Chapter 1

On the day we celebrated three years of marriage, I cunningly persuaded my spouse, Benedict Gabor, to put his signature on divorce documents.

My motivation stemmed from a medical diagnosis: stomach cancer with a life expectancy of only three months.

Benedict assumed I was just acting out. Irritated but unconcerned, he signed the papers before whisking his beloved Tylor Gabor away for a luxurious trip abroad.

When the reality of the situation finally dawned on him, Benedict employed various tactics - intimidation, manipulation, and even retaliation - in an attempt to win me back.

However, his efforts were in vain. The only farewell he received was at my memorial service, through a pre-recorded video message I had prepared.

"Benedict," my voice began on the recording, composed and unwavering, "if you're viewing this, it means I've passed away..."

It was on that day that the once-formidable and steadfast Benedict finally crumbled, losing his grip on reality.

---

I realized it was the end when I ended up in the hospital due to a bleeding ulcer caused by overwork. At that exact moment, Benedict was at our house, putting on a private fireworks display for Tylor in the garden.

When journalists thrust their microphones at me, I managed a weak smile despite my pale, worn-out appearance.

"Please don't jump to conclusions," I stated. "Everything's fine between Benedict and me. The woman you saw with him is just a relative."

The reporters looked skeptical, their faces clearly showing their doubt and contempt.

To be fair, I wasn't entirely dishonest. Tylor wasn't Benedict's actual cousin, but rather an orphan his family had taken in.

Our marriage had always been a strategic business alliance. Benedict had played his part well until Tylor reappeared three months ago.

Since then, he'd been inseparable from her, seemingly forgetting he had a wife.

The media's portrayal of him as the "ideal husband" was nothing more than an illusion.

That evening, while the entire household staff was setting up fireworks for Tylor, I repeatedly tried to contact Benedict. He never picked up.

Left with no alternative, I checked myself out of the hospital and took a taxi home.

The house was buzzing with festivities, with colorful fireworks lighting up the night sky. I entered the yard, feeling cold and quiet, completely out of place in the midst of the celebration.

In the backyard, illuminated by the fireworks, I saw Benedict fixing Tylor's hair and feeding her cake.

Suddenly, I felt like an intruder.

Fallen leaves carpeted the ground. As I walked on them, they made soft crunching sounds.

Tylor spotted me first. She leapt from Benedict's embrace like a startled hare, her delicate features feigning innocence.

"Kendra!" she cried out, her voice quavering. "Don't misinterpret this! We're just celebrating the company's comeback!"

Really? A celebration? For the company's revival?

Was she being serious?

The company had indeed recovered, but she played absolutely no part in its resurgence.

As I cast a scornful look at them, Benedict rushed towards me, shielding Tylor as if she were a precious gem.

"Kendra, can you stop with the emotionless expression?" he barked, his tone harsh and annoyed.

"Enough with the act of innocence for the cameras. Aren't you tired of it?"

"What are you after? My compassion? My sympathy? Keep dreaming!"

Behind him, Tylor clung to his arm, her eyes brimming with fake tears.

"Benedict, please calm down," she murmured, shaking. "You're frightening me."

The scene was ridiculous, like a melodrama unfolding in my own home. But I was too drained to engage in this theatrics.

To their astonishment, I forced a smile and approached them. "Benny," I said gently, my voice filled with practiced sweetness, "don't be angry. I didn't misunderstand anything. I just wanted to remind you... it's my birthday today. I know you've been preoccupied and probably forgot, but it's alright. I don't hold it against you."

For a moment, he was stunned. A flicker of guilt crossed his face before quickly being replaced by his usual indifference.

"Birthday?" he repeated, scoffing. "Didn't you always claim to hate celebrating your birthday?"

Yes, I used to say that. My mother had died while giving birth to me. My birthday coincided with the anniversary of her death.

My father, who idolized her, would spend each year commemorating her passing with elaborate ceremonies. For years, I avoided birthday celebrations.

But Benedict had once changed that. During the first two years of our marriage, he'd celebrated with me, helping me overcome the shadow of grief.

I could still recall his gentle words, whispered in my ear with a warm smile.

"Kendra, from now on, you'll never feel alone on your birthday. You're not a curse. You're my lucky charm."

Looking at him now, standing in front of me to protect Tylor, I realized those words had long since become meaningless.

But it no longer hurt. He was unaware that I had already tricked him into signing divorce papers a week ago.