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She followed him for seven years out of gratitude, feeling lucky to marry him. When his mistress claimed she had cancer and only six months to live, he handed her divorce papers. "It's only for show. We'll remarry in six months." Her heart died. She resolved to make the fake divorce real and restart her life.
=====
"Let's get a divorce. She has stomach cancer and has only six months left to live."
After their in**mate encounter, Brandon Watson sat up and said in a detached voice.
Millie Bennett, still breathing hard from the encounter, turned to him slowly, a wild look of disbelief in her eyes.
They had been married for a year. What did he mean by suddenly saying he wanted a divorce?
"Her final wish is to be my wife," Brandon added, almost offhandedly.
He said, lighting a ci**rette. The sm**e rose in slow spirals around his face.
Millie gawked at him, stunned. Silence spread across the room like mist.
The bedside lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the wall, making them seem farther apart than they were.
Brandon glanced at her and gave a faint frown.
"It's only to comfort her," he explained. "We'll remarry after six months. She won't be here long, Millie."
His voice was steady, almost detached, like someone passing along a message that didn't concern him.
Millie watched Brandon wordlessly, her eyes fixed on his profile.
He spoke like his words were instructions, not suggestions.
Their relationship had always been one-sided. She had chased it from the start, drawn in by youthful affection.
She had stayed by his side for years, moving through each rough season without letting go.
Millie still remembered that day, under the heavy rain that soaked them both, Brandon had stood between her and her stepfather, gripping a cracked stick, and said with fire in his voice, "Touch Millie again, and you'll regret it."
That moment had etched itself into her heart. Even when she was weak and bl**ding, she saw him--unmoving, protective, fierce.
From that point on, she was his.
She loved him without pause, met his requests with everything she had, carrying them out more flawlessly than anyone else ever could.
He would always pat her head, light and warm, and say in a low voice, "You did so well, Millie."
But Brandon's praises never lasted, his ki**es barely stayed, and whatever affection they shared always felt just out of reach. But Millie told herself it was just how he was.
Even when others called her naive, she stayed--devoted and trusting.
She had given seven years of her life to him.
A year earlier, Brandon's grandfather, Derek Watson, had fallen into poor health. The family, hoping to lift his spirits, decided Brandon should marry.
Perhaps the joy of a wedding would give the old man something to hold on to.
So Brandon went on to marry Millie.
She thought it was finally their moment. But after the vows, something changed. He began to pull away. Sometimes, he looked at her like she was a stranger.
"Millie, are you listening?" Brandon scowled as he caught the far-off look in Millie's eyes.
"Does it have to be like this?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he said, "She's going through so much, Millie."
Millie's ch**t tightened. "And what about me?"
Brandon didn't answer right away. His eyes, dark and steady, flickered with a trace of impatience.
Then, after about three seconds, he said, "Millie, she's dying. Maybe you don't know, but she's in love with me. Because we were married, and she didn't want to hurt you, she never let things go too far between us. Even when I tried to make it up to her, she never let me. She's a good person. Please, let her have this. Don't make me think you're being heartless."
His words, spoken so calmly, pierced her more than if he had shouted.
So in Brandon's eyes, a woman in love with a married man, who promised to hold back but never really let go, was a saint.
And a wife who simply wanted to keep her husband to herself was heartless.
Millie stared at his face. The same face she had fallen for--intense eyes, prominent nose, beautiful lips.
When had things started to crumble?
Maybe it was the day the woman showed up.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Millie asked, steadying herself.
Brandon said nothing, pursing his lips.
Finally, he opened his mouth to respond. "Yes, you--"
"Alright." Millie cut him off before he could finish.
Brandon looked up, clearly surprised. He frowned, studying her closely.
"Millie, you're getting clever," he said, a flicker of irritation in his voice. "You know I need your consent to go through with it. Are you thinking of using it to get under my skin?"
Millie didn't answer. She just stared at the white wall, watching how their shadows stretched.
Brandon put out his ci**rette andsaid no more, pulling on his clothes quickly and storming out.
