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Chapter 1 I Want A Divorce

The TV news blared, "Breaking news: Celebrity dancer Elaine Jensen caught entering and leaving a hotel with a man intimately. Looks like their love went public."

Chiara Lynch glanced up, instantly recognizing the guy in the photo—her husband, Titus Goodman.

"Ouch!" She looked down at her finger, which she'd just accidentally sliced with a knife, and stuck it in her mouth.

Other people might not recognize him, but Chiara was certain. After all, she'd been loving him since high school.

The past few days made sense now. While she'd been losing sleep and worrying about her grandfather's declining health, he'd been playing around with some dancer.

Just then, the hospital room door swung open. Chiara turned and saw Titus, whom she hadn't seen in two weeks. She froze, unsure how to react.

Titus glanced at her before stepping inside, his eyes landing on Chiara's grandfather, Marcus, who lay unconscious on the bed.

"I've arranged for a top specialist from abroad. He'll be here tomorrow," Titus said, his voice flat.

Chiara dropped her gaze, mumbled a quiet "thanks," and fell silent.

Titus paused, caught off guard by her silence. Finally, he looked at her.

Right then, the news report played again in the background. He didn't even glance up—he'd already seen it earlier.

He just arched a brow, reached out, and tilted her chin up.

"You're angry?" he asked, his deep eyes studying her delicate features.

Chiara's eyes wavered. Exhaustion was written all over her—pale skin, thinner frame. Forced to meet his gaze, she looked fragile and broken.

For a split second, she almost blurted out, "Do I even have the right to be angry?" But she caught herself.

"No..." she whispered, barely audible.

Titus' gaze darkened as he took in her vulnerability. Leaning closer, he lifted her chin, his fingers tracing her skin.

"Then what's with this sad puppy look?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of teasing in it.

Chiara knew him too well, and she could sense his foul mood instantly.

For three years as Mrs. Goodman, she'd been the perfect wife, always careful, gentle, never pushing back.

That was why he'd kept her around, and why their marriage had lasted this long.

Titus looked at her lips—a faint red against her tender skin. His gaze grew heavier, his thumb pressing against those lips.

Chiara's breath caught, her lashes fluttering as she looked up, meeting his unreadable eyes.

She knew exactly what that look meant. After a brief hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and leaned in.

Titus narrowed his eyes, lifting her onto his lap. One hand cradled her head, the other locked around her waist.

His kiss was as intense as he was, demanding, possessive. Within moments, Chiara was breathless, her clothes disheveled.

When his hand started wandering, she grabbed his wrist, her breathing ragged.

"Not here, please," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Titus got the message. He wasn't into hospital hookups either. Without missing a beat, he carried her into the next room.

Soon, an hour of passion passed.

Chiara sat against the bed while gripping the sheets, watching as Titus walked out of the bathroom.

His clothes were just a little rumpled, his face still as handsome and cold as ever, like he hadn't gone wild for her moments ago.

Meanwhile, she looked utterly disheveled, a total wreck compared to him.

Adjusting his cuffs, Titus glanced her way. "Ready to go home?"

Chiara nodded, but something was still on her mind. "Titus, we need to talk..."

Before she could finish, Titus's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, answered, and within seconds, his face darkened. He hung up and headed for the door.

Chiara knew who called, and of course, he wasn't sticking around to hear her out.

"Honey, I..." she started.

Titus had already yanked open the hospital door. Without looking back, he tossed out a cold line. "I'll have someone send the money later."

Chiara didn't try to stop him. She just watched as he walked away.

An hour later, Paul Lambert, Titus' assistant, arrived. "Mrs. Goodman, here's the check you requested," he said.

Chiara stared at the check, her arm feeling like a dead weight. They were married. Yet right after being intimate, he sent his assistant to drop off a check.

Just then, the TV blared another breaking story: Elaine's boyfriend was Titus, CEO of Goodman Group. He'd personally swept her away from reporters at the airport.

Paul caught the news and awkwardly glanced at Chiara.

"Um, the check..." he mumbled, hesitating.

Chiara forced a wry smile, looked up at him, and finally took the check. "Feels like I'm getting paid for sex."

Paul was stunned. 'How do I even respond to this? Even though she's out of favor, she's still Mrs. Goodman.'

He cleared his throat and said carefully, "Mrs. Goodman, you can't be serious. You're Mr. Goodman's legal wife."

"Legal wife?" Chiara scoffed. "Who even knows that?"

Paul went silent, feeling awkward. He quickly made an excuse and slipped away.

Chiara gripped the check and called her elder sister. "Heather, I got the money," she said.

There was a brief silence before Heather finally called, "Chiara."

"Yeah?"

Heather's voice turned serious. "If you're hurting, if you can't take this anymore, you can always leave. I've got your back, no matter what."

Chiara's eyes welled up. "Got it."

*****

Marcus's surgery went smoothly. To keep him from worrying, Chiara tried calling Titus again.

Normally, he never answered. But this time, he picked up.

"What's up?" he asked, his voice cool.

Chiara looked over at Marcus, who was smiling at her from the bed, and said softly, "Grandpa's awake. Can you come by the hospital?"

A woman's voice cut in, "Titus, how does this look?"

Chiara went silent. The call cut off, and she gripped her phone tighter.

"What's wrong? Is Titus not coming?" Marcus asked, worried.

