"Let's resume what we started two years ago," William said coldly, his sharp eyes void of warmth. "Let's get a divorce."
Rosalie's breath caught in her throat.
She wanted to believe her ears were deceiving her—that she had misheard his words in the haze of exhaustion and heartbreak.
Her fingers clenched against the fabric of her dress.
This was the man she had sacrificed everything for. The man she had once adored, cherished, and foolishly believed would cherish her in return. She had abandoned her career in the entertainment industry, where she had been a renowned actress and model—an icon whose mere presence captivated audiences. She had given up her entire world for him, for their marriage. And her.
Her eyes flickered to Stephanie.
All because he wanted a traditional wife.
And now, this was how it ended?
Her chest tightened, and before she could stop it, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
William clicked his tongue in irritation, rolling his eyes. "Stop with the crying," he muttered, as if her pain was an inconvenience. "You should have seen this coming. We were going to divorce before my accident, so what made you think I wouldn't bring this up after I recovered?"
He strode towards the bedside drawer, pulling it open with little care and retrieving a thick stack of papers. He turned back to her, thrusting the documents into her hands.
Rosalie's fingers trembled as she took them, her vision blurring. She struggled to make out the words, but the bold, italicized DIVORCE AGREEMENT was impossible to miss.
It was over.
Three years of marriage—three years of devotion, of sacrifice—reduced to a pile of ink and legal jargon.
William exhaled, growing impatient. "Sign the papers and leave. I'll handle the rest." His voice was flat, detached, as if he were discussing a mere business transaction.
Rosalie's breath shuddered as she struggled to keep her composure.
Her pain only deepened when she heard the sultry voice of the woman standing beside William.
"Don't worry, bestie," Stephanie purred, her arms snaking around William's chest as she leaned into him, her perfectly manicured nails resting possessively on his suit. "I'll take very good care of him when you leave. You don't have to worry about anything."
The smug smirk on Stephanie's lips sent a wave of nausea rolling through Rosalie's stomach.
So, this was the truth of it.
Rosalie wiped at her tears and lifted her chin, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.
"Get me a pen," she said, her voice eerily calm.
William brows twitched in surprise.
He had expected her to beg, to cry, to plead for him to reconsider—just so he could have the satisfaction of crushing whatever remaining hope she had. But instead, she accepted it without hesitation.
Stephanie was equally stunned, but she quickly convinced herself that Rosalie was only putting on an act of false bravado.
Either way, she was glad she'd managed to get William to unlove his wife. The love and care Rosalie received from everyone around her made her envy her best friend so much and had to result to this.
William handed Rosalie a pen.
Without another word, she pressed the tip against the paper, her signature staining the paper.
The moment she lifted the pen, it was done.
She handed the papers back to him, her hands steadier than she expected.
Then, she looked at him.
And for the first time in years, she truly saw him.
A man who never once valued her.
A man who was incapable of love.
A man who, despite everything she had given him, had only taken, taken, taken until there was nothing left. The love he showered her had only been a false pretense.
Her voice was steady, but her words dripped with unspoken fury.
"Everyone knows how much I loved you. I sacrificed everything for this marriage. When I had miscarriages, you were never there to console me. Instead, you always had some business trip as an excuse to avoid me. And when you returned, all you did was yell at me—blame me for something I had no control over."
William's jaw tightened.
Rosalie's eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.
"When you got into that accident, your parents abandoned you. They never visited. They didn't care. I did. I stayed. I took care of you, even when you didn't deserve it."
Stephanie scoffed. "Are you done?"
Rosalie turned to her, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "You think you've won, Stephanie? Enjoy your stolen prize while you still can." Then, she let her gaze flicker between them. "Both of you will regret this. I swear it. And Steph, you better get ready for my comeback."
Then, without another word, she turned on her heels and walked away.
As she left the room, the silence behind her was deafening.
She stepped on the forgotten bag of medicine she had bought for William on her way out, crushing the pills beneath her heels like discarded memories.
She didn't look back.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "What was with that dramatic monologue?"
She turned to William, expecting him to gloat, to smirk in victory.
But instead, his expression was blank.
His eyes were fixed on the door Rosalie had just stepped through. And for a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar sensation twisted in his chest.
A strange, unwelcome feeling that almost felt like regret.
Rosalie walked aimlessly through the darkened streets of Verdale, her mind a tangled mess of pain and regret.
She had signed the divorce papers.
It was over.
She clenched her jaw, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape her lips.
'Don't cry.'
Her hand moved before she could stop herself.
A sharp sting spread across her cheek.
She had slapped herself.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Wake up, Rose," she whispered to herself. "He never loved you. it was all just a pretense."
Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed a number she hadn't called in a long time.
The line rang.
And then—
"…Rose?"
Her throat tightened. She tried to breathe, her voice breaking.
With trembling lips, she finally spoke. "Brother."