After My Divorce I Married The Hidden Tycoon

In the afternoon, Royal took me to the local registry office. He seemed in high spirits during the drive, chatting about our upcoming third anniversary and asking where I’d like to celebrate. Royal and I grew up together, and this marked our third year of marriage.

"How about Venice?" he suggested. "You've been dreaming of feeding pigeons at St Mark’s Square since you were a kid."

He got out of the car, opened the door for me, and helped me unbuckle my seatbelt. "Tsk, have you been crying?" he frowned, gently brushing the corner of my eye with his thumb. "I told you to keep your chin up. She’s just a silly little bird; I’m just waiting to see when she stops soaring so high."

As he said this, a box of condoms accidentally fell out of his pocket. Royal coughed awkwardly, rubbed his nose, and said nothing more, leading us into the registry office.

Everything went smoothly. I struggle with aphasia, which makes speaking to strangers challenging. But I can manage with nods and shakes of my head.

"Is this a voluntary divorce?" the clerk asked.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Are you confirming that your relationship is beyond repair?" they continued.

"Yes," I nodded again.

"There’s a one-month cooling-off period. Please return in a month."

Royal took the receipt. Before we even left the building, he snapped a picture of it and sent a message on his phone. Moments later, I got a similar notification—Cataleya's.

Royal had sent her the photo of the receipt, with a message that read: "Satisfied now? Get ready for tonight!"

I clicked on her profile and blocked her. Immediately after, a text came through confirming a flight ticket purchase, followed by a WhatsApp message:

[The ticket's booked for a month from now.]

[See you in Paris.]