Chiara shook her head, stepped forward, and gently held his frail hand, her tone soft and comforting. "Don't worry. He promised he'd visit tomorrow."

After Marcus fell asleep, Chiara couldn't bring herself to call Titus again. She sent a text, hoping he'd show up the next day.

But he never came. She waited from sunrise to sunset, and nothing.

Afraid she'd break down under Marcus' concerned gaze, she quickly made an excuse and slipped out.

'I practically begged him. He could've just come for a few minutes, but he didn't,' Chiara thought, a bitter sting in her chest.

Suddenly, she heard sharp heels approaching. She lifted her head and looked over.

Elaine strutted over, dressed in a fire-engine red dress. Her long hair cascaded in perfect waves, moving with total confidence.

Chiara's grip on her phone tightened.

She'd always known about Elaine—and maybe Elaine knew about her too. But this was their first real encounter.

'What's she doing here?' Chiara wondered.

Elaine walked straight up to Chiara, hand extended. "Hi, Ms. Lynch. I'm Elaine. You know who I am, right?"

Chiara stared at that smug, challenging smile on Elaine's face. She almost found it funny, but couldn't even force a smile.

'What the hell is this?' she thought, her heart sinking.

Elaine didn't flinch when Chiara ignored her outstretched hand. Instead, she looked Chiara up and down with a little chuckle. "Titus is swamped, so I'm here to check on your grandpa for him."

'He sent Elaine here to see my grandpa?' Chiara's face turned ghostly pale, humiliation burning in her chest.

She shut her eyes for a second, her voice tinged with bitter resignation. "No need. Please leave."

Elaine curled her lips into a smug smile. "Let's be real—Titus is totally into me. He only married you because he had to. Do yourself a favor and stay out of our way."

Chiara's chest tightened. But before she could get a word out, Marcus' trembling voice came from the doorway. "Chiara, is what she said true?"

Chiara spun around, panic flooding her eyes. "No, Grandpa—"

But it was too late. Overwhelmed, Marcus collapsed.

"Grandpa!"

*****

Doctors rushed Marcus to the ER. Chiara stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. The thought of losing Marcus was unbearable.

Three years ago, a car accident had already stolen her parents. She couldn't bear losing another loved one.

Chiara turned to the rattled Elaine, rage building. She raised her hand to strike, but a big hand intervened, even sending her crashing to the floor.

"Titus?" Elaine whispered, her voice soft.

Chiara looked up to see Titus standing protectively in front of Elaine. The pain sliced through her chest. She looked away, unable to watch.

'Could I be any more pathetic?' she thought bitterly.

Titus had arrived just as everything went down. Instinctively blocking Chiara's slap, he'd accidentally knocked her to the ground.

He looked down—her face was ghostly pale, eyes red-rimmed, looking so fragile she might shatter at any moment. He frowned, about to help her up.

Just then, Elaine pressed closer and said gently, "Titus, I'm sure Ms. Lynch didn't mean to. Don't be upset."

Chiara kept her head down. Suddenly, she glanced at the ER sign and pushed herself up.

"No," she spat, "I absolutely meant to."

Elaine tried to hide her smug smile, while Titus shot Chiara a glacial stare.

Chiara let out a self-mocking laugh, jabbing a finger at herself. "Wasn't I your perfect little doormat all these years?"

Titus's face turned to stone, his voice razor-sharp. "Do you even realize what you're saying?"

Chiara stared at the man she'd once loved for ages. From head-over-heels to totally numb—she was done. Hurt, drained, and just couldn't keep going.

Her hands unclenched, her voice flat. "I want a divorce."

Chapter 2 I'm Not Mrs. Goodman

Not only Titus, but even Elaine was caught off guard, shock flickering across her face.

Chiara ignored them completely, focused solely on the ER doors.

Titus's face was grim, a vein throbbing on his forehead. But his eyes were as cold and indifferent as ever.

Just as he was about to step forward, the ER doors swung open.

A doctor came out, looking surprised to see the three of them in the hallway. After a brief pause, he greeted, "Mr. and Mrs. Goodman."

Elaine bit her lip at the mention of "Mrs. Goodman."

Chiara rushed straight forward and grabbed the doctor's hand, her voice urgent. "How's my grandpa?"

The doctor sighed heavily, "Mr. Lynch is quite elderly. Even though the surgery went okay, he needs total rest—no stress, no excitement.

"He's stable for now, but I can't guarantee when he'll wake up. Could be tomorrow, could be... never."

Chiara felt like she'd been plunged into ice. The word "never" flooded her mind.

Titus's eyes hardened. He glanced at Chiara, only to see her stumble slightly—then crumple to the floor.

"Mrs. Goodman!" the doctor shouted in alarm.

Titus's face darkened as he rushed over, scooping her into his arms. He gently touched her cold cheek, his expression turning somber.

"What are you standing there for?" he barked, lifting her up.

Elaine watched, her face clouded. "Titus..."

Titus shot her a sideways glance and said coolly, "Handle the rest with Paul."

"But I..." Elaine tried to say more, but Titus had already carried Chiara away. She watched, fists clenched in frustration.

'Isn't Chiara just his side piece? Why does he even care about her?' she thought, her face twisting with a mix of anger and confusion.

*****

Chiara had a nightmare, where she was back at the horrific car crash, her parents lying in a pool of blood. Her screams echoed uselessly.

