Chapter 3

Sloane spent almost the entire night tossing and turning with her brows furrowed. Half-asleep, she felt a warm hand gently rest on her forehead, smoothing out her frown. The hand carried a faint scent of lime, dispelling the unpleasant odors around her. Sunlight streamed through the window. It illuminated Wilder, who was slumped over at her bedside. He was still wearing the same shirt from before. This was the sight Sloane saw when she opened her eyes. She stirred slightly, and Wilder immediately snapped awake. "Sloane?" Wilder muttered. Sloane responded softly. As she looked at his gentle and refined features, her heart gradually eased. "Sloane, are you still feeling unwell? I'll get the doctor." Before she could speak, Wilder had already darted out of the room. She was with Wilder only to get back at Easton. Wilder was a physics graduate student at Jemning University. Their acquaintance was not coincidental. It was Sloane who deliberately sought him out. Wilder was easy to read and obedient; whatever he wanted was written plainly in his eyes. When Sloane mentioned she liked succulents, Wilder personally grew some and gave them to her. Even though he had no experience, he was willing to learn. He remembered everything about Sloane. Wilder visibly relaxed after the doctor's check-up. He gently took Sloane's hand as if it were a treasure and spoke softly. "Do you still feel unwell, Sloane?" Sloane shook her head slightly. A knock on the door broke the tender atmosphere. Josh entered with a document in hand and placed it in front of Sloane. "Ms. Sedberry, are you sure you want a divorce?" Josh asked. Sloane took the pen and signed her name decisively. "I'd rather have nothing than a marriage like this," she replied coldly. Back home, she hadn't even pushed the door open before a sweet, playful voice rang out from inside. A surge of anger welled up within Sloane, and her grip on the door tightened unconsciously. Inside, Easton stood with an apron tied around his waist. He was holding a plate of strawberries. A woman dressed in Chanel's spring haute couture sat on the couch. Her dark hair was casually pinned up, and when she smiled, dimples appeared on her cheeks. Sloane recognized her from the photos. Keke. Juice from the strawberries had splattered all over Sloane's favorite couch, which was the final masterpiece of a renowned designer from Hrane. The couch was ruined. Sloane strode forward. Holding back her fury, she yanked Keke off the couch. "Ah!" As Keke softly fell backward, Easton rushed to catch her. He cradled her. "Keke! Are you okay?" Worry filled his eyes as he gazed at the woman in his arms. Keke pouted pitifully and shook her head. "I'm fine, Easton." "Sloane! What the hell are you doing?" Easton demanded angrily while carefully helping Keke to another couch. Sloane ran her fingers over the irreversible stains on the couch. Seeing her delicate movements, Easton scoffed. "It's just an old couch! Did you really have to drag Keke off of it over this?" An old couch, he said. Sloane felt like her heart had been pricked by a thousand needles. That couch was something Easton had personally arranged to be flown in from overseas. Every detail of the villa had been meticulously curated by the two of them together. Now, Easton said that it was just an old couch. Sloane was the only one still stubbornly clinging to the past. She slowly turned back, meeting Easton's angry gaze. Then, she pulled out the divorce papers from her bag and handed them over. "If it doesn't matter to you, then pay me for it." Easton snatched the papers and signed his name without hesitation. "You're the only one who would care about an old couch!"