"The divorce papers are ready. I’ll talk Nina into agreeing to a fake divorce."
Nina Blackwell stopped dead outside the study.
She knew that voice. Ethan Blackwell.
She had only come over this late because she suddenly remembered a statistic in tomorrow’s speech might not have been updated in time. That was it. Just work, as usual. She hadn’t expected to hear something this brutal.
"Mr. President, the people in Congress need to be handled in advance. After all..." The chief of staff hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "This involves a change in the First Lady. Miss Tiffany is pressing hard. Her due date is only six months away. If the status change isn’t completed before the baby is born, public opinion will be hard to control."
"I know." Ethan’s voice sounded tired, but there was still that cold, final edge in it, the kind that left no room for argument. "Tiffany has prenatal depression. The doctor said she needs her husband’s company and a proper title to keep her emotions steady. As for Nina... I’ll make it up to her. Once Tiffany gives birth and settles into the role of First Lady, I’ll find a reason to remarry Nina."
Fake divorce.
Those two words hit like a poisoned blade, stabbing straight into Nina’s chest.
She had been running on fumes for days. The old injury in her arm—the one she got years ago when she took a bullet for Ethan—started throbbing again, a dull ache crawling through the bone little by little. She only frowned faintly, then pressed her other hand against the arm in silence.
She was used to it by now.
In the three years since marrying Ethan, she had gotten used to sorting his files in the middle of the night, gotten used to replying to his emails before dawn, gotten used to living in the Platinum Palace like a shadow under the title of "presidential secretary."
No wedding.
No wedding ring she could wear in public.
No title as First Lady.
Not even one decent wedding photo.
She had always thought that if she stayed sensible enough, patient enough, careful enough, one day he would keep his promise. Once the situation settled, he would give her a grand wedding and tell the whole world she was his wife.
Turns out reality really knew how to slap.
So that was the answer to all those late nights he came home, to every future he refused to talk about, to every time he told her to be a little more understanding.
Compensation. Consideration. What a joke.
In the end, all he wanted was for her to move aside on her own and make room for him and another woman.
Nina’s fingertips went ice-cold. She lifted a hand and shoved the sitting room door open.
Bang.
The door slammed against the wall with a heavy crash. Both men inside turned at the same time.
Ethan stood by the window in a black robe, tall and straight, the dark fabric making him look even sharper. His face was handsome in that cold, almost cutting way. A flash of surprise crossed his features, but it disappeared fast, like it had never been there.
"Nina?" He frowned. "It’s late. Why are you still awake?"
"I suddenly remembered there was a detail in the speech that hadn’t been fixed." Nina heard her own voice. Calm. Too calm. Freakishly calm. "And while I was at it, I got to hear how my husband plans to kick me out."
The chief of staff lowered his head awkwardly. He knew better than to stay. Without a word, he backed out and gently closed the door behind him.
Now only the two of them were left in the room.
Ethan Blackwell rubbed the space between his brows, then walked toward her. His tone carried that familiar, high-and-mighty kind of soothing she knew way too well. "It’s not what you think. Tiffany and I grew up together. She’s pregnant now, and her mental state is hanging by a thread. That’s two lives at stake. The Ashford family and the Blackwell family are tied together too deeply. In private, we go way back. In public, this affects the cabinet and the financial situation. I can’t just leave her alone. It’s only a fake divorce. Once everything settles down, we’ll remarry."
"Only a fake divorce?" Nina Blackwell laughed. The smile on her face was so pale it looked like it could crack at any second. "Ethan Blackwell, did you even ask me? Did you discuss this with me for one second? What gives you the right to decide that I’m the one who should just suck it up?"
"Nina!" Ethan’s brows pulled tighter, his voice dropping hard. "Can you be a little reasonable? Tiffany and I have known each other since we were kids. She’s pregnant, she has depression, and she has serious suicidal tendencies. The Ashfords and the Blackwells have always been close. No matter how you look at it, emotionally or practically, I can’t stand by and watch something happen to her."
"Close?" Nina stared straight into his eyes and asked word by word, "Then what about me? What am I to you?"
Ethan parted his lips, like he wanted to explain, but in the end he only let out a tired sigh. "I know I’ve neglected you these past three years, but the situation right now is different. Nina, just sign it first. We’ll talk about everything else later."
He pulled a document out of the drawer and slid it in front of her.
It was a divorce agreement.
Nina looked at the papers, and all of a sudden, the last three years of her life felt like one huge joke.
"Fine." She heard her own voice, cold and flat. "Forget the fake divorce line. Once I sign, it’s over. Completely."
Ethan’s face changed on the spot. He instinctively stepped forward, trying to grab her wrist. "Nina! Don’t be reckless!"
Nina turned slightly and avoided his hand. She didn’t say another word.
She turned and went back to the guest room that had been ignored for years by everyone in the Platinum Palace. From the corner, she picked up a single old suitcase with worn, frayed edges. Inside were the few things that actually belonged to her: a few old photos of her adoptive parents, a couple changes of clothes, and that was it. Nothing more.
Outside, the storm was still going crazy. Cold rainwater poured through the open doors and swept wildly across the corridor.
Nina never looked back. Carrying the suitcase, she walked straight into the crushing rain and the black night.
Ethan stood where he was, staring at the lonely wedding ring left on the table. A sharp, inexplicable panic surged up from the pit of his chest.
He almost ran after her. But just as he moved, the phone in his pocket suddenly rang. The call was from Tiffany’s side. Through the receiver came a servant’s panicked voice, saying Tiffany was emotionally unstable again and her body was reacting badly.
Ethan stopped dead. His fingers tightened around the phone so hard they nearly went white, but in the end, he still couldn’t make himself step through that door.
The rain kept getting heavier.
The thin clothes on Nina’s body were soaked through almost instantly. The freezing cold pressed against her skin, then seemed to drill straight into her bones.
The old injuries she had kept hidden were stirred up by the rain and the chill. She forced herself to keep walking, but little by little, her mind blurred. Her vision darkened. Her legs gave out without warning, and she crashed hard onto the deserted mouth of an empty alley, losing consciousness completely.
