As the Southern Wind Moves On

Chapter 20---You Have No Right

He looked at me, his finely arched brows slightly furrowed, his eyes as dark as night fixed on me, as if probing the truth behind my words.

I remained composed, sitting quietly with a faint smile, allowing him to scrutinize me at will.

After a long pause, he spoke. "Fine."

"Thank you, Dr. Montgomery." With a clever man, no lengthy explanations were needed—just a look, and we understood each other.

The waiter brought the dishes. He cast a glance at me and said with unfathomable depth, "Mr. Harrington, has your intelligence always been so quietly concealed?"

I smiled. "Flattery. It's merely a means of survival. Besides, Maxwell and I were never a match, and this child came at the worst possible time."

He took a few bites, seeming satisfied, then looked at me. "When do you plan to leave?"

I hesitated, lifting my gaze to meet his, inwardly startled. I had only meant to resolve the matter of the child and then divorce Maxwell. As for leaving Aquilon, I hadn't yet decided which city would suit me best.

I was surprised he had already seen through to my final step.

Putting down my chopsticks, I paused. "Within the next two months, likely. I just haven't decided where."

"Go to Zincity. It's good for living," he said. Having finished, he set down his chopsticks and elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin.

That was sound advice. I nodded. "I can consider it." Zincity might not rival Riverside in prosperity, but its pace was slower. If I were to choose a city for the rest of my life, it would be an ideal choice.

After dinner, though I had intended to pay, I found he had already settled the bill. As we stepped out of the restaurant, I said, "This meal is on me. I'll treat you next time."

He turned. "I hope our next meal is in Zincity—together."

I froze, then smiled, unsure how to respond.

It was getting late. I should go. As I reached my car, he suddenly asked, "Is the surgery scheduled?"

I turned to look at him and nodded. "Tomorrow."

Once the decision was made, it had to be carried out swiftly.

He grunted. "Does Maxwell know?"

"No," I shook my head. "I don't intend to tell him."

He frowned, offering no further comment.

Starting the engine, I saw him standing beside his own car, lost in thought. Not wanting to intrude, I gave a small wave and drove straight back to the villa.

The ten-minute drive brought me to the villa's entrance. I didn't get out. Sitting in the car, I pulled out the divorce agreement Spencer had given me.

A bitter ache rose in my chest. I had once believed I'd only sign such a document if Maxwell held a knife to my throat. Yet here I was, voluntarily holding it, ready to hand it to him.

Maxwell had always been generous with marital assets. He had promised me this villa and most of the annual dividends from Harrington Group.

Looking at these terms, I almost laughed. Perhaps from the start, Maxwell assumed I was after these things. As long as he gave me everything I wanted, I'd have no reason to refuse.

After a long silence, I signed.

Back at the villa, the living room was dark. I changed my shoes and reached for the light switch, only to be startled by the sight of a cold, silent man sitting in the shadows.

I jumped. His deep, fathomless eyes stared at me, revealing no emotion. I couldn't read him.

Calmly, I asked, "Why didn't you turn on the light? Did you have dinner?"

Maxwell answered obliquely, "Where were you?" His tone was cold, indifferent, yet faintly displeased.

"I went to the company." I walked into the kitchen. "I'll cook you something."

After what happened with Ariana at the hospital, he probably hadn't eaten. I scolded myself for caring—what did it matter? We were about to part.

But he was someone I had carried in my heart for so long. Even if we parted, it didn't have to be with heart-wrenching pain and severed bonds. Let there be some warmth left.

As I boiled the noodles, I suddenly felt a chill. I turned—and met Maxwell's cold, detached gaze.

"W-what is it?" Normally, he looked at me with coldness or disdain. Tonight, his gaze was too complex. I faltered, unsure how to respond.

He said nothing. I took it as silence and stayed quiet. I served the noodles, placed them on the table, and said, "There's not much—just eggs. Make do."

I turned to go upstairs when he suddenly said, "So marriage can just be something to ‘make do'?"

I froze. A sharp pain tugged at my heart. Normally, I might have stayed silent, but now, unexpectedly, my eyes burned with tears. I looked at him. "Even if it can't be ‘make do,' haven't we already endured two years of it?"

"Maxwell, I agree to the divorce." I pulled out the signed agreement from my bag and placed it before him, my voice bitter. "I've signed. Look it over. Let's set a time to go to the civil affairs office and finalize it."

Having said it all, I exhaled, suppressing the ache. I looked at his sharp, cold face. "Don't worry about the child. I'll give you and Ariana a satisfactory explanation."

When people make decisions, they must bear the consequences.

Without looking at Maxwell's face, now tightly repressing fury, I turned and headed upstairs. This might be our last conversation in this villa.

My wrist was suddenly yanked back. "Explanation?" His voice was thick with rage.

Knowing he was angry, I didn't turn, suppressing my pain. "I'll handle it. The child won't affect Ariana."

"Elara!" His fury erupted. My wrist throbbed under his grip. "You want to divorce me, abort it, and vanish?"

"What else?" I looked at him, and the tears I'd held back spilled over. "What else can I do? Maxwell, isn't this exactly what you've always wanted—me agreeing to divorce and staying far away? What's wrong with that now?"

His eyes darkened, like a thin layer of frost over ice.

"You think you're clever?" he sneered. His long fingers clamped my chin, forcing my head up. I winced, trying to pull away, but he tightened his grip. Our faces were close, breaths mingling. "The child in your womb carries my blood—mine, Maxwell Harrington's. You have no right to decide its fate."

"No right?" I laughed, staring at him, word by word. "Does Ariana have the right?"

His eyes narrowed, a bloodthirsty coldness sweeping over him. "Elara, you're playing with your life."