Damien Sterling’s golden canary was pregnant and flew the coop. He was frantic, scurrying like ants on a hot skillet, pulling every string, every contact in the industry. He even flew abroad himself to smooth things over with her. "When she returns, make sure she gets the Best Actress award," he ordered me, just before leaving. "Will you… will you be back?" I asked him, my voice barely a whisper. He snatched the documents from my hand with an impatient sigh. "Of course I'll be back. Can't you bear to be without me for a single day?" He scribbled his signature, then tossed the papers aside and walked out. He was in such a rush, he didn't even glance at what he'd signed – our divorce papers. 1. I had been married to Damien Sterling for seven years, during which he kept countless mistresses. For the most part, I simply turned a blind eye. That was until Melody Sinclair appeared. She was the reigning beauty of the Dance Academy, the epitome of the innocent ingenue, seemingly untouched by the grime of the world. When she met Damien, she claimed she wanted neither money nor fame – only to marry him. Unfortunately for her, Damien could give her anything but a marriage. To compensate, he poured immense resources into her career, transforming her from an unknown student into a top-tier star. He shielded her from every industry predator, had seasoned Oscar winners play her sidekick, and generally spoiled her rotten. According to his meticulously laid plans, she was on the verge of becoming a major A-lister. But then, at the most critical juncture of her career, she got pregnant. So she flew the coop, with the baby-to-be. And, just to twist the knife, she chose our seventh wedding anniversary to do it. "Madam, Mr. Sterling is truly leaving!" Daisy, my assistant, burst into the room, her voice laced with urgency. "Aren't you going to stop him? Didn't Mr. Sterling promise you…?" Damien had promised to spend our seventh anniversary with me. I’d meticulously planned everything for months. A sudden memory surfaced: the first time I saw Melody. Damien had announced he was going to the Dance Academy to scout for a new actress, claiming he’d found someone with incredible potential. As a producer for his company, I should have gone, of course. She was in the dance studio, twirling through a ballet routine, as graceful and ethereal as a butterfly. Yet, the moment Damien turned away, she leaned close to my ear, a cold sneer twisting her delicate features. "Auntie, at your age, can you really keep Mr. Sterling interested?" she whispered, her eyes raking over me. "Do you even have any femininity left?" She wasn't entirely wrong. In every superficial aspect, she surpassed me. I offered a quiet smile, then calmly folded the divorce papers on the table. "Daisy, please help me find the jade bracelet my mother left me." It was my only tangible memory of her. I called my lawyer, instructing him to audit the companies registered under my name and prepare for a change in management. Then, I had the household staff meticulously erase every trace of "me" from the sprawling villa. Finally, I packed my personal belongings. There wasn't much, truly. Just a few gifts. This Cartier necklace, he gave me for my twenty-eighth birthday. This Hermès bag, a surprise from last year’s wedding anniversary. These wedding rings, custom-made, one of a kind, with our initials intricately carved into the inner bands. He had once been so good to me, making me mistakenly believe I was his one and only. But it only took six months for the affairs to begin. "Vivienne, don't you have any friends? Why do you always have to cling to me?" "Vivienne, I’m busy. I don't have time to coddle you!" 2. "Vivienne Sterling! Why are you so dramatic?!" Deep affection fades easily. Even before Melody’s appearance, Damien had already grown tired of me. I left all the luxury goods, the jewelry, every single gift Damien had ever given me, in the master bedroom. I didn't want them cluttering my sight, so I tossed our framed wedding photos directly into the garbage bin. Then, I left the villa. I rented a quiet apartment. The day I moved out, Daisy also resigned. I offered her a position at one of my companies. "Shouldn't you wait a little longer…? Mr. Sterling, he wouldn’t divorce you…" Daisy stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief. I shook my head. "It's not him leaving me, Daisy. I'm leaving him." I gently patted her head. "You'll come work for me. I promise you'll be well taken care of." Suddenly, my phone buzzed with an incoming message. Daisy's eyes lit up. "It must be Mr. Sterling! He knows he was wrong, he’s apologizing!" She urged, "Madam, quickly, check it!" I stared at the unread notification. It had been so long since Damien had sent me a message. During our courtship, his texts had been a stream of sweet nothings. Now… "Madam, hurry!" Daisy pressed again, brimming with anticipation. I took a deep breath and opened the message: "Melody is pregnant. We’re preparing to return." "She’s delicate right now and needs proper care. Have the housekeeper clear out the master bedroom for her. She’ll be moving in." "Melody has little appetite. Tell the kitchen to prepare more bland, easily digestible meals." "She's been craving sweets lately. She really enjoyed the macarons you made." "Decorate the room in a minimalist style. She loves sunlight, so choose transparent curtains." "Also, clear out the walk-in closet. She prefers fresh colors like sky blue and grass green." "Oh, and for the baby, I want him to be registered under my name. You handle all the paperwork." Message after message, each line overflowing with concern for her. I hit 'delete' instantly, then blocked his number. I turned my back. And I never looked back. Melody wasn't eager to return to the States so soon. She wanted to extend her vacation a little longer, and Damien was also wary of paparazzi catching her in her current state, which might affect her public image. So they lingered abroad for a while longer. After all, he’d fully entrusted all household matters to Vivienne Sterling. "Mr. Sterling truly is a ladies' man, taking his mistress on a lavish European getaway while his legitimate wife is left back home to clean up her mess." "Doesn't the wife get angry?" Someone brought this up at a recent business dinner. Another quickly chimed in: "Mr. Sterling, you just don't understand." 