Her parents, once powerful and unbreakable, died together in that crash. And Marcus fell into a shock-induced coma.

The Lynch family almost collapsed overnight. Vultures from other powerful families circled, ready to devour Lynch Group.

The company was her parents' life's work. Chiara couldn't just let it fall apart.

With no other options, she'd gone to Titus. If she had to marry to survive, she'd pick the man she'd always wanted.

Their marriage was a transaction from the start. Titus married her—the disgraced heiress—to keep his family happy. Chiara married him to save her family's legacy, becoming the perfect wife.

For three years, she'd done everything "right." But she wasn't happy, not even a little.

She used to hope that if Titus married her, he might care—even just a little.

But on their wedding night, he made it painfully clear: he didn't love her, and she didn't matter to him at all.

She spent her wedding night all alone, while he jetted off to spend it with someone else.

Ever since that night, she locked her feelings away where no one could ever find them.

But hearts weren't made of stone. She still loved him, and that only made the pain cut deeper.

Chiara blinked against the harsh lights, pushed herself up, and tried to get out of bed.

Titus firmly pressed her back down by the shoulders. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

Chiara stayed silent, trying to push him away.

Titus held her firmly. "Stay put. Don't move."

Chiara finally looked up at him. "Let me go. I need to see Grandpa."

Titus looked at her puffy, red eyes, his voice softer than usual. "He's fine. They've moved him back to his room."

Chiara stopped fighting and closed her eyes.

Titus looked down at her, and Chiara could feel his gaze on her.

"Why are you still here?" she rasped, her voice nothing like her usual gentle whisper.

Titus found her tone harsh. He preferred it when she called him "honey" in that soft, delicate way of hers.

"Trying to get rid of me?" he asked, tightening his grip.

Chiara's shoulders ached. She blinked her eyes open and looked at him—same icy face.

'Why did he have to be so cold to me?' she thought bitterly.

After a pause, she said, "You heard what I said earlier, right?"

Titus knew what she meant. He gave a low laugh, let go of her shoulders, and dropped into the chair behind him.

"You mean divorce?" he asked.

"Yeah." Chiara slowly leaned back, avoiding his eyes. Somehow, her heart raced.

Titus narrowed his eyes, taking in her bloodless face and trembling lashes—this wasn't just an emotional outburst.

A cold, mocking smirk curled across his lips. "What, you're gonna pretend you didn't throw yourself at me that night?"

Chiara froze, her breathing shallow.

She didn't want to remember that night three years ago—desperate and rejected by everyone, she'd chased his car, followed him to a hotel.

Soaked to the bone, she'd looked like a miserable stray caught in a downpour.

Back then, Titus flicked his lighter and asked casually, "Ever been in love?"

"Nah," she whispered.

"Ms. Lynch, you know I've got no shortage of women. Even if I wanted some arm candy at home, why would I choose you?" Titus sneered.

Somehow, she found the courage to step closer, moving shakily toward him under his mocking gaze.

Titus suddenly tilted Chiara's chin up. She snapped back to reality, meeting his eyes.

"Divorce? Are you serious?" Titus asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Chiara tried to look away, but he gripped her chin, forcing her to stay. "Yes," she said, her voice shaking but firm.

Titus's eyes darkened. He fixed his gaze on her, his voice sharp. "Say that again."

"I want a divorce," Chiara repeated.

Titus suddenly leaned in, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His intention was crystal clear, and Chiara instinctively backed away.

"No, Titus, I don't want this. Don't touch me, please."

"Be good, Mrs. Goodman. If you make me happy, maybe I'll let this slide."

The word "Mrs. Goodman" coming from his mouth just sounded so harsh to Chiara.

She struggled hard, but she was no match for his strength. Finally, she broke, screaming through tears, "No! I'm not Mrs. Goodman! I'm nothing but a plaything to you—just stop!"

Titus froze, his face dark. He forced her to look up at him. Her tear-stained face made something catch in his throat.

"Congratulations on finally getting it," he sneered.

He let out a cold, ambiguous laugh and patted her tear-streaked cheek. "Since you think you are just a plaything..."

Chapter 3 Got The Divorce Papers Yet?

Chiara was so powerless that Titus had his way with her in the end.

Afterward, Chiara looked utterly disheveled. Her pale face was flushed with a hint of crimson, her eyes lined as if by makeup, and her trembling lashes were devastatingly alluring to Titus.

His gaze grew intense as he gently swept the damp, sticky hair from her cheek. He still wanted more, but he knew she couldn't handle it today.

He was actually feeling pretty good. Compared to their usual encounters, this had been more intense—and he liked it.

Before, he'd always held back because she was so delicate. But as a man, he preferred things a bit rougher.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly. "What do you want to eat?"

Chiara remained silent, too intimidated to speak.

Titus could tell she was truly scared. That poor, helpless look of hers softened his heart slightly.

He kissed the back of her hand, then called Lindsay, their maid, to bring over some food.

After tidying up, Titus was about to help Chiara freshen up too. But right then, his phone rang.

He picked it up, listened, and frowned, "Got it."

After hanging up, he looked over at Chiara, who was lying on the bed with her back to him.

Unusually, instead of just walking away, he told her, "I need to step out. Lindsay will be here soon."

