Chapter 3
935 Words
Jane chuckled softly.
“You expect me to come back just because you said so? We’re divorced, Clifford. I’m not going to keep indulging you.”
Clifford clenched his jaw. “I’ll give you a chance to rewrite the reason for the divorce.”
Jane’s tone turned light—almost playful.
“Rewrite it?” she said. “Clifford, it’s been eight months since you woke up, hasn’t it? Yet in all this time, you haven’t even held my hand.”
She paused deliberately.
“You were in a coma for three years. You’re physically healthy now, but I have every reason to believe you’ve developed… functional problems.”
Her lips curved into a sweet smile.
“You’re not potent anymore. You should hurry and find a good naturopath. As a parting gift, I wish you an early recovery of your manhood.”
Clifford was rendered speechless.
The veins on his forehead twitched visibly.
This woman was out of control.
“Jane,” he said darkly, “I’ll make you regret this. You’ll learn what I’m capable of sooner or later!”
“Sorry,” Jane replied calmly. “You’ll never get the chance.”
“Jane—!”
The call ended abruptly.
Beep. Beep.
Clifford stared at his phone.
“Jane…!”
Jane had already arrived at her best friend Grace Sunder’s apartment.
The moment Jane put her phone down, Grace burst out laughing and gave her a thumbs-up.
“That was amazing!” Grace said. “Clifford must be so furious he’s spitting blood right now.”
Jane smiled faintly. She had been too humble in the past—that was why he had always looked down on her.
“Love yourself first,” she said quietly. “A woman should always put herself first.”
Grace snorted. “Three years ago, Miracle ran away the moment Clifford fell into a coma. Now that he’s awake, she’s crawling back? What a joke. You’re better off without a man like that.”
Jane unwrapped a candy and popped it into her mouth. The sweetness briefly masked the bitterness in her heart.
“That’s how you know whether you’re loved,” Jane said. “Those who are loved feel fearless. Those who aren’t live in constant insecurity.”
Grace noticed the empty candy wrappers piling up and grabbed Jane’s hand.
“Enough sulking. When you give up one tree, you gain a whole forest. Tonight, I’m booking six male hosts to celebrate your single status!”
Jane laughed and covered her forehead.
Suddenly, Grace snatched Jane’s black-rimmed glasses off her face and tossed them into the trash.
“My glasses!” Jane protested.
Grace stopped her. “You’ve been buried in academic research for too long. It’s time to glow up. Doll yourself up properly.”
Jane hesitated. Her parents had always said she was an ugly duckling while Miracle was a swan.
Maybe Clifford thought so too.
Grace dragged her toward the door. “Come on. Hair, nails, clothes—everything! I want everyone to see how stunning you can be.”
Then Grace paused. “Oh—are you really not taking any money from Clifford?”
“I have my own money,” Jane replied.
Grace laughed. “So you’ll let Miracle spend his money instead? How generous.”
Jane pulled a black card from her purse and winked.
“Tonight, I’ll splurge—and let Clifford pay.”
That evening, at 1998 Bar, Hovendale’s playground for the rich, the music was deafening and the dance floor wild.
In a dimly lit VIP booth, Clifford sat at the center of a leather sofa. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned forearms and a luxury watch worth millions. His aristocratic features drew glances from countless women.
Beside him sat his close friend, Richard Gondale.
“Are you serious?” Richard laughed. “Jane wants a divorce?”
The others joined in. “Everyone knows Jane loves Clifford desperately. She married him while he was in a coma. There’s no way she’ll go through with it.”
“Let’s bet,” someone said. “How long before she comes begging?”
Richard smirked. “She won’t even last tonight.”
Clifford remained silent. His expression was cold as he opened w******p.
The last message from Jane was from the night before—a photo of soup.
Honey, even though your bone density is normal now, you should still drink this regularly. Don’t come home too late.
Scrolling up, Clifford saw countless messages.
All from Jane.
He had never replied.
Today, the chat was completely silent.
A faint irritation rose in his chest.
Ding!
Richard laughed. “See? She messaged you!”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
More notifications appeared.
Clifford frowned and opened them.
Dear VVIP customer, your card ending in 0978 has been charged $500 at Dazzling Nail Salon.
His brows furrowed.
$1,500 at Artistry Hair Studio.
$56,000 at Chanel.
$340,000 at Louis Vuitton.
The booth fell dead silent.
There was no message.
No apology.
No plea.
Only spending records.
Clifford slammed his phone onto the table.
The Jane who had clung to him for three years now seemed to have grown fangs.
“Is she trying to imitate Miracle?” Richard scoffed. “A swan is a swan. An ugly duckling will always be an ugly duckling.”
Laughter followed.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the entrance.
“Look!” someone gasped. “An angel just walked in!”
Jane had arrived.
Grace had brought her straight from the mall.
Jane heard the mocking laughter clearly—but her steps didn’t falter.
- Writer
