Gradually drifting further and further away, books disappearing.

She scooped the divorce agreement from the floor and signed her name with a few swift strokes of the pen.

It was over in moments—so fast it left the room stunned.

Bewildered glances were exchanged all around.

That was it? Just like that?

"Christian, I've signed. I'll move out of the villa as soon as I can."

Without another word, and without a backward glance, she walked out.

The door clicked shut, and a low buzz of conversation erupted.

"What's Samantha playing at now?"

"Strategic retreat, obviously. She'd never really leave Christian. It's been the same act for years—honestly, I'm tired of watching it."

"True. I give it a week before she comes crawling back."

"She won'tt even wait that long."

Christian's smile was cold and utterly certain.

"I give it three days. Three days, and Samantha will be back here in tears, begging me to tear up the papers. But this time," he said, his voice flat, "I won't be so soft-hearted."

"Damn, Christian, you've really got her wrapped around your finger! How do you keep that pitiful hanger-on so completely under your thumb?"

Waves of raucous laughter filled the room.

...

Samantha took a taxi home.

Inside the villa, she went straight upstairs to the bedroom. From a desk drawer, she pulled out a small, worn metal box—it had clearly seen better days.

Opening it, she found a single black-and-white photograph: her grandfather with an old comrade-in-arms. On the back was a phone number.

She dialed.

"Hello?"

A familiar, deep voice resonated through the receiver. For a moment, a hot sting of tears pressed behind her eyes.

"Grandpa Louis? It's Samantha. Billy's granddaughter... Do you remember me?"

"Oh, Samantha! Of course I remember you, my dear! I'm so happy you called!"

"Grandpa Louis, you once told me... that if I was ever willing, I could inherit my grandfather's badge number anytime. Does that offer still stand?"

"Of course it does! But, my dear child, are you sure? Have you really thought this through?"

"Yes," she said, her voice firm, solemn. "I have."

"Give me one month, Grandpa Louis. I'll wrap up everything here in Rivermouth, and then I'll come to Kingsport to find you."

"Good. I'll be waiting."

Hanging up, Samantha stared blankly at the wedding photo on the wall.

Five years ago, Christian's grandfather, Logan, had passed away after a long illness. When the lawyer read the will, it was clear: Christian, as the eldest legitimate grandson, would inherit the entire family fortune—on one condition. He had to marry Samantha. Otherwise, he would lose everything.

So, Christian married her.

For five years, his polite courtesy slowly chilled into indifference, until today, when he no longer bothered to pretend, openly carrying on with Abigail.

And through it all, Samantha had stayed. She never left.

Everyone believed she was desperately, pathetically in love with him.

Only she knew the truth: she was merely keeping a promise to Old Mr. Logan. At his sickbed, she had vowed not to leave—unless Christian himself asked for a divorce. Unless he asked three separate times.

Now, the condition was met. He had asked three times. She was finally free.

Samantha looked at the photograph and whispered softly, "Grandpa Logan, I tried my best. But I couldn't make Christian love me."

She let out a slow breath. "Maybe... maybe divorce really is for the best."