She laid out the details with calculated precision, intentionally weaponizing his social capital to crush Clara's spirit.

"I am merely sharing this to offer you perspective, not because I am actively rooting for a separation." She added the disclaimer with a layer of toxic sincerity, though her underlying intent was disgusting.

"I simply need you to understand that you are no longer in a position to negotiate with Ethan. You need to recognize your own lack of leverage."

Clara listened to the entire monologue in absolute silence, refusing to disrupt the flow of her venom until the older woman finally ran out of breath. Only then did Clara speak, her voice a calm, unbreakable sheet of glass.

"I have no idea whether the fetus was male or female, because I have already aborted it."

"And let me grant you a final piece of good news, ma'am: Ethan and I are proceeding with a immediate divorce."

Before the woman could draw a breath to scream, Clara severed the connection, having zero desire to let the rot of that family touch her soul ever again.

Within minutes, her phone became the target of a frantic, digital bombardment as Ethan began launching hundreds of messages into her queue.

The notifications piled up in an unbroken, vibrating stack across her screen, followed immediately by the harsh, desperate ring of his incoming calls.

Yet Clara acted as if the device did not exist, letting it shake and scream against the table without offering a single glance.

Her attention was focused entirely on methodically packing her life into crates.

Chapter 20

Sweeping a long gaze across the expansive rooms, she was hit by the sudden, heavy realization of just how much property she had accumulated over the years.

Ever since they secured the deed to this luxury penthouse, the lean, paranoid days of renting—where she would fiercely restrict her purchases out of fear of a sudden eviction notice—had felt like a distant, primitive memory.

Back then, believing this property was their permanent sanctuary, she had privately nurtured a dream of growing old within these exact walls.

Consequently, whenever she discovered a beautiful piece of decor that could elevate the elegance of their daily routine, or came across premium items intended for their future nursery, she would purchase them without a second thought.

Those exquisite imported china sets were acquired solely to bring a sense of ceremony to their family dinners;

those plush, velvet cushions were selected to ensure their quiet Sunday afternoons on the sofa were perfectly comfortable;

and those beautiful, high-end infant garments and toys had been hoarded with a heart bursting with pure joy, all in preparation to welcome their angel.

But looking at them now, every single item carried a rancid taste.

Staring at the physical remnants of her shattered expectations, Clara felt a deep, crushing sorrow, but she forced her hands to remain steady as she systematically wrapped each piece and sealed them away, determined to purge her existence from this penthouse.

Suddenly, the electronic lock at the entrance erupted into a frantic, chaotic sequence of error tones.

Ethan stood on the threshold, his fingers stabbing wildly at the digital keypad; in his blinding panic, he managed to mistype the security code twice before the heavy double doors finally swung open.

The moment he breached the perimeter, he charged directly into Clara's space, his features twisted into a mask of pure, unhinged fury and terror as he roared, "Clara! You told my mother you're filing for divorce?!"

"So the news has reached you," Clara replied, her voice completely devoid of emotion. She reached into her leather bag, pulled out the certified medical chart she had explicitly forced the clinic to print, and casually hurled the document right before his eyes.

"I had fully intended to present this to you upon your return, but your mother chosen to initiate contact first."

Clara spoke with a flat, terrifying indifference, as if detailing a standard corporate transaction. "The pregnancy has been terminated. My apologies for failing to consult you beforehand."

The declaration slammed into Ethan like a physical blow, causing his entire frame to violently lurch backward as if he were about to collapse onto the floor.

The blood drained completely from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, hollow white while his lips shook with a pathetic, unhinged tremor. It took several agonizing seconds before he could claw a few words out of his throat: "Why?!"

"We had already fixed things!"

His voice cracked with a terrifying, weeping desperation. "Why on earth would you inflict this level of horror upon me?!"

Losing his sanity entirely, he lunged forward, grabbed the medical chart, and began ripping the heavy stock paper apart with his bare hands.

The document shredded into a cloud of white fragments, fluttering down through the air like snow, scattering across the floor to mirror the absolute ruin of their marriage.

"Why did you lie to me?!" Ethan screamed, his eyes violently bloodshot, his lids crimson with a manic, unhinged agony. "You played a calculated game from the very beginning, faking your forgiveness and pretending our beautiful world had restored itself!"

He shook his head violently, a wild denial tracking through his eyes as he backed away from her. "You orchestrated this entire theater just to manufacture this exact moment of maximum destruction?!"

"When I sat right beside you and laid out our beautiful future in London, what dark thoughts were moving through your mind?!"

Ethan’s voice cracked into a desperate sob, his eyes locking onto her with a terrifying intensity. "Clara, how can a human being possess a soul as cold and monstrous as yours?"

Clara merely matched his unhinged fury with a long, unreadable gaze filled with absolute contempt and complete disgust.

"Ethan, what right do you possess to speak of monstrosity to me?" Clara delivered the words like a sheet of ice. "When you were rolling between the sheets with Sasha, did a single thought of your cruelty toward me cross your mind?"

Ethan shook his head frantically, lunging forward in a pathetic attempt to construct a defense. "Clara, listen to me! I swear to you, I never held a single drop of true affection for Sasha!"

"I have zero desire to let your voice touch my—"

"You are going to hear the truth!" Ethan roared, cutting through her flat rejection with a desperate, manic intensity. "She was originally nothing more than a high-end mistress kept by Mr. Vance; I crossed paths with her multiple times at various executive galas."

"When Mr. Vance rotated her out for a fresh plaything last year, their arrangement concluded with perfect, mutual discretion."

Ethan’s words flew out in a rapid, unhinged torrent, desperate to strip the romantic weight from his sins so she could tolerate his existence. "That is the sole reason I selected her for my staff! She was acquired purely as a disposable source of physical entertainment; she never possessed the leverage to threaten your sacred position in my life!"

"..."

Clara listened to the explanation, her features hardening into an expression of profound, visceral nausea. "Ethan, if you had stood there and declared that your affair was born from a pure, uncontrollable passion, I might have offered you a shred of human respect. But this... you are utterly, fundamentally rancid."

Turning her back on him completely, Clara walked to the marble coffee table, unzipped her bag, and retrieved the pre-drafted divorce petition. She slammed the documents onto the table, her voice ringing out with absolute finality. "Sign the papers. Stop wasting the remaining fragments of our lives."

In this exact second, her resolve was an iron wall; she wanted nothing more than to sever the ties binding her to his rot, step clear of the wreckage, and begin reclaiming her life from the ashes.

Chapter 21

The divorce cooling-off period stretched out like a standard buffer zone, lingering right between Clara and Ethan's shattered marriage.

During this particular stretch of time, Clara chose to head to London entirely on her own, desperate to follow the fleeting spark of memory that had recently been reawakened within her.

The last time Ethan had eagerly discussed taking an international vacation, his enthusiastic words had been like stones cast into the quiet waters of her heart, stirring up endless ripples—most notably, resurrecting her deep, artistic longing to stand outside the Tower of London and watch the changing of the royal guard.

Reclaiming memories of her university days, whenever she was free from lectures, Clara had rarely confined herself to the dense rows of the campus libraries; instead, she had loved nothing more than wandering through the charming, historic lanes tucked away near the ancient landmarks of the city.

Every weathered stone and ancient tree in those quarters seemed to carry the weight of historical memory, and every single time she strolled through them, a profound sense of peace and exquisite beauty would settle into her chest.

For this particular journey, Clara had reached out well in advance to reserve a private room at a boutique bed-and-breakfast run by a familiar face.