The day I found out I was pregnant with triplets, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the hallway of a community clinic, meticulously calculating the cost of baby formula.

A notification popped up on my phone. An email.

Sender: Adrian Lu.

The body of the message was a single, cold line: [The contract has expired. Sixty million has been settled. Please move out by the end of the month.]

I stared at it for three seconds.

Then, I tapped reply and typed back, word for word: [Understood. No need to wait until the end of the month. I’ll be gone tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled the notary appointment.]

Sixty million. Three children. That was twenty million each.

It was more than enough.

The day I signed the papers, I walked out of the Lu residence with nothing but a backpack. The sun was brilliant that day.

Later, a rumor would sweep through the entire medical elite: Adrian Lu, the titan of St. Yanhe General Hospital, was scouring every surveillance feed in the city just to find the ex-wife who had vanished with sixty million dollars.

There were seven or eight people ahead of me at the ultrasound room. I was the last one on the list.

The probe felt biting cold against my skin, making my stomach muscles tense involuntarily.

The doctor stared at the screen, her expression shifting from professional indifference to confusion, then to pure shock.

She moved the probe several times, checking back and forth.

"Was this a natural conception?"

"Yes," I replied.

She took off her glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and looked again.

"Three. Three gestational sacs, all with heartbeats."

My brain went numb for a moment.

Triplets.

When I walked out of the ultrasound room, my legs felt like jelly.

I sat back down on that plastic chair in the corridor and pulled out my phone's calculator.

Formula: two thousand a month for one child, so six thousand for three.

Diapers: eight hundred for one, so two thousand four hundred for three.

Prenatal checks, supplements, daycare...

The numbers kept spiraling upward.

I closed the calculator and stared blankly at the ceiling for a while.

Suddenly, a new email notification flashed at the top of the screen.

Sender: Adrian Lu.

I froze.

Adrian—the husband I had found through a matchmaking agency to sign a marriage contract with.

He never emailed me.

Whenever there was something to discuss, he either had his assistant relay the message or left a sticky note on the kitchen counter.

I opened it.

Subject: Termination of Contractual Agreement.

The body was brief:

[Dear Ms. Vivian Su: After careful consideration, I have decided to terminate our agreement early. Attached are the termination papers and the asset settlement plan. The settlement amount: Sixty million dollars. Please vacate the premises by the end of this month. Should you have any objections, you may contact Mr. Julian Zhang. — Adrian Lu.]

Sixty million.

As I gripped my phone, a layer of goosebumps rose across my back.

It wasn't from the cold.

It was pure, unadulterated joy.

I opened the reply box, my fingers steady as a rock.

[Hello, Dr. Lu. Understood. I will handle the notary appointment; we don't need to wait until the end of the month. Are you free tomorrow? Let’s finalize it then.]

Sent.

I rested the phone on my knees and looked toward the grimy window at the end of the hallway, a slow smile spreading across my lips.

Triplets. Sixty million.

I looked down and touched my belly, my voice a whisper only I could hear.

"Twenty million each. You three are set for life."

The next morning, at the notary’s office.

I had chosen a location as far as possible from the Lu family's territory—the third floor of an old office building on the East Side.

Adrian didn't show up.

Instead, he sent his private attorney, Julian Zhang.

Julian wore a sharp grey suit and black-framed glasses, a leather briefcase tucked under his arm.

"Ms. Su, these are the termination papers and the settlement details. Please review them. Mr. Lu has authorized me to act as his full proxy."

I took the documents and flipped straight to the final page.

The "Party A" section was stamped with the law firm's seal, accompanied by a letter of authorization.

I picked up the ballpoint pen on the desk and signed my name in the "Party B" column.

I caught a flicker of something behind Julian’s glasses.

"Ms. Su, aren't you going to read the clauses? They involve the subsequent..."

"No need. As long as the sixty million is transferred, we’re good."

I pushed the agreement back to him.

He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it.

He had likely prepared an entire arsenal of strategies for today.

What if she cries? What if she makes a scene? What if she demands to see Adrian?

None of it was necessary.

As I stepped out of the office building, a light drizzle was falling.

I popped open my folding umbrella and took a deep, cleansing breath.

I chose noon to return to the Lu mansion to pack my things.

Adrian's mother was at the salon, Jenny Lu was at school, and the maid was napping in the kitchen.

No one noticed me.

I didn't have much.

It all fit into a single backpack.

The right side of the guest bedroom closet belonged to me—a few seasonal outfits, two books, and a toiletry bag.

The door to the master bedroom next door was slightly ajar. I hadn't stepped foot in that room for a year.

Before leaving, I took one last glance at the nightstand.

A bottle of stomach medication was sitting there.

Adrian had a terrible stomach; he’d push through back-to-back surgeries by fueling himself with black coffee.

Once, I got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and heard a noise from his room. The door hadn't been fully closed. Through the crack, I saw him hunched over the edge of the bed, one hand bracing his knee, his face deathly pale.

The next day, I bought a bottle of medicine and left it at his door.

After that, whenever it was running low, I’d quietly replace it with a new one.

He probably thought the maid bought it.

I picked it up. It was about a third full.

I put it back down.

The last bottle.

Once he finished this, that would be it.

I left my keycard and the spare keys on the entryway shoe cabinet. I didn't leave a note.

The door clicked shut behind me, a soft, final sound.

I walked out of the main gates of the complex.

The subway station was three hundred meters away. My pace was neither fast nor slow.

As I swiped my card to enter, the turnstile gave a crisp beep and the green light flashed.

I suddenly thought that sound was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

It sounded like leveling up.