Chapter 2Married for Three Years, Now I Want a Divorce: Suddenly, a Pop-Up Message Appears—"Don’t Leave! Mr. White Is About to Break!

When I woke up, my head was pounding and my throat felt like it had been set on fire.

I struggled to sit up, reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, and drained it in one go. The cool liquid soothed my throat, and I felt marginally better.

Looking around the familiar bedroom and noticing my neatly changed pajamas, I couldn’t help but marvel at myself. I must have gotten better at handling alcohol because, despite being completely wasted last night, I’d somehow made it home. Though, admittedly, I had zero recollection of how I’d done so.

As I silently celebrated my newfound “tolerance,” the door swung open. Nathan White walked in, his face as cold as a glacier.

“Awake? Get up and eat,” he ordered, his tone clipped.

The sight of him instantly soured my mood.

“Mind your own business,” I snapped, pulling the blanket over my head. “I’m sleeping in.”

Just as I was preparing to drift back into a blissful nap, the floating messages appeared again, hovering obnoxiously in my line of sight.

[It’s over! Mr. White’s jealousy is about to explode, and the heroine is completely oblivious!]

[He’s on the verge of losing it! Why can’t he just express his feelings like a normal person?!]

Jealousy? Nathan? What did he have to be jealous about?

Before I could make sense of what the messages were saying, Nathan yanked the blanket off me.

“Get up and eat some porridge. You threw up everywhere last night—your stomach’s probably a mess.”

He signaled for the housekeeper to bring in breakfast, and soon a tray of warm congee and light, refreshing side dishes appeared before me.

I stared at the food, then back at him. How did he know I’d thrown up? I didn’t even remember doing that.

“You knew I was drunk last night?” I asked cautiously, my voice tinged with unease.

“Mm-hmm.” Nathan didn’t even look up from his meal, his face as unreadable as ever.

“And… did I say or do anything?”

My stomach churned—not from the hangover, but from sheer dread. Alcohol had a way of making me do stupid things, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d made an absolute fool of myself.

Nathan’s response was as devastating as it was deadpan.

“You mistook me for a male model, tried to grope my abs, and demanded that I spend the night with you.”

[LOL! Only the heroine would dare mistake her husband for a male model and then grope him in public!]

[She even promised him a tip if he “performed” well! How much is Mr. White worth, anyway?]

I froze mid-sip and immediately spat out the porridge in shock. My aim, unfortunately, was spot-on—all of it landed squarely on Nathan’s pristine shirt.

Before I could fully process the colossal stupidity of my actions, I was hit with the mortifying sight of him slowly looking down at the mess I’d made.

“You just threw up on me again,” he said flatly, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation.

Without another word, he stood up and walked off to change, leaving me alone with my panic and a growing sense of doom.

Still in a daze, I frantically grabbed my phone and called Kelly.

“Wow, you’re up early,” she teased, her voice lazy and amused. “I guess Nathan didn’t punish you too badly last night, huh?”

“What does Nathan have to do with anything?” I stammered, my voice trembling with anxiety.

Kelly burst into laughter. “What do you mean? He came to pick you up from the bar last night! You were yelling about wanting to see his abs and insisting that he stay with you all night. Honestly, I didn’t know you had it in you to harass your own husband in public!”

My heart sank as her words confirmed my worst fears.

“Oh, and,” she added mischievously, “you were basically clinging to him like a koala. It was hilarious! Did he finally confess his undying love when he carried you home?”

Kelly’s laughter echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was the fact that Nathan had caught me red-handed. Calling over male models, getting drunk, and then mistaking him for one? It didn’t matter that nothing had actually happened—morally, I was already in the wrong.

This was bad. Really bad.

Fine. If I was already guilty in his eyes, I might as well use this as an opportunity. My goal was divorce, after all.

Taking a deep breath, I marched to Nathan’s room and knocked on the door.

When he opened it, I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

“We need to get divorced,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute.