Chapter 4

Seraphina's POV

I grabbed my phone, found the contact for Julian's mother, Eleanor Sinclair, and dialed.

"Seraphina?" Eleanor's voice was as cold and aloof as ever. "Why are you calling me this late?"

I took a deep breath, my voice surprisingly calm. "Mrs. Sinclair, I agree to divorce Julian."

"What did you say?" Eleanor couldn't hide the gasp of delight in her voice, though she quickly turned cautious. "Are you serious?"

Eleanor had always despised me because of my background. The last time she tried to force us to divorce, Julian had threatened to hurt himself right in front of her.

Since then, Eleanor hadn't dared to openly force us apart, only applying pressure on me in secret.

I bit my lip. "I will sign the papers. But under one condition: you must help me prepare a completely new identity and send me out of the country. Otherwise, with Julian's obsession, he will never let me go."

"Deal," Eleanor said, her voice shaking with excitement. "I will come to the villa myself tomorrow morning."

At ten the next morning, Eleanor arrived at the villa.

Dressed in a pristine Chanel suit, she looked every bit the powerful matriarch. She didn't even sit down. She simply tossed a manila folder onto the coffee table.

"Read it. If there's no problem, sign it," Eleanor said flatly. "I've agreed to your terms. Your new identity and travel documents will be ready in ten days. The official divorce certificate will be handed to you then."

I picked up the papers.

The terms were simple.

I would voluntarily waive all marital assets, leaving only with my personal belongings. The Sinclair family would pay me a lump sum of twenty million dollars as a settlement, and from then on, we would have no further association.

I didn't even bother to read the financial details. I flipped directly to the last page and signed my name.

The scratching of the pen on the paper sounded incredibly loud in the quiet room.

Six years of marriage, ended in a few seconds.

"You're smarter than I thought," Eleanor said, sliding the signed agreement back into her bag with a satisfied smile. "Someone will pick you up in ten days. Remember, you chose this. I didn't force you."

With that, she turned and left.

I sat on the sofa, staring at the bright sunshine outside, unable to tell if I felt heartbroken or relieved.

But the endless hormone treatments, the agonizing IVF procedures... it was finally over.

At three in the afternoon, my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Is this Julian Sinclair's wife?" a stern male voice asked. "Your husband was involved in a physical altercation. The other party is refusing to settle, and we need a family member to come down to the precinct. Please come as soon as possible."

I blinked. "A fight?"

"Yes, it's pretty severe. Please get here quickly."

After the line went dead, I frowned and opened Instagram.

Sure enough, the internet was already exploding with news.

#Billionaire CEO Julian Sinclair involved in street brawl#

#Julian Sinclair's secret child exposed#

#CEO fights another man over mistress#

The top video had already racked up millions of views.

I tapped on it. The footage was shaky, but it clearly showed Julian pinning a man to the ground, his fists raining down mercilessly.

Vivian was screaming, trying to pull him off, while little Oliver stood nearby, sobbing hysterically, crying, "Daddy, stop! Stop hitting him!"

Under the video, the comment section was filled with mockery, and many of the comments were aimed directly at me.

"See? Men's promises are trash. He claimed he didn't care about his wife's infertility, but he went ahead and had a son with a gorgeous Ivy League heiress anyway."

"A woman who can't produce an heir in a wealthy family always ends up discarded. This Mrs. Sinclair is the perfect example."

"Do you guys think the wife will divorce him? I bet she won't! She's a high school dropout; she relies entirely on him for her luxury lifestyle. Without him, she's nothing. Who would want a useless, infertile woman?"

"She definitely won't leave the money."

"I heard he spoils her rotten. If I were her, I wouldn't divorce him either. Just take the money and shut up."

I scrolled through the comments, my expression completely blank. I hit retweet on the most-liked comment and added a simple caption:

Ten days. Wait and see.