Chapter One: Disappointment, Divorce

When Yao Yao Ye was forced into surgery due to the poor development of her pregnancy, Yan Shen and Miao Qin shared an intimate kiss in the street, catapulting themselves into the hottest search on the internet.

She lay on her hospital bed, her face as pale as paper, her body curled tightly, a wrenching pain twisting her lower abdomen. Yet, with a nearly masochistic resolve, she enlarged the photo on her phone again and again, staring at the image—Yan Shen’s large hand wrapped around Miao Qin’s waist, pulling her into his arms, his other hand lifting her chin as he kissed her passionately.

His jawline was sharp, a faint halo of light brushing across it, making him appear both cold and warm. In his lowered gaze, there was only tenderness.

A tenderness he had never shown her in the three years they’d been together…

The more she looked, the more it felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing her heart, making her gasp for air through the pain. While she was being tormented by the loss of their child, Yan Shen was holding his beloved woman openly, announcing their relationship to the world…

“Miss Ye, your family hasn’t arrived yet?” The nurse flipped through her chart, urging her, “Your file says you’re married. Where is your husband? When will he be here?”

Yao Yao Ye put away her phone, her lowered lashes casting a faint shadow.

“I’m a widow.”

“I’ll sign myself.”

The surgery went smoothly. When Yao Yao Ye opened her eyes, the distinctive scent of disinfectant filled her nose. She stared at the ceiling, absently touching her abdomen, her mind replaying the news and the events of the night, and two silent tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

The child she had longed for so desperately had died on the very night her father so grandly announced his love for another woman.

How bitterly ironic.

Her phone buzzed.

It was Yan Shen.

“Come pick me up.” His voice was indifferent as the call connected.

He spoke as if handling business. Yao Yao Ye gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Yan Shen, where are you?”

Before Yan Shen could answer, a gentle female voice slipped into Yao Yao Ye’s ear.

“Yan, who are you talking to?”

So soft, so familiar that Yao Yao Ye’s pupils contracted sharply.

It was Miao Qin...

“No one. Are you cold?” Yan Shen made no move to explain Yao Yao Ye’s identity.

Rustling sounds came through the phone, as if Yan Shen were draping a coat over Miao Qin, punctuated by her coquettish laughter, their intimacy so grating to her ears.

Yao Yao Ye’s hand clenched around her phone, her heart feeling as though it was being strangled, pain suffusing every breath. It was nothing... She had chased after Yan Shen for eight years, been married to him for three, and in his eyes, all she was worth was a dismissive “no one”...

She was in the hospital for surgery, while he fussed over his beloved woman.

In Yan Shen’s eyes, what did she amount to? Had he ever considered her feelings at all?

“Yan Shen, do you remember what day it is today?” The words tumbled out of Yao Yao Ye’s mouth uncontrollably, her urgent question interrupting the intimacy on the other end.

She truly couldn’t bear to listen any longer!

“I’ll send you the address. I’m hanging up.”

The call ended. Her question vanished with the dial tone.

Her thoughts were in chaos. She closed her eyes, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Yan Shen, why did you have to choose today? Why did you choose today to make me lose so completely, to become such a joke?

Perhaps it was the loss of the child, or perhaps the blow of the trending news, but Yao Yao Ye knew—it was time to give herself an answer.

Enduring the pain in her abdomen, she yanked out her IV, struggled to her feet, and drove to the address in the message.

The night air was cool, the breeze sharp enough to pierce the bones. In just ten minutes, she arrived at her destination and saw at once—Yan Shen and... Miao Qin.

Miao Qin’s sharp eyes spotted Yao Yao Ye first as she got out of the car. Her gaze sharpened, her coquettish posture vanished, and she threw herself into Yan Shen’s arms, her brows arching with unabashed provocation.

“So it’s you—the one who chased Yan so desperately, the most devoted lapdog. And now, what, you’re finally his... driver?” She laughed softly, burying her face in Yan Shen’s chest.

But Yan Shen abruptly pushed her away, his voice cold. “Miao Qin, it’s time for you to go home.”

Miao Qin’s tone turned aggrieved. “You weren’t talking to me like this before she got here…”

Yao Yao Ye almost wanted to laugh.

Was there any need to keep up this charade?

What was she, really? In the eyes of outsiders, she was nothing but the woman who had chased after Yan Shen for eight years—a pitiful lapdog. Even with a proper title, even with the legality of marriage, in Yan Shen’s eyes, and in the eyes of those around him, she was nothing but someone who clung to him shamelessly.

Granting dignity to a lapdog—how hard it must have been for Yan Shen.

His gaze swept over her pale face, a crease appearing between his brows as he shot Miao Qin a frosty look.

“Miao Qin, you’re tired.”

Understanding his hint, Miao Qin pursed her lips, straightened reluctantly, and replied, “Fine, I’ll go.”

After she left, Yan Shen looked at Yao Yao Ye. “We need to talk.”

Head bowed, her eyes lowered, she nodded with a strange calmness.

“All right.”

What was there to talk about? Divorce, of course.

Yan Shen strode back to the car.

Yao Yao Ye followed, and the next second, Yan Shen pressed her beneath him.

His hand slipped under her clothes, the other fumbling with her buttons, soft kisses falling like rain.

Realizing his intent, Yao Yao Ye shook her head, her voice calm. “Yan Shen, I just want to talk.”

He paused.

She had always called him “Yan”—since she was fifteen. This was the first time she had ever used his full name.

Seeing the distance and coldness in her eyes, recalling what Miao Qin had hinted at earlier, Yan Shen’s expression darkened, a frigid gloom settling over him as he rolled off and lit a cigarette with a sharp click.

Through the curling smoke, his handsome, chiseled profile exuded only cold indifference.

Yao Yao Ye glanced at him, then smiled. “It must be hard for you, too, isn’t it?”

She knew him too well.

Even when faced with something he didn’t want, he’d maintain appearances and never allow things to get ugly. Tonight, perhaps he truly couldn’t endure it anymore, and that was why he protested the continuation of their marriage in this roundabout way.

Her mind grew clearer, her gaze steadier. “Yan Shen, do you remember what day it is today?”

He frowned, annoyed by the question.

He didn’t want to remember.

Why did she have to keep reminding him again and again?

Did she really want to leave him?

He tugged at his tie, visibly irked. “I don’t remember.”

Of course.

Yao Yao Ye’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Yan Shen, let’s get a divorce.”