A Love Forbidden to Grow Old

: The Divorce Agreement

After the lights on the top floor of the building went out, I timed my return and went to find Ian Sinclair.

On the way, I ran into a paparazzo.

He shoved his phone in my face, and I clearly saw what was on the screen.

Ian Sinclair was in a car, holding a young starlet in a flagrantly intimate embrace.

"Mrs. Sinclair, is your marriage in trouble? Will you be filing for divorce this time?"

In just half a day, this was already the third woman. It was as if Ian Sinclair was making a point.

I put on my sunglasses, hiding the bitter sting in my eyes.

I had just reached the villa's front door when I heard the familiar sounds of a man and woman's panting from inside.

A damp stain lingered on the sofa. I chose a clean spot to sit and waited for the pair in the bedroom to finish.

I had been through this scene countless times, but never had I felt as calm as I did today.

The bed in the bedroom had been replaced just six months ago.

When I was younger and more impulsive, I'd throw out the bed every time Ian Sinclair brought someone home.

'I've lost count now.'

The wait was long, and I was growing impatient.

As I stood up to knock on their door, I saw that my daughter's memorial table was in disarray.

A piece of lace lingerie was even draped over her photograph.

The rage in my chest was about to erupt when the two inside finally finished.

Seeing my placid expression, Ian Sinclair froze for a moment.

He thought I would fly into a hysterical rage over his infidelity, just like before.

But I was no longer that anxious, insecure woman who would go mad just because her husband didn't come home.

The girl was the same young starlet from the photo on the paparazzo's phone.

She was wearing the matching pajamas Ian Sinclair had custom-made for me, leaning against his chest.

"Young Master Sinclair, what do we do now that your wife is back?"

"What wife? She's just a washed-up housewife who's here to clean up our mess."

As he spoke, he chuckled and slapped the girl's ass, his flippant, devil-may-care attitude returning.

I straightened the photo, then casually tossed the lingerie at their feet. "Are you bastards? Do you have to be in heat everywhere? If you're that itchy, you should try hitting it with a slipper."

"You…" The girl was furious. She glanced at Ian Sinclair, but when he didn't react, she had no choice but to grab her clothes, get dressed, and leave.

Only then did I notice it: the pink diamond ring on her hand was identical to the one Ian Sinclair had placed on my finger just yesterday.

It was a glaring reminder that his favor could be given to anyone at all.

During the first three years of his cheating, I would have been jealous enough to fight and take it back.

But now, I just felt exhausted. All I wanted was for this to be over.

So I took the divorce agreement out of my purse.

Five years of marriage, reduced to four or five flimsy sheets of paper.

"Sign it. I had this agreement drawn up six months ago."

"Can't take it anymore? You're being dramatic…" He suddenly froze, and then, as if something had occurred to him, his eyes narrowed.

"You're doing this on purpose. Sylvia Aveline, you're plotting against me!"

"You're right. The truth is, I never forgave you. I hate your guts. I want you to know what betrayal tastes like, too."

The last time Ian Sinclair cheated, I set fire to the room they had slept in.

I was arrested and locked up for seven days. My daughter, not even three years old, was left in the care of her father, Ian Sinclair.

But the first thing I heard when I got out was that my daughter was dead.

Later, I watched the security footage. That day, Ian Sinclair had brought Clara Aveline back to the villa.

They stumbled up to the second floor in a passionate embrace, while my daughter wandered into the bathroom alone.

The bathtub was still full of the water they hadn't drained after they were finished.

The audio on the security footage was sickeningly clear. My daughter's cries for help, growing fainter and fainter, nearly tore my heart to pieces.

I had a complete mental breakdown. I tried to kill myself multiple times.

Ian Sinclair was terrified. He sent away all his other women and knelt by my bedside, begging me.

He said he loved me, that he was wrong. He begged me not to leave him.

He even pulled out a knife, threatening to die with me.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Why should I be the only one left to suffer? I would make him feel the same despair I felt.

So I told him I wanted to start over with him. And, true to his word, he loved me just like he did in the beginning.

He even sent Clara Aveline abroad, and she hasn't been back since.

I took off the ring and pushed it forward, along with the agreement.

"Once you sign this, we're finished. We'll owe each other nothing."

Ian Sinclair snatched the agreement and ripped it to shreds.

The ring rolled away, landing beside the trash can and gathering dust.

'Just like our six-year relationship—filthy and beyond repair.'

He was so furious he began to laugh. "I will never divorce you. We'll be stuck together in this hell until we die. You owe me that."

"Even if you try to take this to court, no lawyer will dare to accept your divorce suit."

"I'll be waiting for you to come crawling back to me."

Ian Sinclair was a man of his word. For days, I couldn't find a single law firm willing to help me.

He never came back after that day. But like clockwork, the daily gossip columns featuring him would find their way to my phone.