3. "Mrs. Sterling is famously devoted to Mr. Sterling. Forget keeping a golden canary; she’d probably willingly divorce him to make way for the new woman." "Am I right, Mr. Sterling?" Damien raised an eyebrow. They weren't wrong. Vivienne was gentle, obedient. Her eyes and heart were solely for him. And she was a valuable asset in his business. That day, when he told her to arrange the Best Actress award for Melody, she hadn't objected at all. Instead, she'd only asked when he'd be back. She couldn't bear to be without him for a single day. Just then, his secretary knocked and entered. Damien hooked a finger, beckoning him closer. "How is Vivienne doing back home? Has she followed my instructions?" The secretary bent low, glancing at the others seated at the table, hesitating. "It's fine, these are all old friends. Speak freely." The secretary lowered his head. "The housekeeper called to say... Madam has moved out." "Moved out?" "Yes... Madam packed her bags... and moved out..." Damien shot to his feet. Melody, who had been silently observing from the side, suddenly let out a soft laugh. "Well, it seems Mrs. Sterling has a rebellious streak, after all." She added, her eyes welling up with sudden tears, "But she’s your legally wedded wife, Mr. Sterling. Would she really leave you?" Before he could respond, she gripped his arm. "It’s all my fault for being so impulsive... I must have truly angered Mrs. Sterling... Mr. Sterling, let's go back quickly. What if she divorces you out of spite?" Damien scoffed. Divorce? And return to her father’s house, a place that would surely devour her? "Clark," he called to his secretary. "Reschedule my flight for two weeks from now." He wanted to see. Where could she possibly move to, and how long could she hold out?! If she divorced, she would have no choice but to return to her family. But her mother had passed away years ago, and she had grown up with her father and stepmother. Her "family home" was really just her stepmother's house. At the time of her marriage, her stepmother had already seized half of the inheritance her mother had left her. No, she would never go back to that house. I didn't go back home. Instead, I went to see my aunt. "Are you truly divorcing Damien Sterling?" I didn't know why. When Damien signed the divorce papers without a second thought, I didn’t cry. When I left the mansion alone, clutching my single suitcase, I didn’t cry. But now, at my aunt’s simple words of concern, tears welled up, uncontrollable. "Don't cry, don't cry. It's for the best, darling." My aunt wrapped me in a tight embrace. "That scoundrel's philandering ways, who in the industry doesn't know about them?!" I leaned quietly against my aunt's shoulder, gently wiping away my tears. 4. "What are your plans after the divorce?" my aunt asked. I rarely confided my troubles in her. Whether it was the bullying from my stepmother back home or the unhappiness after marrying Damien, my aunt, a renowned producer, was already overwhelmed with work. I truly didn't want to add to her worries. But this time, I poured out all my anxieties. Finally, I mumbled, a little embarrassed, "Please, Aunt Bea, don't tell anyone about my divorce yet. If Father and Stepmother find out…" "Are you planning on dating again?" my aunt suddenly asked. I blinked, surprised. I wasn't opposed to the idea. My aunt seemed to read my thoughts, then suddenly slapped her thigh. "I actually have a rather excellent candidate in mind! Would you be willing to meet him?" Rhys Montgomery. The undisputed scion of the Hollywood elite. My aunt’s most sought-after talent. He had entered the industry at thirteen and became an Oscar-winning actor by eighteen. His biggest secret was that he remained single, with not a single rumor of a past relationship. But such a minor detail was insignificant compared to his status and achievements. "Sigh," Aunt Bea sighed dramatically. "Instead of having him linked to other actresses, how about…?" She looked at me conspiratorially. I understood instantly. I hadn't expected things to move so quickly. The day after I agreed to meet him to see if we were compatible, he accepted an advertisement deal that sent him rushing to Havenwood. It is said that he has been working around the clock and hasn't slept for three days. A week later, just before dawn, a knock echoed at the door of my temporary apartment. I had heard whispers about his reputation in the industry: the stoic movie star, never a fake smile for anyone, the charismatic, uninhibited Hollywood prince. Yet, standing before me was a refined man in a perfectly tailored suit. In his hand, a large bag of artisanal breakfast pastries. He shifted nervously. "I was just passing by," he began, clearing his throat, "and heard this bakery has excellent pastries…" He added, "Thought you might like to try them." His awkwardness made me chuckle. This "blind date" clearly meant a great deal to him. From his demeanor, it almost seemed as if he worried he wasn't good enough for me. "Mr. Montgomery, please don't be nervous," I said, inviting him in. "Aunt Bea has told me everything. Just speak your mind." I was prepared for anything. But his directness still exceeded my expectations. "Aunt Bea told you everything?" he asked, his eyes wide. I nodded. He took a deep breath. "These are the deeds to all my properties. Your name can be added immediately." "These are all my bank cards. You'll have full access." "And this is... the divorce agreement I've already signed." "Should you ever be dissatisfied, you can leave at any time with this agreement, and all my assets will be yours." He presented the thick stack of documents, without pausing for a breath. "Please," he said, his voice earnest, "marry me!" I said yes to Rhys Montgomery. There was no reason to refuse him. From his family background to his appearance to his personality, he was flawless.
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