Chiara's eyes flickered, but she remained silent.

Titus watched her for a moment before leaving.

He figured she'd cool off if given space. He knew her well enough—she wasn't the type to make a scene.

Only after his footsteps faded and the door closed did Chiara open her eyes. She clutched the blanket, crying silently.

The moment Lindsay entered, she understood what had happened. She set down the food and approached the bed. "Chiara, you okay?"

Chiara finally stirred, her voice raspy. "Could you please help me to the bathroom?"

Lindsay had worked for the couple for three years. But honestly, it felt like she'd basically been Chiara's personal servant.

Seeing Chiara's condition, Lindsay couldn't hold back. "Mr. Goodman is too much! How could he treat you like this?"

"I'm okay."

"Where is Mr. Goodman?"

Chiara stayed quiet, but Lindsay already knew the answer.

"Unbelievable," she muttered. "He'd always leave right after we did that. What does he even think home is?"

'Well, just his personal hookup spot,' Chiara thought bitterly.

After dinner, Chiara sent Lindsay home and headed to Marcus' hospital room to keep watch.

She'd practically lived at the hospital over the past years.

Titus rarely came home, and Chiara avoided their place too. The house felt massive and cold, and she preferred staying at the hospital with Marcus.

But no matter how much she wanted to stay, she had to go home at night whenever Marcus was lucid.

She pulled out her phone, hesitating over whether to call Heather. Just then, a news alert popped up—one of those random updates she always got.

Without thinking, she clicked in. It turned out to be Elaine's latest post.

The photo was a sea of flowers, so many that they overflowed the coffee table.

The caption was a red heart, which seemed to speak for itself about who sent those flowers.

Chiara closed out of Twitter and called Heather.

"Chiara? Why are you calling so late?"

"I want a divorce."

*****

"Mr. Goodman, delivery from Lynch Group," Paul said as he stepped into the office.

Titus didn't look up, just held out his hand. Paul handed over the documents.

Only then did Titus set down his pen. The moment he saw the contents, his eyes turned glacial.

Paul caught the words "Divorce Agreement" on the cover. His jaw dropped.

'No way. Mrs. Goodman's trying to divorce Mr. Goodman?' he thought, completely stunned.

Titus stared at the document and let out a cold laugh.

Paul looked down, totally shocked. In his mind, Chiara had always been a pushover—never challenging Titus. He never imagined she'd go this far.

Titus pulled out the divorce agreement and skimmed through it.

He'd been casual at first. But when he saw the terms and Chiara's signature, his face turned icy.

He tossed the papers onto his desk with a sneer. "She thinks she's all grown up now, huh?"

With that, he got up from his chair and walked out.

Paul picked up the agreement and skimmed through it, his eyes going wide.

'Holy crap, Mrs. Goodman's gonna leave with nothing?' he thought.

For a moment, he felt a grudging respect for Chiara.

*****

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Chiara's eyes turned cold as Elaine showed up uninvited.

"Didn't get enough of a slap yesterday? Back for round two?" Chiara said, her voice cold and sharp.

Elaine was unfazed by Chiara's hostility. "I'm sorry about yesterday. But I was just being honest. I didn't mean for your grandfather to overhear."

"I'm not accepting your apology," Chiara said, blocking the doorway. "Leave. Now."

Elaine didn't push. She just had her assistant set the supplements down on a nearby chair.

"Alright then," Elaine said casually. "I really didn't mean it yesterday. I was just worried, so I dropped by to see how your grandpa is doing. If you don't care, whatever.

"Oh, and this is Titus's watch—he left it at my place. Can you give it to him?"

Chiara stared at that familiar watch, her chest squeezing tight all of a sudden. But she didn't let it show on her face.

She just looked at Elaine and said, "You two are close enough—you can handle that yourself. Can't help you with that."

With that, she turned to head back into the room.

Elaine drawled, "I've got a flight to Harborton in an hour for a show. Won't be back for days. Titus really loves this watch. Guess you'll have to take care of it. See you."

As Elaine's footsteps faded away, Chiara slowly turned around. She stared at the watch for ages, zoned out completely—so much that she didn't even notice Paul walking in.

"Mrs. Goodman, I'm here to take you home. Mr. Goodman is waiting," Paul said.

Chiara glanced at him, then finally picked up the watch.

Paul saw it but knew better than to say anything.

*****

When Chiara entered, Titus was lounging on the couch—rare for him to be home during the day, especially at this hour.

She gripped the watch in her pocket and went straight to him. "Did you get the divorce agreement?" she asked, not bothering to sit down.

Chapter 4 Probably Didn't Sleep Well

Hearing "divorce" from Chiara again, Titus found his anger had faded, no longer flaring up like before.

He lounged back on the sofa, his eyes quietly fixed on her earnest face. His tone carried a mocking, almost amused smile. "So you're serious about this?"

Chiara tightened her grip on the watch. All she wanted was to settle things quietly between them.

After three years of swallowing her pride, her self-respect was already crushed. One more time wouldn't make a difference.

She hung her head slightly, looking humble—even her voice came out small and meek. "I think there's no point in keeping this going."

Titus narrowed his eyes, his gaze darkening. "No point, huh?"

She leaned forward, setting the watch on the coffee table—right where he'd see it.

Her voice was soft, but carried a cold edge. "I was never who you really wanted. I could never fill that space in your heart."