He didn't stop to consider how she felt. Nor did he pause to acknowledge how humiliating or painful his request was.
He knew she couldn't leave him.
He was utterly sure about that.
The door slammed shut behind him.
And just like that, Millie was alone.
She sat motionless by the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
A message lit up the screen.
She picked up the phone.
It was from a familiar number. "He came to see me again."
The text came with a photo. Brandon's face was captured in the reflection of a glass door, a soft smile playing on his lips, eyes warm in a way Millie had never seen.
She froze. Then, slowly, she scrolled upward through the previous messages. "He said he has feelings for me."
"Rainy nights aren't lonely for me because he's here with me. What about you?"
"The one who isn't loved is truly the other woman. Millie, you were never his first choice; you were just the one he settled for. He sees beauty the way I do, shares my taste in things, and he loves me."
The messages continued that way, proving Brandon's betrayal.
The man who had always treated her with distance these past seven years had apparently mastered tenderness for someone else.
Millie kept scrolling until she reached the very first message. "You should know who I am. Do you like the flowers in your living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful."
Of course, Millie knew who it was.
Vivian Simpson, the famous floral designer known for filling her wealthy clients' grand villas and lavish parties with carefully and beautifully arranged blooms.
Millie had shown Brandon the messages before. He'd brushed them off and said there was no proof they were from Vivian.
He had even said maybe Millie sent them herself just to stir trouble. Most of the messages didn't have pictures, and the few that did were vague--taken from afar, hard to pin down.
But not today's. Today's was clear.
Millie thought about showing him the photo. Then her eyes drifted toward the bedside drawer. She reached down and pulled it open.
There it was. The pr**nancy test result she'd gotten earlier that day.
She was pr**nant with Brandon's child. At the worst possible moment.
Her tears fell, soaking the paper and smudging the ink.
But what did it matter anymore? Brandon's heart had been gone for a long time.
Millie wiped her face dry and picked up the lighter he'd left behind. Flames flickered as she held the test result to the fire.
Brandon had no idea that saying yes to the divorce would be the final thing she'd ever do for him.
She had given him back what she owed--not in money, but in seven full years of her life.
She would never love him again.
Chapter 2 Terminate The Pregnancy
The next day, parked just outside the courthouse, Brandon sat in his Maybach, quietly tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.
"Brandon, you and Millie have been married for a year now. Don't you think it's time to start planning for a baby?" An elderly voice drifted from the phone's speaker.
Brandon's face softened, a trace of frustration flickering through, but his patience didn't waver.
"Grandma, we're still young. There's no need to rush. You and Grandpa should focus on staying healthy. He..."
"What do you mean by 'There's no need to rush'?" The elderly voice rose in annoyance.
"Your grandfather's condition might have improved, but we're not getting any younger. We don't know how much time we've got left."
"Grandma..."
"Don't give me that! I've heard things, Brandon. Whatever's going on, be good to Millie."
Silence fell over the line for a few seconds.
"Brandon, did you hear me?" the elder asked.
Brandon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I understand, Grandma."
They exchanged a few more words before he ended the call.
Brandon resumed tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, this time slower, more distracted. He stared through the windshield toward the courthouse.
He clenched his jaw. Then, he opened the messaging app on his phone.
His thumb hovered over a familiar profile picture--a simple floral image, tagged "My Love." He skipped past it and opened the thread with Millie.
The last message he'd sent her simply reminded her of the time and place to meet for the divorce.
She still hadn't shown up.
With a scowl, Brandon sent a new message. "Where are you?"
A knock on the window followed almost instantly. He turned to see Millie standing outside, her face a little pale.
She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, giving him a blank look.
He hadn't changed out of yesterday's clothes--the same ones she had picked out for him.
Through the years, it had always been her--choosing his ties, picking his cologne, arranging every detail down to the fit of his tailored shirts and suits.
"Why are you late?" Brandon asked.
Millie looked away.
"I'm not late," she said quietly.
