"Rhea... aren’t you going to ask me why?"

Leila wiped away her tears, helped Rhea to the sofa, and went to pour her a glass of water.

Rhea replied, "Sean told me you two argued about children, and you didn’t come home last night. Does he still not want kids?"

Leila shook her head. "It’s me this time. He wants me to quit my job and stay home to prepare for pregnancy—to be a good housewife."

"How is he even more old-fashioned than I am?" Rhea said sharply. "Did he get promoted and start thinking he’s above you now? How dare he look down on you like this? Once your project is announced, people will be lining up to meet you. He thinks you’re just a maid? You are our most cherished treasure!"

Leila’s eyes stung, and before she could stop herself, the truth slipped out. "That’s not the real reason, Rhea. The person he loves isn’t me. He married me just to provoke Sarah Lynch. Unfortunately, she didn’t show up on our wedding day, and his plan backfired."

"Who is that?" The name sounded familiar to Rhea. She thought for a moment, then asked, "Isn’t she Jacobs’ granddaughter? The one who studied abroad?"

"Yes." Leila nodded.

"How did you find out about that?"

"I overheard it."

Leila briefly explained what she’d heard. Before she could finish, Rhea had already grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

"He’s gone too far. I’m taking you to the best lawyer in the country. We’ll draft the divorce papers and make him sign them immediately."

The agreement was indeed drawn up very quickly. The freshly printed pages were still warm, but they felt scalding in Leila’s hands. She stared at them for a long time before finally signing her name.

After leaving the law firm, she and Rhea went shopping and had dinner together. Only when night had fully fallen did Leila return home alone, stepping out into the cold wind.

The lights in the house were on. Sean was home—and he wasn’t alone. The entire Sinclair family was there, too.

Cecilia wasn’t badly injured, so she didn’t have to stay overnight at the hospital. She hated the smell of disinfectant and the hospital food, so she’d decided to move into her brother’s house and expected Leila to take care of her.

The moment they arrived and saw the red handprint on Sean’s face, the Sinclair family exploded.

"Was it Leila? Was it her?" Loretta’s voice rose sharply. But her son’s silence confirmed her suspicion—he was always defensive. "You think we can’t figure it out just because you stay quiet? No one would dare slap you but her! You’re at the highest position in the company, just below the board. Sarah is too gentle to do this to you. So it was Leila, wasn’t it?"

"Sean! How dare Leila do this to you?" Cecilia immediately jumped to his defense, her tone vicious. "You give her food, clothes, and a roof over her head. What more does she want? How dare she lay a hand on you! I’ll make her pay when I see her again!"

Cecilia had always been full of petty schemes, especially when it came to people she disliked—and she had a particular focus on her "incompetent" sister-in-law.

Henry snapped, "Did Leila really do this to you?"

Sean replied, "I hit her too."

Loretta said, "She deserved it! I’ve never seen a woman who dares to strike her own husband."

Cecilia became even more indignant. "Exactly! There’s nothing wrong with Sean teaching her a lesson! Leila would never have reached people of our class if she hadn’t met Sean!"

"Sean," Henry said after a moment of thought, "You need to divorce her."

Sean frowned. "What?"

Leila lowered her gaze at the doorway. She clutched the divorce papers in her hand when she heard that—that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted a divorce too.

But then she heard Sean’s voice cut through the room. "No. I can’t."

"What do you mean, no?" Loretta’s head throbbed with frustration. "Have you been bewitched by that woman? Why are you so stubborn? There are so many outstanding women around you—like Sarah. Why are you so fixated on Leila?"

Cecilia pressed immediately. "Sean, don’t you want to divorce Leila and marry Sarah? You two were always so close. Even if it was never official, everyone could see it."

A cold, mocking smile tugged at the corner of Leila’s mouth. She was well aware that Sean would never allow Sarah to be dragged into something as messy as marriage.

Henry asked, "Are you worried that a divorce will affect your reputation at the company? But you’ve never brought her to any official events—not even the annual gala. Very few people even know you’re married, let alone who your wife is. There’s no issue on that front."

After seeing how Sarah treated Sean, the Sinclair family no longer wanted Leila as a daughter-in-law and was firmly set on pushing for a divorce.

But Sean refused. "I’m not getting a divorce, and don’t let Leila hear any of this."

With that, he stood up and went into the study, shutting the door behind him and cutting off the family’s nagging.

They thought he must be deeply in love with Leila. But only Leila knew the real reason for his refusal—he wouldn’t be able to find another free, on-call maid after the divorce. Leila might not have been a professional chef, but over the years, she had cooked so well that Sean had grown used to her food.

Leila put the divorce papers away. She was going to divorce him whether Sean wanted it or not. Even if it meant she had to do it on the sly.

She waited until the air in the house calmed down before pressing the keypad code and walking in.

All eyes turned to her at once when they heard movement at the doorway. Their faces darkened instantly.

Cecilia spoke first. "Leila, you’re late. We’re all starving—especially my brother. He gets stomach issues if he doesn’t eat on time."

Then she noticed the pink bunny slippers on Leila’s feet, and her lips curled in disgust.