Titus's face grew even more shadowed. He lit a cigarette. The lighter's click against the table echoed loudly.

No one was around—not even Lindsay. The villa felt empty, like it was just the two of them.

Chiara waited what felt like forever, but he never said a word. She looked up, only to find that he was still staring at her.

He blew a smoke ring, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His long fingers tapped the cigarette almost deliberately.

"I married you to satisfy my body. As for my heart..." he said, his voice low and rough.

Titus stood, walked over, and tilted her chin up with his cigarette hand.

"So you're saying you want more than my money? You want my heart?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was a cold edge to it.

Chiara's eyes widened, and she blurted out, "No, I never—"

"Shh," Titus cut her off.

His finger brushed her lips—soft but controlling. She went silent.

"You've been Mrs. Goodman so long, you've forgotten how things work here. Trying to get a reaction out of me?"

She wanted to scream, "No, I stopped hoping you'd care years ago. I'm not trying to mess with you."

But all she managed to say was, "I just want to step aside for Ms. Jensen."

Titus lifted her chin, glanced at the watch, and let out a mocking laugh. "So you're just jealous, huh?"

Chiara frowned, about to explain.

Titus interrupted her, "I've been ignoring you lately. Since I've got some time now, how about a yacht trip?"

His long fingers moved to her earlobe, pinching it softly. His voice was a low murmur, but sharp with an underlying threat. "Don't mess with me. I don't like it."

"I didn't..."

Titus was done listening to what he didn't like. He claimed her lips in a possessive kiss, his voice low. "Just stay home and wait for me."

His fingers brushed her cheek before he walked away.

Chiara stood there, emptiness spreading through her.

Lindsay approached and asked softly, "Mrs. Goodman, you okay? Mr. Goodman's left."

Chiara met her concerned eyes and shook her head. But she couldn't bring herself to smile, no matter what. "I'm fine," she whispered.

Heading upstairs, she thought, 'Titus thinks this is just a tantrum? Fine. He'll see I'm dead serious.'

Outside the villa, Paul was crouched on the steps, smoking. Hearing footsteps, he jumped up, stubbed out his cigarette, and greeted, "Mr. Goodman."

Titus adjusted his tie and said coolly, "Move tomorrow's meeting to tonight. And tell Mr. Clark the horse race is pushed to next week."

Paul studied Titus secretly, instantly getting the picture. "So, Mr. Goodman, you've made up with Mrs. Goodman? Taking some time off to be with her tomorrow?"

Titus shot him a look, and Paul immediately lowered his head. "Sorry, Mr. Goodman."

Titus just gave a low chuckle. Sliding into the car, he glanced back at the villa. "Prep Yacht 7 for tomorrow," he said quietly.

Paul got the message right away and nodded. "Okay, I'll make sure Mrs. Goodman's taken care of."

That night, Titus still didn't answer whether he agreed to the divorce. As for all that talk about having more time for her, Chiara never bought it for a second.

Maybe he actually had a free moment—Elaine had a show in Halinston. But Chiara knew better than to hope he'd really make time for her.

She tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out how to convince Titus she was dead serious about the divorce—and that it wasn't some joke or jealous tantrum.

Lindsay saw the light on in Chiara's room and knocked softly. "Mrs. Goodman, it's so late. Can't sleep? Want a snack?"

"No thanks, Lindsay. I'll be asleep soon," Chiara replied quietly.

"Alright. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Chiara slept in the next morning. She didn't wake until Lindsay called out, "Mrs. Goodman, are you awake? Paul's here to take you on the yacht."

Chiara sat on her bed, zoning out until Lindsay called again.

She rushed through her morning routine, skipping makeup completely—that was just her style.

It wasn't because she was super confident about her looks. Titus had once said he preferred her without makeup, totally against women who used cosmetics as a way to hide their true selves.

So after that, she never bothered with makeup again, not even a hint.

Her gaze lingered on her reflection in the mirror. The last time she'd put on makeup was the day they signed their marriage papers.

Suddenly, she walked over to the vanity, stared at the makeup she hadn't touched in ages, and slowly picked up an eyebrow pencil.

Paul had been waiting downstairs for nearly an hour—long enough that Titus called to check in.

"Mr. Goodman, yeah, she still hasn't come down," Paul replied.

He glanced at Lindsay and passed her the phone.

Lindsay took it, feeling a bit uneasy. "Mr. Goodman? Yeah, she was up late last night."

When Paul took the phone back, Titus's tone had changed from irritated to weirdly chill. "Guess she was too wound up and couldn't sleep. Let her take her time."

Paul felt speechless. Just as he was about to speak when a sound came from upstairs. He looked up and was completely taken aback.

Right then, Paul almost wanted to say into the phone, "Mr. Goodman, you sure she couldn't sleep?"

Chiara looked nothing like someone who'd been up all night. She was absolutely stunning—so drop-dead gorgeous that Paul couldn't stop staring.

Chapter 5 Why Can't You Behave?

The drive to the beach was pretty long. Paul kept glancing at Chiara's file in the rearview mirror.

Knowing Titus was in a good mood, Paul figured he'd better give Chiara a friendly heads-up—just so he wouldn't get dragged into anything messy.

"Mrs. Goodman, that's not another divorce agreement, right?" he asked.