She was simply no longer the girl who would always arrive early and wait for him without thinking.
Brandon's fingers stilled against the wheel. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her.
Millie looked a little pale, maybe from a sleepless night after he mentioned the divorce last night.
Still, she looked fine.
"My grandma called earlier," Brandon muttered, looking away. "Don't tell them about the divorce. They're too old to handle something like that."
Millie didn't respond right away. Instead, she asked, "What did your grandma say?"
"She wants us to have a baby," Brandon said flatly, a flicker of irritation slipping into his voice.
Silence settled in the car.
After a while, Millie let out a small soft laugh.
Brandon curled his hand into a fist and turned his face to the window.
There were moments when he used to imagine what their child might look like.
He remembered holding her from behind, pressing a hand gently over her belly, whispering, "Millie, when will you give me a baby?"
But it hadn't happened.
Anyway, they could always remarry in six months and start planning for a baby. There would still be enough time.
Vivian, however, only had six months left.
Outside, passers-by came and went.
Then Millie spoke up. "Just once more, Brandon. Are you completely sure you want to go through with the divorce?"
"Having second thoughts?" Brandon barked, looking genuinely upset.
Vivian was still waiting for him at the studio.
After confirming once more, Millie didn't say another word. She reached into her bag, pulled out a document, and handed it to Brandon.
He took it with a frown, flipping through the pages. It was a property division agreement.
"If we're getting divorced," she said, "we should make everything clear. I'll only take what I'm entitled to from the Watson family. And from this moment on, anything either of us earns belongs to us individually."
Then Millie pulled out a pen and placed it beside him.
"If that's okay with you, just sign it."
Brandon's eyes stayed on the document, but his frown deepened as he read.
The agreement was too simple. She really wasn't asking for much. And her signature was already there.
He didn't get it.
What was she trying to do? It was basically just a fake divorce.
Vivian only had six months left. He planned to spend those months by her side. After that, he'd return to Millie--no one else needed to know the divorce ever happened.
To him, Millie had always seemed blindly loyal.
Brandon had never thought of her as someone with pride or boundaries.
There was a time he'd grown bored of her, pushing her into things that chipped away at her pride on purpose.
But Millie never declined.
She'd still return with a soft smile, holding out the results like a trophy. "Brandon, look--I did it. Isn't it great?"
She was a good wife. Meek. Obedient. For seven years, he'd seen it play out over and over.
If it weren't for Vivian, their marriage probably would have gone on like that.
But...
A flash of memory--Vivian, weak and coughing bl**d, still trying to smile--stabbed at his ch**t. The pain was raw and unshakable.
Brandon looked outside the car window again.
Millie's reflection stared back at him--blank, expressionless.
Was this her way of threatening him?
After all, she had once faked messages to frame Vivian.
She hated Vivian.
Chuckling dryly, Brandon picked up the pen and signed his name.
No one could force his hand. Not even her.
There were two copies of the agreement.
Millie calmly took her copy after he signed both.
They both stepped out of the car and headed into the courthouse. Together, they filed for divorce.
Next time they came back here, they would finalize everything and collect the official decree.
Once all the formalities were done, the two of them stepped out of the courthouse together.
The sun was already blazing, and the warmth settled on Millie's skin.
Brandon scanned the people moving about.
It wasn't hard to tell the couples getting married from those getting divorced. Some people chose to have their weddings at the courthouse.
A couple walked by, hand in hand.
The woman's smile triggered something in Brandon. He remembered that same look on Millie's face a year ago, when they first got married.
Brandon glanced over at Millie, but her face was blank.
"I'll keep transferring money to your account during the next six months," he said. "And don't say anything to my grandparents."
He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off.
Millie stood there quietly, watching his car disappear around the corner.
Her cab arrived not long after.
And then, the two cars went opposite directions.
One turned toward Vivian Floral Design.
The other headed for Crobert Hospital.
Brandon walked into Vivian's studio, where she greeted him with a gentle smile.
He told her, "It's done. She didn't make a scene."
Meanwhile, Millie stepped into the ob-gyn wing and quietly sat opposite the doctor.
The doctor reached over and pulled the curtain
"Millie... are you sure you want to terminate the pr**nancy?" Her best friend and doctor, Alexia Hussain, looked at her with concern.
"You were so determined to have a baby. You even worked so hard to get yourself ready for co**eption..."
Millie reached into her bag and placed the divorce filing receipt on the side table.
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Let's terminate it. I don't want it anymore."
Chapter 3 Signs Of Miscarriage
Alexia stared at the filing receipt, surprised.
She and Millie had been close friends for more than ten years, and in all that time, Alexia had seen just how hard Millie loved Brandon.
There was a time Millie could have died for him, and nobody would have questioned it.
They got married a year ago. Alexia had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their pairing felt off.
But still, Millie had gotten what she wanted. That had been enough for Alexia.
Now this...
What had happened?
"I don't love him anymore," Millie said, before Alexia could ask.
She looked over and gave a small, calm smile.
In that smile, Alexia caught a glimpse of the old Millie--the one from before everything collapsed, before grief carved deep lines into her, before her father's death and the fall of the Bennett family changed her.
It brought Alexia a strange sense of calm.
"Brandon doesn't know I'm pr**nant," Millie said calmly. "And before the divorce becomes final, I don't want to take any risks. It's better if he doesn't know."
If either party changed their mind before the divorce was finalized, they could take back the application, and the procedure would no longer go through.
And that was when Alexia knew that Millie wasn't playing around about divorcing Brandon.
After taking it all in, Alexia did what needed to be done: she booked Millie's medical tests and then advised carefully, "Wait a few days before the surgery."
Millie frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"You know your bl**d type--Rh-negative. It's rare. We need time to prepare bl**d, just in case. I've already contacted the bl**d bank. They said it might take a week."
Millie went quiet. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
She had gotten that bl**d type from her father. And now she missed him all over again.
If he were still here...
"Okay." Millie nodded slowly. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes turned red.
"You also have early signs of mi**arriage. You need to be careful these next few days," Alexia added, her voice full of concern.
They'd grown up together, and Alexia knew Millie's sadness too well.
She held Millie's hand. "Wait for me. My shift's almost over. I'll go home with you."
Millie nodded, and then went to wait in the hallway.
She looked down at her stomach.
Early signs of mi**arriage.
Did the baby know what she'd decided and want to leave first?
Pursing her lips, Millie walked toward the lab for the tests.
Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.
She had opened a new account--one that Brandon wouldn't know about. She was keeping her money cleanly separate before the divorce was finalized.
Every cent she earned from now on would live in that account.
A second message followed. "Payment for composition and lyrics has been completed. Finance has sent the transfer. Kindly confirm."
Before she married Brandon, Millie had worked quietly as an anonymous songwriter.
Music had always been her first love. Back when her father was alive, life had been generous, and she lacked nothing.
As the Bennett family's only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to grow her gift.
The turns her life had taken had taught her things she hadn't known she needed to learn.
Maybe her father never thought that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing keeping her afloat.
Millie paused, and then typed back, "Money received. Thank you."
The reply came quickly. "It's what you deserve. You've written a lot of hits over the years. Why don't you return? There's a new show coming up. It fits you perfectly. I've sent details to your email. Reserved a contestant slot just for you."
Millie opened her email. A new message sat at the top, inviting her to join a music competition show.
The format was familiar, like others she had seen before, but this one wanted something original.
She typed out a quick reply. "I'll think about it."
Then she set her phone down. A light cramp curled in her lower belly.
She thought of her father again.
The second time today.
...
Meanwhile, the Internet was buzzing with updates.
#VivianSimpsonStomachCancer
#FloristVivianSimpsonCountdown
#LastSixMonths
The most trending post was a video featuring a reporter summarizing the news about Vivian.