"Leila, you’re almost thirty. Why are you still dressing like a little girl? Pink slippers... so childish."

Leila shifted her feet slightly and glanced down at the slippers. She didn’t think they were childish.

They were simply a gift of kindness from someone else.

People who grew up in an orphanage and only knew how to bury themselves in books like her didn’t usually receive much kindness from others. So she cherished every small gesture of kindness given to her—and she wasn’t about to discard them.

Loretta didn’t bother dwelling on the slippers, instead urging her to make dinner, stressing, "Make it light. Go easy on the salt." Henry had high blood pressure and needed that kind of food.

"Understood." Leila walked straight into the kitchen, pulled out her phone, and ordered takeout, adding a note requesting "light and low-salt."

They lived close to the city center, near a commercial and dining district, so the delivery arrived quickly.

When the doorbell rang and Loretta opened the door to see the deliveryman, she was completely stunned.

Leila, meanwhile, walked casually to the study door and knocked as she always did, calling out, "Dinner’s ready."

Only this time, her tone was flat. Before, when she had food ready, she would always announce it cheerfully. Then the door would open almost immediately, and Sean would step out and say, "Thanks for your hard work."

But this time, when Sean opened the door, the words didn’t come. The next moment, their eyes met, and they noticed the marks on each other’s faces. Neither said a word—it looked like neither of them had the interest to start a conversation.

"Sean, come eat the... takeout Leila ordered," Loretta said sarcastically as she set down the plates and cutlery.

Sean frowned. "Takeout? Was there nothing to cook in the fridge? I wanted the fish soup you make."

"There is fish soup," Leila replied and turned away.

Sean reached out instinctively to stop her, but withdrew his hand, following behind her with obvious displeasure.

The takeout on the table completely killed Sean’s appetite. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and now there was no proper dinner either. His patience was wearing thin. "Leila, when can you stop being so spoiled?"

"I just didn’t cook dinner," Leila said evenly. "Does that have anything to do with being spoiled? Was I born to serve you food?"

Sean was stuck for words.

Leila picked up her cutlery and began eating. "If you don’t like takeout, you should hire a maid."

Cecilia immediately shot back, "Why hire a maid? Don’t we already have—"

’You?’

"Yeah, we have one at home," Leila interrupted, glancing at Henry and Loretta, who were still watching her with obvious disapproval, and said with a slight twitch of her lips, "If you’re worried about Sean not having good food, you can let him use your maid."

"Leila!" Sean snapped. But when she turned back, and he saw her still-swollen cheek, his anger faltered. He forced himself to lower his tone. "Watch your words with Mom and Dad."

There was no question that Sean respected his parents and cared about his sister. But his gentleness didn’t extend to his wife—nor did his love.

Leila stayed silent after that.

After dinner, Henry and Loretta left. Cecilia followed them home when she realized she might only be eating takeout if she stayed.

That night, Leila fell into thought. She needed to find a way to avoid sharing a room with Sean—while also getting him to sign the divorce papers.

Then the sound of footsteps approached, and her body tensed. At that moment, however, Sean’s phone rang.

’Perfect timing,’ she thought.

"Someone’s calling," Leila said, picking it up and turning around—only to come face to face with Sean, who was in a bathrobe. "It’s Sarah."

The moment he saw the name, Sean turned and stepped out to take the call. He returned less than a minute later and said he needed to go out for an emergency.

"Okay," Leila replied, her lips pressed together.

Sean studied her face for a moment and said, "Don’t get the wrong idea. We’re just friends. You’re my wife."

"I know. Just go ahead," she answered flatly.

...

In the middle of the night, however, a loud clatter came from the kitchen, followed by a crash. Leila got up, yawning, and walked out—only to find a woman leaning against the sofa in the living room.

A woman.

The woman looked up at the sound of footsteps. Her lips were pale, and one hand pressed against her belly, clearly in pain from her period. "Leila? Did Sean wake you?"

Leila froze. So he had really brought that woman home like this.

"I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I live far from my family, and I don’t really have anyone I can call. I had no choice but to bother Sean. I didn’t expect him to bring me here, and even make me brown sugar water and noodles."

Leila could hear the smugness in her voice. But what surprised her even more was that Sean actually knew how to cook.

From the kitchen came the soft bubbling of a simmering pot, and the faint sweetness of brown sugar filled the air. Sean stood by the stove in an apron, a spatula in one hand and an egg in the other, clearly uncertain.

He muttered under his breath, "Why do these fried eggs always get burned?"

So this was what Sean looked like when he was in love, Leila thought. Not so composed—more like an inexperienced young man, willing to do things he normally wouldn’t.

He hated cooking. He couldn’t stand the smell of oil smoke. That was why he had turned down her idea of an open kitchen when they renovated the apartment. And why she had always kept the kitchen door closed before serving the food onto the table.

"Don’t you see it yet, Leila?" Sarah stepped closer to her side and spoke in a triumphant tone, practically gloating. "Sean only loves me. You’re just... what he picked up to pass the time while I was away. Like a bathroom magazine."