“Alright, let’s drop the Cruella issue for now.”
“Oh, right. Sign this.”
He spoke casually. “A deal I just closed today. The process is a bit rushed.”
Cruella’s issue wasn’t urgent. He didn’t really believe I’d stop caring about her anyway. He just assumed I was saying things out of anger.
This so-called deal, on the other hand, mattered.
If this were before, I wouldn’t even have opened the contract.
I never interfered in his career. I just signed, transferred money, and took responsibility when things went wrong.
This time, I didn’t bother reading it either.
Because I already knew that this wasn’t a goddamn business contract at all.
It was a fucking divorce agreement dressed up as one.
Judging by his reaction, he probably hadn’t realized yet that the contents of that agreement had already been revised.
When he saw me sign, his shoulders visibly relaxed. His voice softened immediately, compliments spilling out.
“If this goes through, we’ll make a lot of money.”
“Honey, when it’s done, I’ll make it up to you. A proper wedding this time—big, formal, invite everyone.”
“You’ve always regretted not having one, haven’t you? I’ll make it up to you.”
Seven years ago, when we got married, he had nothing.