'Another?' Chiara looked up at the rearview mirror. "So he did get the divorce agreement yesterday?"

Paul cleared his throat. "Mr. Goodman wasn't exactly thrilled after receiving that file, so..."

Chiara caught his drift immediately. She glanced down at the file in her arms and said softly, "Don't worry. It's not divorce papers."

Paul smiled. "That's good, Mrs. Goodman. Mr. Goodman worked overtime and squeezed in extra meetings just to take you out today. He really wants to make you happy. You mean a lot to him."

He said this on purpose. After all, a happy boss meant an easier workday.

But he kind of believed it. If Titus didn't care, he wouldn't have gone out of his way like this.

Something stirred in Chiara's chest. She looked out of the window and whispered, "Really?"

Paul thought of the surprises he'd arranged, then replied with absolute certainty, "Of course."

An hour later, they finally arrived at the beach.

Chiara was so lost in thought she barely noticed anything special about the yacht, nor did she notice Paul making a call.

The yacht was massive and over-the-top luxurious. As she entered the cabin, music started playing. She looked over and saw a band she didn't like at all performing.

"Mrs. Goodman, this way. Mr. Goodman is waiting," a crew member said.

Chiara gripped her file, withdrew her gaze, and nodded slightly.

She followed the crew member into the dining room, and for a moment, she froze—the place had clearly been set up.

Titus had his eyes on her from the moment she stepped in. In her flowing white dress, she looked almost vulnerable—like she was genuinely surprised by the whole setup.

Titus, who'd originally thought the whole setup was a bit over the top, arched an eyebrow. 'Guess my wife really does like it—she's so taken aback she's almost acting silly,' he mused.

He got up and walked over to her. "Like it?"

Chiara blinked a few times, finally coming back to herself. She looked up at him, a little flustered. "You..."

Titus wrapped her gently in his arms and kissed her hair.

"I did all this for you. You like it?" he asked, his voice deep and relaxed, with a hint of casual affection.

Chiara's heart raced, emotions flooding back. Despite everything, she still loved him.

But the stronger those feelings got, the clearer it was to her: he didn't love her back.

He was only trying to please her and making time for her because he thought she was throwing a tantrum.

Chiara took a deep breath and said softly, "Can we talk? I need to tell you something."

Titus guided her to the table, hands on her shoulders. "What do you want to say?"

Chiara watched him sit across from her, her thoughts a jumbled mess. He was stirring up her emotions again.

Seeing her hesitate, Titus smiled, "If you don't feel like talking, let's eat first. We can talk after dinner."

Only then did Chiara notice the spread. But when her gaze swept over the mango pudding, she froze.

Titus caught her staring and figured she must like it. "You like this, too?" he asked, setting the plate right in front of her.

Chiara lowered her eyes, masking her feelings. But under the table, her hands had already clenched into fists.

'Like it? Absolutely not. I hate it,' she thought.

She'd nearly died from a mango pudding as a kid, so she'd avoided mangoes ever since.

'Too? Someone else likes this stuff? If anyone likes it, it's not me,' Chiara thought, a little exasperated.

She stared at the pudding, her emotions slowly settling. She felt a bit stupid—she'd believed there might be something more between them because of his gesture today.

Chiara looked away and handed him the file. "I worked on this all night. You can check if everything looks right."

Titus glanced at the file, the warmth in his eyes fading noticeably. "Are you trying to piss me off again?"

Chiara pressed her lips together and shook her head, her tone calm. "Take a look before you judge, Titus."

Titus narrowed his eyes. "I'd rather you call me 'honey.'"

Chiara glanced away, and before she knew it, Titus had taken the file from her.

But the moment he saw the contents, his expression turned ice-cold.

He lifted his hand, his voice flat. "You spent all night on this?"

Chiara nodded. "Yeah, I've thought about it a lot. You were right—I chased you into this marriage. Now that I'm asking for a divorce, I need to list out everything I owe you.

"I'll sign whatever agreement you want. I'll pay back every cent you invested in Lynch Group, slowly, but completely."

Titus tossed the file onto the table, his eyes cold and distant, all traces of his earlier good mood gone. "So, you're trying to make a clean break with me to get your freedom?"

'He's the one who wants his freedom, isn't he? But that's not the point right now,' Chiara thought.

She asked softly, "Is that okay?"

Titus let out a mocking laugh, got up, and walked over to the bedside, gazing out at the sparkling waves.

Chiara watched his tall, commanding figure, her anxiety spiking in the strange, heavy silence.

"Come here," Titus said.

Chiara hesitated, not daring to go over just yet.

Titus turned to look at her, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he saw right through her unease. "What are you so scared of? Thought you were tough?"

'Otherwise, where did she get the nerve to keep trying to cut ties with me again and again?' he sneered silently.

The more he acted like this, the more anxious Chiara became. Her fingers curled tightly under the table.

Titus waved her over, his voice low. "Come on. You want to settle the score with me, don't you? Let's hash this out good and proper."

Chiara had no choice but to walk over. She'd barely stopped ten yards away when Titus grabbed her and pulled her in close. Her heart raced, and all she could do was look up at him.

Titus looked down, his eyes tracing her carefully lined brows and eyes. "Y wore makeup today?" he chuckled softly.

Chiara went rigid.

Titus traced her brows and eyes with a fingertip, sighing as if disappointed, "Why can't you just behave?"