He even personally brought Clara Aveline back.

3

Ian Sinclair spent a fortune to hold a private art exhibition for her and took her to an auction, winning bids at any cost.

Because she offhandedly mentioned she liked them, he bought out every rose in the city to declare his love for her.

Everything he had originally planned for me, he gave to Clara Aveline instead.

Suddenly, I became a laughingstock to everyone.

After all, it was because of Clara Aveline that Ian Sinclair had me locked up for seven days.

People even placed bets at casinos, wagering on whether I would be divorced and if Clara Aveline would take my place.

But none of that mattered to me anymore.

I placed a fresh divorce agreement on the bedside table in the bedroom, so he would see it the next time he brought a woman home.

Without packing a thing, I prepared to leave.

Our marriage had long existed in name only. It was time to end these days of mutual torment.

The moment I stepped out the door, several people grabbed me and threw me into a car.

An hour later, I was brought to a wedding.

The groom was Ian Sinclair, whom I hadn't seen in a while.

And the bride, unbelievably, was Clara Aveline.

I understood instantly. This was the humiliation he had spoken of.

The venue was the same place where Ian Sinclair and I had gotten married.

While we were planning our wedding, he told me he had a Feng Shui master meticulously select this location, saying that couples who wed here would be blessed with a lifetime of happiness.

How ironic that he was now marrying Clara Aveline, the person I hated most, in this very spot.

The moment I walked into the banquet hall, the guests began to whisper amongst themselves.

"Just a few days ago, weren't there rumors that President Sinclair spent hundreds of millions on her birthday? How could he turn on her overnight?"

"Exactly. The last time a business rival hired thugs to attack them, Ian Sinclair had seven or eight ribs broken while shielding Sylvia, who didn't even get a scratch. How could things have gotten to this point with someone he'd protect with his own life?"

I felt a daze wash over me.

Back then, just like them, I believed Ian Sinclair was madly in love with me.

But that didn't stop him from building a harem later on.

'How did it get this bad?' I wondered.

Was it the day after I gave birth to our daughter, when I caught Ian Sinclair and Clara Aveline passionately entangled in the room next to mine at the postpartum care center?

Or was it on our wedding anniversary, when he gave me a photo album of himself with his 108 lovers and told me to "learn" from it?

Or perhaps it was when he let his new favorite run me over with a car, landing me in the emergency room...

I took a deep breath, forcing down the bitter lump rising in my throat.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, I walked straight toward the two of them.

SPLASH!

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and Clara Aveline let out a piercing scream.

I dropped the empty glass and looked at the two of them, dripping with alcohol. "Congratulations on taking a concubine, President Sinclair. Consider this drink my blessing to you both."

Furious, Clara Aveline raised her hand to slap me, but I caught her wrist and shoved her back.

"Are you all dead?" Ian Sinclair roared at the nearby bodyguards as he caught a stumbling Clara Aveline.

I was forced to my knees.

The next second, Clara Aveline's slaps landed squarely on my face.

"Why didn't you just die at the orphanage? Why did you have to come back and compete with me?"

"I told you, you've never been able to win against me, not since we were kids. Not our parents, and not men!"

My lip split, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

Ian Sinclair stared at the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, his expression unreadable.

'I knew he was waiting for me to beg him.'

'He was humiliating me like this, trying to force me to bow my head and admit I was wrong.'

I bit down hard, refusing to let a groan of pain escape.

"Enough!"

Ian Sinclair finally couldn't watch anymore. He took me from the bodyguards' grasp.

My head was spinning, and I could only let him drag me into the restroom.

"Sylvia, what's so hard about bowing your head and admitting you're wrong?"

"As long as you apologize, we can start over..."

He turned on the faucet and splashed a handful of water on my face. The shock brought me to my senses, and I cut him off:

"Never! Not unless Ellie comes back to life."

I gave him a miserable smile. In the mirror, my swollen face looked grotesque.

"Ian Sinclair, there's no going back. Let's just let each other go."

"I'll leave this city. Who you marry has nothing to do with me."

"You really don't care at all? Then what have these past few years between us meant?"

That was a question I should have been asking him.

He was the one who betrayed our love first.

At that thought, a surge of hatred erupted within me.

"Can we just say I was blind? If I hadn't accepted your proposal, my life would have been ten thousand times happier than it is now!"

'At least, Ellie wouldn't have died.'

The expression on Ian Sinclair's face finally crumbled. He gripped my chin, his chest heaving with rage.

"Your regret is useless. I won't let you go. We're fated to be entangled with each other until we die."

"There will be no divorce between us, only widowhood."

Ian Sinclair locked me up in the villa, with guards watching me twenty-four hours a day.

I finally found a chance to leave.

But just a second before boarding my flight,

a video arrived on my phone.