"Sources confirm that the well-known floral designer, Vivian Simpson, has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She's been given six months to live. But instead of retreating, she's choosing to document her remaining time--she wants to share her life with the world as it winds down."
The video cut to Vivian. She looked at the camera with a sad smile.
"In these last six months, I'll be posting updates about my life. I'm not doing it for attention. I just want to offer some comfort to others going through the same thing. I hope you all stay strong."
Then the reporter came back on screen.
"There have long been whispers about Miss Simpson and Mr. Brandon Watson, CEO of Watson Group. But Mr. Watson is married. It remains to be seen if he'll reconnect with Miss Simpson during her final months."
In the background, Vivian seemed to have heard that part. She stepped forward, stopped beside the reporter, and gently cut in.
She faced the camera.
"I'm not ashamed to say I like Brandon. He's an incredible man," she said. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. But I want to make it clear--I'm not going to break up someone's marriage. That's not who I am."
Having said that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind.
She wove through the small crowd with a smile and climbed into a waiting car.
The foreign caregiver from Flaville passed her a glass of water, hand paused in midair, unsure.
"You look like you want to say something," Vivian said, her voice cold. "Go ahead. The driver's one of ours."
The caregiver leaned in and lowered their voice. "Miss Simpson, your diagnosis... it's a stomach ulcer. Having our facility change that into cancer is already risky. But now you're sharing it with the public online?"
Vivian gave a sharp laugh, startling the caregiver.
"Your facility--is it a licensed medical facility?" she asked.
The caregiver nodded.
"And does it manage my medical record privately?"
The caregiver gave another nod.
"Is that what my medical record says--that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?"
The caregiver hesitated before nodding again.
"Exactly!" Vivian leaned back with a smile. "It's official, then. No one can question it."
"But you don't actually have stomach cancer. What happens later..."
"There are two ways out," Vivian said, cutting in. Her voice was sharper now, her eyes harder. "One: I make a miraculous recovery during treatment at your facility or somewhere else, maybe because of all the love I've received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of wrong treatment."
She turned her face fully to the caregiver, looking more intimidating. "Which option do you prefer?"
The caregiver looked panicked but forced out the words. "I'm sorry, Miss Simpson. I understand. You've already thought everything through."
Vivian gave a short, cold smile.
"Where should we go next, Miss Simpson?" the caregiver asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Vivian glanced at her phone. "Crobert Hospital."
The caregiver stiffened. "But--"
"Relax. I'm only going in for pain relief with my medical record," Vivian said, and then reached for her phone and sent Brandon a message, telling him to meet her at the hospital later.
Almost instantly, he replied, "Sure."
Meanwhile, Millie stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache pulling at her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, the smear of bl**d clear against the white.
It was an early sign of a mi**arriage.
Chapter 4 She Would Have No Ties With Brandon
As Vivian made her way to Crobert Hospital, the Internet was filled with comments about her diagnosis. Her name appeared across countless threads.
"To be honest, I think Vivian's brave. She's clear about her feelings as well as boundaries. Quite impressive, actually."
"Exactly. A lot of people like Brandon. As long as she's not wrecking his marriage, her feelings are her own business."
"Her older videos and that livestream from Crest Villa gave me a glimpse into rich people's lives. It's sad she won't be around much longer."
"Who's Brandon's wife, though? She should just let him be with Vivian. The girl has only six months left."
"I know her. It's Millie Bennett, a musician. She stopped working after she got married and became a full-time housewife."
...
At Crobert Hospital, Millie's phone kept buzzing. Calls and messages came one after another.
Some people acted concerned. Others wanted information. A few tried to mock her. All of it was about Vivian and Brandon.
Millie had read just enough of the headlines to understand what was going on with Vivian's illness.
She didn't click on anything else.
It didn't matter anymore.
Once the divorce was finalized, Brandon would no longer be a part of her life.
She checked the time. When she looked up, she saw Alexia walking toward her.
"How are you feeling?" Alexia asked, concerned. "Any pain?" She saw the strain on Millie's face and, without needing to be asked, reached out to help her rise.
Millie gave a small smile and shook her head.
She had made up her mind. Some things simply had to be faced.
Alexia understood, but she just sighed and helped Millie up. They took the elevator.
The elevator doors soon opened at the ground floor.
The hospital was packed. Even more than usual. Millie noticed a few reporters scattered in the crowd.
"So many people today. Probably another celebrity here for a check-up," Alexia said.
"They always bring this kind of attention..." She stopped at once, her face changing. She had seen something and quickly tried to lead Millie in the other direction.
But there was no point. Millie had already spotted them.
Brandon stood tall, striking in a way that drew attention without effort.
The noise and movement around him didn't touch him--his hair perfectly in place, his suit smooth and sharp, like the chaos didn't dare come close.
Vivian stood beside him. She looked small and weak, her face pale, which made her seem even more fragile.
She lost her balance slightly. Brandon stepped in to catch her, shielding her from the cameras and the crowd.
"Don't look," Alexia said quickly, stepping in front of Millie, her tone sharp with anger.
"Alexia, let's go," Millie said, her voice calm. She had made up her mind; Brandon didn't need to know she was there, and she had no interest in crossing paths with him now.
"Why should we go?" Alexia snapped, growing more furious. "You're not divorced yet. He's still your husband. And he's here holding another woman like it's nothing. It's shameless."
Husband...
Millie looked away, sighing.
There was a time she had secretly smiled just thinking about Brandon being her husband.
But not anymore.
"I don't feel well, Alexia. Let's just go," Millie said, changing the topic.
Alexia gave her full attention now and stopped looking in Brandon and Vivian's direction.
They left. Across the lobby, Vivian glanced over. A flicker of pride passed through her face.
"I'm sorry, Brandon. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess," she said, a tinge of remorse in her voice. "I know you hate being in the spotlight..."
"It's fine," Brandon replied. "Let's go see the doctor first." His face stayed calm, but something stirred in his thoughts--something brief, hard to name.
They stepped into the consultation room.
Vivian handed over her medical record to the doctor.
The doctor read through it, slowly, and frowned.
"This looks serious," he said.
Vivian gave a faint smile. "I know," she said quietly. Then she took a slow breath. "Please prescribe something strong for the pain."
"In your current condition, I suggest you stay in the hospital and begin treatment," the doctor said. "You should try. There's still a chance we can extend your life."
"What's the point?" Vivian gave a sad smile.
She brushed away the tears building in her eyes, and then said quietly, "I don't want treatment."
Brandon's fingers curled tighter around hers.
She gave a small shake of her head.
"Doctor, I just want to spend the last phase of my life with some dignity," she said. "So, please prescribe some strong painkillers."
The doctor sighed deeply but finally nodded in understanding.
Outside, reporters were taking photos and recording videos without pause before posting them online.
People watching were emotional.
"Good heavens, this is a real person whose life is ending."
"I cry when I'm in mild pain. I can't imagine what late-stage cancer feels like. But she still manages to smile. She's really strong."
"I couldn't hold back tears when she said she wouldn't go through treatment. Only people who've faced serious illness understand this feeling."
Public sympathy for Vivian reached its highest point.
...
Vivian soon got her medicine, and as she and Brandon walked out of the hospital, Millie was sitting on a bench nearby. She was waiting for Alexia, who had gone to get the car.
Before Millie could respond to what was happening, paparazzi noticed her and rushed over.
The camera flashes came all at once.
Brandon saw her too. He frowned and asked, "What are you doing here?"
Millie stood up, glanced at Brandon, and then at Vivian's hand resting on his arm.
She didn't speak yet. The crowd didn't give her the chance.
"Mrs. Watson, did you come because of what's online? Are you trying to catch them together?"
"What do you think of your husband being out in public with someone else?"
"Mrs. Watson, what are you planning to do about Vivian?"
People quickly decided that Millie had shown up on purpose--to face Vivian directly, to start something.
Even Brandon thought the same.
He looked annoyed.
"Vivian is sick. Didn't you know?" he barked.
Brandon's voice was brimming with menace.
Millie felt like laughing.
So that was what he believed--that she was picking a fight on purpose with someone who was ill.
Brandon really didn't know her.
Seeing Millie didn't answer, the reporters turned to Vivian, asking questions about breaking up someone's marriage.
Brandon looked at Millie again. "Millie!" he called. He wanted her to defend Vivian.
Like always, he expected her to do what he wanted.
But the will to please him was gone.
She was walking away from him--there was no reason left to obey.
Millie placed her right hand over her stomach. The dull ache was still there.
"I came to visit a friend," she said finally.
She didn't want to say more. Her pr**nancy wasn't something she wanted to share--not before the divorce was finalized, not with all eyes on her.
Her reply to his question earlier was simple.
Having answered Brandon, Millie turned to leave.
But the reporters didn't back off. They crowded in around her.
"Mrs. Watson, people online are asking you to step aside and let Mr. Watson be with Vivian. What do you say to that?"
"Vivian doesn't have long. Are you still going to fight her?"
"Mrs. Watson--"
Millie didn't bother responding; she just wanted to get away.
The crowd, thrilled to see the three of them in the same place at last, had no intention of letting it end.
Brandon stood still, saying nothing, and that silence gave someone the boldness to shove Millie with force.
She staggered, her arms moving at once to shield her stomach.
Chapter 5 To Let Go Of The Past
Millie landed hard, her back hitting the ground first.
Cameras flashed wildly, capturing the fall from every angle.
She looked toward Brandon by instinct. But his face gave nothing--just a cold, still stare.
And in that moment, she understood what he wanted her to do, and it stung her heart.
He wanted her to speak for him. To tell the press it was all a misunderstanding. That Vivian was ill, and he had only come out of concern. That it was kindness, not betrayal.
Clutching her belly, Millie lowered her head and let a faint smile slip across her face.
The sky above was clear, and sunlight streamed through gaps in the crowd. But none of it touched her.
She steadied herself and rose slowly.
Then, without looking back, she said calmly, "I feel sorry for Miss Simpson. But that's all."
Someone nearby, unaware, asked, "So, are you friends with her?"
Millie gave a short laugh. "Friends? No. I wouldn't call someone clinging to my husband a friend."
She turned and waved to Alexia, who had just pulled up.
"Millie!" Brandon called after her, his face red with rage.
But she didn't turn around. She stood tall and kept walking.
Alexia got out and moved quickly toward her friend, scoffing as they left, "You'd think they were the married couple confronting the home-wrecker. Absolutely ridiculous."
Vivian's lips parted to respond. "You..."
But Alexia cut in before she could say a word. "What? Tell me I'm wrong. If you're planning to use the press to scare me, go ahead. I've got nothing to hide."
Vivian's face turned even paler, looking as if she might faint.
Reporters scrambled, voices rising all at once.
Alexia ushered Millie into the car, not sparing another glance behind them.
"Don't worry," she said. "She's definitely faking it. I've seen enough of these cases to tell in a second."
Millie gave her a small smile. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about you. What if this mess affects your job?"
At a red light, Alexia grinned and nudged her. "Don't forget my dad's the hospital director."
Millie raised an eyebrow. "The same dad you swore you'd never speak to again?"
Alexia shrugged. "You never know when a connection comes in handy. Honestly, sometimes I wish all the powerful people out there were my dads."
They both laughed, the tension slowly easing from Millie's face. As the light turned green, the car moved forward again.
"I've got the afternoon free," Alexia said, stretching. "Whatever you need, I'm ready."
Playing along, Millie turned to her with a sly grin. "Great. I need help with something."
"What is it?" Alexia asked curiously.
"Help me move." She grabbed Alexia's wrist. "You can't back out now."
Alexia gr**ned but gave in.
Before long, the two of them arrived at the house Millie had shared with Brandon, along with a team of movers and organizers.
The house had come together quickly after their rushed wedding.
Everything--furniture and layout--had felt temporary at first. But over the year, Millie had made a home out of it, filling it with warmth.
At least, she tried.
Alexia directed the workers while Millie moved quietly around the room, her hands light on every object. On a shelf, she spotted a bottle of Chanel No. 5.
The first gift Brandon ever gave her. He'd brought it back from a business trip.
He came straight to her from the airport.
He had pulled her into his arms. His ki**es were quick, urgent. They had been just like any young couple in love back then.
She opened the bottle and sprayed it once. The scent filled the room.
She remembered how he had ki**ed her lightly after spraying it on her skin.
"Should I pack this too?" Alexia asked, seeing the perfume.
Millie glanced over and shook her head. "Leave it."
She slipped off the wedding ring Brandon had picked without thought, placing it gently on the table.
But as the movers shuffled back and forth through the space, she paused. Then, quietly, she opened a drawer and put both the perfume and the ring inside.
Soon, the house had been cleared of every trace of her. Only that bottle and that ring remained.
Packing up had been tiring, but once the decision was made, it moved quickly.
It was the same with her feelings.
The wind moved softly through her hair as the car headed toward her new place. Behind her, the mansion faded in the rearview mirror.
Sometimes, to move forward, one had to leave parts of oneself behind.
Millie had things to do.
The fall of the Bennett family, the unanswered questions around her father's sudden death--she was going to find the truth.
Her life had always been shaped by what others needed.
Now it was time to live for herself.
She decided to begin with the music show. It would bring in money, and more importantly, might reconnect her with people linked to her father's past.
She pulled out her phone, found the right contact, and typed her message. "I'm joining the music program."
...
Vivian was still crying.
Brandon sat beside her, muttering words of comfort. But his thoughts were filled with the image of Millie standing with her back to him, saying those words.
She had known exactly what he wanted her to say. And she had chosen not to.
He had sent her message after message. She hadn't replied any of them.
She had been acting strangely lately.
The change in her was too sharp, too sudden. She was provoking him on purpose.
She had done it when they filed for divorce. And again at the hospital.
Brandon remembered the look in her eyes the night before, when she asked if he truly made up his mind about the divorce.
She had been sad but also calm.
An unexpected fear filled his heart.
"Brandon, don't be angry at Millie," Vivian said through tears. "I know she's upset. After seeing the videos online, she must've come to confront us. And I understand."
She burst into tears. "After all... I'm the one who took something from her. I'm taking six months from your marriage--what's left of it. If she lashes out at me, I deserve it..."
As she spoke, she started coughing--hard.
A second later, she spat bl**d into her hand.
"Vivian!" Brandon jumped up, reaching for his phone to call for an ambulance.
As for Millie's sudden change, he brushed it off as moodiness. In his mind, she wouldn't dare walk away.
Vivian reached out and stopped him, still smiling faintly. "It's the cancer. It's late-stage. This happens. Don't worry."
Her caregiver helped her lie back down.
Brandon turned away, already thinking of confronting Millie. As soon as he left the room, Vivian calmly wiped her mouth and pulled out a small bl**d bag hidden in her cheek.
She laughed. "What do you think he'll say to Millie now?" she asked the caregiver. "I'm honestly looking forward to it."
Then she began to go through the news reports excitedly.
The entire online community seemed against Millie.
"Vivian didn't even go for life-saving treatment--she just wanted pain meds. Millie really made a scene for no reason."
"Vivian's dying, and Millie still wants to pick fights?"
"Mr. Watson and Vivian look perfect together. Like a real power couple."
"Millie's fall was so embarrassing. I cringed."
"Millie, just step aside already!"
"Millie, divorce Brandon!"
"Yeah, divorce Brandon!"
"Divorce!"
Vivian chuckled as she read the comments. Then she sent a message to a contact and gave a few instructions.
"Today's move was perfect. Keep the pressure up. Make sure Millie stays where she is--down. Oh, and find out why she went to the hospital today."
......
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