Before she could react, he spun her around. She instinctively pressed her palms against the window to steady herself.

"W-what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice shaking.

"Settle the score, of course. What do you think I'm gonna do, hmm?" Titus murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Chapter 6 Ms. Jensen Is In Trouble

"Titus!" Chiara growled, her face burning with anger and shame.

Titus' fingers slowly brushed her cheek. Sensing her fear, he let out a half-smile.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that? I hate it," he whispered, leaning in closer.

Chiara looked at his handsome face up close. For the first time, she realized even someone with his fancy background could be this wild and unruly.

"Please," she said nervously. "Can't we just talk?"

Titus lifted her chin. The cold indifference was gone from his face; now there was a faint, menacing edge to it.

He drawled, "Alright then, let's do math. Forget my investments in Lynch Group and the reputation boost. For three years, I've covered your food, clothes, and your grandpa's medical bills. Haven't you counted that in?"

Chiara's face turned pale, but she still spoke up. "Yeah, I haven't. But I've been a perfect wife for three years, and that doesn't count for something?"

Titus laughed. "You think you're entitled to all that?"

Chiara didn't want to be so shameless, but she nodded anyway. "Shouldn't I?"

For three years, she'd been the perfect, submissive wife, afraid to do anything that might set him off.

When Titus wanted her, she'd be there. When he didn't, she became invisible. Being Mrs. Goodman sounded glamorous, but she was more like a pet—available on demand, disposable at his whim.

Titus's face darkened, darker than she'd ever seen. For a moment, her heart raced.

"Sounds like you've got some complaints," he said coldly. "Go ahead. Speak your mind."

Chiara bit her lip, her eyes drifting past his ear to the mango pudding.

"I'm not unhappy," she said softly. "Just like you said, I was the one who asked for this marriage. I wouldn't dare complain."

"Wouldn't dare?" Titus leaned closer, his eyes locking onto her delicate features.

Chiara met his eyes. "For three years, I did everything you wanted. I stayed out of your way, played the perfect trophy wife. I'm not asking for money in the divorce.

"But after all I've put in these three years, don't I deserve something?

"You kept a dog for three years, and it'd guarded your house. Would you expect it to return every treat it ate?"

Titus was so mad he laughed. He patted her cheek, and smirked, "So you think you're just a dog?"

"No, I'm not even worth a dog," Chiara said. "At least a dog can bark when it's upset. I'm just your decorative accessory."

Titus fixed her with a cold stare for a long moment before finally releasing her. Then he stepped back with a cold smile, hands in his pockets. "Good. Looks like you finally got it."

Chiara looked away, her heart racing. She'd blurted out everything—things she should and shouldn't have said.

"Like you said, you've done well these past three years. I'm satisfied, so I'm not kicking you out," Titus said casually.

Chiara's eyes widened as she turned to him. "You..."

"You're still Mrs. Goodman," Titus said flatly. "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you."

Chiara stared into his bottomless eyes, her heart pounding with nerves.

"You asked for this," Titus said coldly. "Even if the result's bitter, you gotta tell me it's sweet."

His gaze swept the cabin, darkening instantly. When he looked back at Chiara, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

Chiara knew that look—even with the sharpness, there was a desire she couldn't miss.

Instinctively, she tried to run. She'd barely moved two steps before Titus grabbed her, pulling her into his arms.

"Let me go!" Chiara pleaded, her voice shaking. "Why do you always have to be like this? I don't like it."

Titus swept her up and carried her into the room. "Why do I get the feeling you like it?"

Chiara's face went from pale to flushed. Titus seemed to love playing little games with her, just to watch her lose her composure.

All those times before had been just petty tricks, nothing serious. But what happened at the hospital was different.

Chiara's eyes brimmed with tears as she choked out, "Titus, you've never treated me like your wife. I'm done—I want a divorce."

Titus's face darkened with rage. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Still dare to bring up the divorce, huh?"

Chiara didn't say anything; she just couldn't stop crying.

Titus wasn't looking for a response. He smirked, "You said you were just a plaything, right? Now I'll show you exactly what that means."

Chiara's eyes widened, panic and defiance written all over her face. "No!"

Just then, Titus's phone rang.

Chiara froze, tears streaming down her face. Titus paused, but his eyes stayed locked on her, as if he was about to continue no matter what.

"Y-your phone is ringing," Chiara stammered, her voice trembling.

Titus let it ring until it stopped, and her heart raced.

But soon, a knock came at the door, and Paul's apologetic and hesitant voice called from outside. "Mr. Goodman..."

"Get lost!" Titus barked.

Paul flinched, wiping sweat from his forehead. But he forced himself to speak. "Ms. Jensen is in trouble. She's at the hospital right now."

Chiara let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Usually, moments like these left her feeling defeated. But this time, she just felt relieved.

Then she couldn't help but laugh at herself—how ironic that her only comfort came from Titus being worried about another woman.

Titus frowned, hesitated for a few seconds, and stood up—just as Chiara'd expected.

Chiara didn't move, but her rigid body began to relax.

Titus noticed and scowled deeper. Still, he turned and swung the door open. "What happened?" he asked Paul.

Chapter 7 Be Myself

Paul kept his head down, avoiding eye contact. "Some stage accident. She hurt her leg. Details are still unclear."

