Chapter 2My Wife Handed Me My Bride

The next morning, when I went downstairs, Ivy was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper. When she saw me, she almost dropped the spatula.

I smiled. Where had the brave girl from last night gone?

Just as I sat down at the dining table, Marina came downstairs.

"Up so early?" She sat across from me, a cryptic smile on her face. "How was last night?"

Before I could answer, the front door was pushed open.

Lauren rushed in first. "Marina, Marina, who won the bet? I put down twenty grand that he wouldn't last until noon!"

"I bet he’d kick her out last night. Three-to-one odds!"

The excitement died instantly when they saw me sitting there.

"Dylan... morning!"

Marina picked up her coffee and took a sip, her expression relaxed, as if her friends weren't treating her marriage like a casino game.

"Sit down," I said. "Breakfast is ready."

I turned to Ivy. "You should get ready for class."

Ivy blinked, took off her apron, and slipped out the door.

Once the front door closed, Lauren lowered her voice. "See? He sent her away anyway."

Rachel laughed. "Of course. Marina knows him inside out. That's how you train a husband—one who stays home and never strays."

Marina sat there, finishing her egg, the corner of her mouth curving up in satisfaction.

I took a breath and walked out of the dining room.

Marina and I spoke almost at the exact same moment—

"Come back to the family estate for dinner tonight..."

"Meet me at the courthouse at two this afternoon..."

The room went quiet.

I laid the signed divorce papers on the table. "Let's get this done first."

Marina froze, her eyes locking onto my signature.

She expected me to tear the paper to pieces, weeping and asking her why she was doing this. She expected a fight.

She looked up, her tone lazy. "What's the rush? I told you we'd wait until the pregnancy stabilizes."

"I can't wait," I said. "Two o'clock. Will you be there?"

Her eyelids twitched. "Dylan, are you out of your mind?"

"You wouldn't want me to change my mind and tear up the papers when I wake up, would you?"

Troy came down the stairs then, his voice soft and trembling. "Dylan, please don't be angry. I just don't want the baby to be born with any stigma... We can wait until Marina's pregnancy is safe. Otherwise, her health might suffer..."

He looked so fragile, his eyes red as he clutched his shirt. He looked more devastated by the divorce than I was.

Marina looked at Troy. His delicate, submissive act, combined with his gentle pleading, seemed to poke at her pride. Since when did she need anyone to push her into a decision?

"Dylan, you think I don't dare sign?" She laughed, grabbed the pen, and signed her name with a flourish.

She threw the pen back onto the table. "I keep my word. Everyone here is a witness."

"Once Troy’s baby is born, we’ll get remarried."

She stood up and leaned in close to my ear, her voice dripping with possessive affection. "You're the man I dragged back from the edge of death. No one out there can compare to you. This child... only you have the right to raise it, understand?"

I let out a soft laugh.

So this was her version of love.

I didn't say another word. I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase and walked out the door.

Behind me, Troy’s voice drifted out. "Marina... is he really not coming back?"

Marina held an unlit cigarette in her mouth, silent.

In her original plan, we would divorce but still live under the same roof. My sudden departure was entirely unexpected.

But she didn't let it show. "You," she said, glancing at Troy. "With Dylan gone, you must be thrilled deep down."

"No, of course not!" Troy hung his head. "How could you say that? My upbringing wouldn't let me destroy a marriage... It's all for the baby."

He looked so vulnerable, like a child terrified of being abandoned. It instantly disarmed her anger.

"Alright, I'm just teasing."

Troy was much smarter than the others. He didn't send me smug texts or call me to gloat. He played the innocent victim, making sure Marina always felt the need to protect him.

At 1:50 PM, I sat on the bench at the courthouse. I dialed Marina’s number for the ninth time.

She finally picked up. "Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the hospital with Troy for his appointment. I can't leave right now. Just wait for me, I'll head over when we're done."

"I told you, our appointment is at two."

"The courthouse isn't going to run away," she said, as if placating a difficult child. "Wait until we're finished."

Wait. Always waiting.

I watched the couples passing through the lobby—some crying, some entirely numb. I had cried like that once. And her temporary softness had always been my "reward."

But today, that wasn't the reward I wanted.

The clerk called the next number.

I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer.

"Mr. Lawson, let's file for a contested divorce. I'll send you the materials this afternoon."