When Lucian Crowther first joined the company, I donated a million to his department just so he could have a better working environment and an easier start. Everyone in the hospital — from the director to the nurses — knew how much I doted on him.
And maybe that’s why they all thought they could threaten me with his name.
But now? My love for Lucian was dead and buried.
Threatening me with him was laughable.
That night, I was just about to send the divorce agreement, freshly drafted by the legal department, when I saw Ivy’s IG Stories.
Candlelit dinner. Red wine. Steak. Heart-shaped hand signs.
And then, the one that made my blood run cold — Lucian’s back in the Medical Affairs Office, deleting surveillance footage.
Her caption read:
“Today I made a huge mistake on the operating table. If you hadn’t taken the blame for me, I might never graduate. I can’t repay you, so I can only give you my body ️”
I let out a short, cold laugh and hit “like.”
Screenshot. Saved.
Another piece of evidence for my collection.
Then I casually sent him the divorce agreement.
“Look over it. If you’re fine with it, come back and sign.”
Less than a minute later, my phone rang.