"Hurt her leg?" Titus's voice could freeze water.

"Yeah," Paul said. Otherwise, he never would've dared to crash Titus and Chiara's moment.

Titus walked past him, but after a few steps, he stopped. "You stay here."

Paul, who was about to follow, froze. "Huh?"

Titus shot a cold glance at the room. "Take her home."

Paul fell silent. 'Seriously? Leaving me to handle this mess alone? Doesn't your conscience hurt a little?'

After Titus left, Chiara came out of the room.

"Mrs. Goodman, how about I take you home?" Paul offered, not daring to look at her.

Chiara glanced at the room. "You set this up, didn't you?"

Paul didn't deny it. He knew even if he said Titus did it, Chiara wouldn't buy it. Even for Elaine, he was the one who handled all this stuff.

"Ms. Jensen loves mango pudding, right?" Chiara asked.

Paul's head snapped up.

Seeing his reaction, Chiara knew she was right. She smiled faintly, "Too bad. I'd love to try it if I weren't allergic."

Paul froze, his heart sinking. 'I'm totally busted.'

But as Chiara walked past, he still hurried after her. "Let me give you a ride home, Mrs. Goodman?"

"No, thanks."

"It's tough to get a ride out here."

Chiara stopped, realizing she was out on the water—left behind again. "Alright, I'll accept your help," she said.

Paul quickly said, "It's my job, Mrs. Goodman."

Trying to make up for his earlier mistake, he added, "Mr. Goodman went all out planning this yacht trip."

After boarding, Chiara noticed the yacht's number. "What are you trying to say?" she asked.

Paul rubbed his nose awkwardly. "Notice anything special about that number?"

Chiara had long stopped getting her hopes up, her voice flat. "You mean it's the same as the number on our marriage certificate?"

"Yeah," Paul replied.

Chiara turned to him, her eyes steady, not a hint of accusation. "So why hasn't he spent a single anniversary with me in three years?"

Paul felt a chill run down his spine. "Well, he's always swamped, so..."

"Busy?" Chiara echoed quietly.

After a pause, she continued, "If I'm not mistaken, Ms. Jensen's birthday is June 7th. And he always makes time for her, right?"

Paul's brow twitched as he looked at her in surprise. "How did you..."

The whole thing between Titus and Elaine was pretty complicated, and Titus used to be super private. So whenever rumors about them popped up, he'd shut them down right away. Chiara shouldn't have known anything.

But this year, with Elaine's big shows and need for publicity, Titus stopped controlling gossip online.

Out of curiosity, Paul had asked Titus, "Aren't you worried Mrs. Goodman will get upset about you and Ms. Jensen being so public?"

Titus had just said, "She won't."

And true to his word, Chiara never complained.

Paul had almost thought Chiara was a total pushover.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Chiara said softly.

Paul wanted to ask what she meant, but she walked away without looking back.

On the ride, Paul stayed silent, terrified of saying something that might get him fired.

"Take me to Lynch Group," Chiara said.

"Okay," Paul replied.

*****

Paul watched Chiara walk away and sighed, dreading how he'd explain this to Titus.

Just then, his phone buzzed. Seeing Titus's name, he nearly choked. "Mr. Goodman..."

"Drop her off?" Titus asked.

"Yeah, she went to the Lynch Group."

Titus didn't say anything more. Sensing he was about to hang up, Paul rushed to say, "I screwed up today. You can dock my pay."

As Titus still stayed quiet, Paul spilled everything.

"I swear I didn't mean to. I had no clue Mrs. Goodman was allergic to mangoes. I just used to order that dessert," Paul said, his voice weak.

Mango pudding was Elaine's favorite. Paul always ordered it for her, and it had become a mindless habit.

Titus was silent for a long moment. "Anything else?"

Paul hesitated, feeling the pressure. "Mrs. Goodman thought that yacht was about Ms. Jensen..."

"Spit it out," Titus said.

Paul swallowed hard. "She knows Ms. Jensen's birthday is June 7th, and that you always celebrate with her. So she got the wrong idea."

Titus went quiet again, leaving Paul on edge.

After about a minute, Titus said, "Got it," and hung up.

Paul wiped his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief.

*****

"Why are you here?" Heather stood up when she saw Chiara walk in.

Chiara hugged her tightly. "He won't give me a divorce. What am I supposed to do?"

Heather was taken aback, then wrapped her arms around Chiara and gently patted her back. "Why? Isn't he all wrapped up with Elaine?"

"I don't know."

Heather's heart ached. Chiara had always been the family's baby. When Chiara first said she wanted Titus, Heather had been against it. But seeing Chiara's room filled with everything about him, she couldn't say no.

If Chiara could marry her dream guy while saving Lynch Group, Heather thought it was not bad.

But three years later, she realized she'd made a mistake.

"What's your next move?" Heather asked.

"I'm moving back home. If he won't let me, I'll wait him out," Chiara said.

Heather stroked her hair, her eyes filled with worry. "Whatever you decide, I've got your back."

Chiara nodded. "There's one more thing."

"What is it?"

Chiara looked up, her eyes blazing with determination. "I want to work at Lynch Group."

Heather studied her. "Why now?"

Chiara managed a smile that hurt more than tears. "I'm done being trapped. I want to be myself, no more depending on anyone."

Heather smiled in relief, but her eyes were already turning red. "Okay."