For our Wedding Anniversary, I Gifted Him Divorce Papers

She hadn’t even gotten her period—so why did it hurt so much all of a sudden?

Lavender stood up to leave, but just as she reached for the door, it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside.

Then came Cyanne’s arrogant voice from behind the door.

“Bitch, how’s that hand-me-down love treating you?

“Desmond’s always loved me, from the very beginning. Now that I’m back, you should get out of our way.

“You really had the nerve to show up tonight, of all times, trying to steal my spotlight?”

Doubling over in pain, Lavender clutched her belly, cold sweat dripping down her brow.

Her voice was weak but defiant when she replied, “Cyanne, if you want him, take him. I’m done caring about him.”

Cyanne let out a cold laugh, not buying a word. “Funny. You think I’d believe that?

“You stole my mom back then—now you want to steal my man too? Who do you think you are?

“You’re staying in here tonight. No one’s coming to save you.”

With a twisted smile, Cyanne dragged a “Restricted Area. Do Not Enter” sign over and set it by the door.

Because some of the auction items tonight couldn’t be photographed, everyone had been required to surrender their phones before entering.

No one but Cyanne would think to come this way.

Wracked with pain, Avy could only slide to the floor, slumping against the wall, her strength fading fast. With what little energy she had left, she pounded on the door and cried out in desperation.

“Help… someone, please… Help me…”

But anyone passing by would see the sign and turn away without a second glance. No one came to save her.

She didn’t know how long she had been shouting before the pain finally overwhelmed her, and she passed out.

When the auction ended and Lavender still hadn’t returned, Desmond’s brow furrowed with concern.

Cyanne blinked up at him with feigned innocence. “Mondy, do you think maybe she got upset because you gave me her seat?

“If I’d known she’d take it so personally, I never would’ve taken it from her.”

Hearing Cyanne blame herself, Desmond frowned. “You’re the rightful daughter of the Winslets. You think it’s appropriate for a secretary to sit in your place?

“Forget it. Let her be. She’s been getting a bit too proud lately. Maybe it’s good to let her cool off. Let’s head home.”

Out of sight, Cyanne smiled triumphantly, thinking, ‘Lavender, I told you—you can’t win against me. Not with my mom, not with my lover.’

That night, Lavender didn’t come home, but Desmond never once asked about his wife.

The next morning, at the auction’s restroom, a cleaning lady unlocked the door during her rounds.

There, huddled in a corner, was Lavender. Her dress was soaked through. Even half-unconscious, her body trembled from the cold.

The cleaner rushed over, worried. “Ma’am, how did you get locked in the restroom? You don’t look well—should I call 911?”

Lavender’s damp lashes fluttered open. She pressed her arms against the floor, forcing herself up with effort.

“Thank you, but… no need.”

The pain in her belly had eased, but the restroom had been unbearably cold all night.

She really thought Desmond would at least come looking for her.

Clearly, she’d overestimated herself again.

She remembered how, when Cyanne once went missing for just ten minutes, Desmond had nearly called 911 in a panic.

But now—after a whole night without contact—he hadn’t even tried to find his wife.

‘So this is how different,’ Lavender realized, ‘love is from indifference.’

Steadying herself against the wall, she walked out one step at a time and caught a cab home.

In the car, she finally got her phone back—and sure enough, not a single call came from Desmond.

Instead, there were several messages from Red.

[Lavender, I can’t wait a whole month. One week. I’m coming to get you in a week.]