closer. “Are you bothered by Miracle?”
His presence pressed down on her like a storm. Jane instinctively retreated until her back hit the wall.
Clifford placed one hand beside her head, trapping her between him and the cold surface.
“Everyone knows Miracle was the woman I wanted to marry,” he sneered. “You knew that when you replaced her and became Mrs. Sean. You didn’t mind then. Why pretend to be righteous now?”
Jane’s face drained of color.
Yes. She had known.
They had lived apart. He had never touched her.
He had only ever loved Miracle.
Jane looked at his face—the man before her overlapping with the boy from her memories.
“Clifford,” she whispered, “do you really not remember me?”
Three years.
Three years of waiting for someone who no longer existed.
It was enough.
“These three years were my mistake,” she said softly. “Let’s end this loveless marriage.”
“Loveless?”
He lifted her chin, his thumb brushing across her lips with deliberate provocation.
“Is that why? Are you that desperate?”
Her face flushed instantly.
That wasn’t what she meant.
Yet his touch lingered, slow and humiliating.
Clifford studied her closely for the first time. Beneath her plain clothes and thick glasses was a delicate face, quiet elegance, eyes darker and more beautiful than he’d noticed before.
His gaze darkened.
“I didn’t expect you to be so eager,” he mocked. “That desperate for a man?”
Slap!
Jane struck him hard.
His head snapped to the side.
Her fingers trembled. Loving him humbly had only crushed her dignity.
His face darkened instantly—cold, furious.
“What do you take me for?” he demanded. “You marry me when it suits you, then throw divorce at me when you feel like it?”
Jane laughed softly.
“A plaything.”
His expression froze.
“You were just a toy I took from Miracle,” she said, forcing the words out. “I’m done playing.”
His fury boiled over. “Fine! Divorce it is! But don’t come crawling back to me!”
He stormed upstairs, slamming the door.
Jane slid down the wall, hugging her knees.
“Clifford,” she whispered, “I won’t love you anymore.”
The next morning, Clifford sat in his study, documents spread before him.
Martha entered quietly. “Sir, this coffee was prepared by Mrs. Sean.”
His hand paused.
He took a sip.
It was exactly how he liked it.
“Did she admit she was wrong?” he asked coldly.
Martha hesitated. “Sir… Mrs. Sean has left.”
She handed him a document.
Divorce Agreement.
His expression darkened.
She wanted nothing—no money, no assets.
Then his eyes landed on the handwritten reason for divorce:
Due to my husband’s s****l dysfunction, he is unable to fulfill his marital obligations.
Clifford’s face turned storm-dark.
“That damned woman!”
He dialed her number.
The call connected.
“Hello?”
“Jane,” he said coldly, “get back here immediately.”
- Writer
