As the Southern Wind Moves On

Chapter 3---I Agree to the Divorce

I knew holding on to him was futile, yet some things were worth a try. I met his gaze and said, "I agree to the divorce—but I have one condition. Stay tonight. Attend Grandfather's funeral with me. Once it's over, I'll sign the papers."

He narrowed his eyes, his dark pupils shimmering with cold mockery. "Amuse me," he said, releasing his grip and leaning closer to whisper, "Elara Marston, everything depends on what you can do. Words alone are useless."

His voice was crisp, laced with a teasing timbre. I understood. I wrapped my arms around his waist, tilting my head back to close the gap between us. The height difference made the gesture look almost degrading.

I couldn't name the ache in my chest. Clinging to someone I loved like this was tragic.

Driven by instinct, I began to shift my hands upward, only for him to clamp them down. I looked up. His eyes were dark, unreadable, flickering with something faintly charged, almost dangerous.

"Enough."

Two words, cold and final. I froze, uncertain. Then I watched him pick up the gray loungewear from the bed and slip it on with effortless grace.

For a moment, I was stunned—then it dawned on me. He was staying?

Before relief could take root, a woman's voice cut through the rain outside: "Maxwell..."

I froze. But Maxwell moved first—striding to the balcony in three long steps. He snatched his coat and stormed out, his face thunderous.

There, in the downpour, stood Ariana Whitmore, drenched in a thin dress, letting the rain wash over her. Her fragile beauty looked even more delicate beneath the storm.

Maxwell draped his coat over her. Before he could speak, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing quietly against his chest.

It hit me then—why two years by his side meant nothing compared to a single call from her.

Maxwell carried her into the villa, guiding her upstairs. I stood at the foot of the staircase, head bowed, watching the two soaked figures. I blocked their path.

"Move." Maxwell's voice was sharp, laced with venom. His black eyes burned with contempt.

Did it hurt?

I didn't know. But my eyes hurt more than my heart—they had to watch the man I loved cradle another while crushing me beneath his feet.

"Maxwell Harrington, when we married, you promised Grandfather that as long as I, Elara Marston, lived here, you would never bring her into this house." This was the only home we'd ever shared. I had surrendered countless nights to her. Why must she now taint the one space that still belonged to me?

"Hmph." Maxwell let out a cold laugh, yanking me aside. "Elara Marston, you overestimate your worth."

How bitterly ironic. Watching him carry Ariana into the guest room, I could only stand by—powerless, a mere spectator.

This night would not be peaceful.

Ariana had caught a chill from the rain. Already frail, the storm sent her temperature soaring. Maxwell doted on her, changing her clothes, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead.

Finally noticing my presence, he shot me a frigid look. "Go back to the Harrington Manor. Ariana can't leave tonight."

Make me go back at this hour? Hah...

So I was the one in the way.

I stared at Maxwell for a long time, but no words came. How far the Harrington Manor was. How late it was. How unsafe it would be for a woman alone.

None of it mattered to him. All he cared about was whether I'd disturb Ariana's rest.

Swallowing the bitterness, I replied calmly, "I'll stay in the master bedroom. Going to the Harrington Manor now… isn't appropriate."

If he wouldn't cherish me, I wouldn't let myself be broken either.

I turned from the guest room and met Elias Montgomery in the hall. He was hurrying down the corridor, still in his black loungewear. He must have come in haste—his shoes untouched, his clothes clinging, soaked through from the rain.