He Got What He Wanted... Then Went Mad

Sabrina's Point-of-View

After Micah returned from the clinic, I took the divorce agreement and headed straight to his office on Raventon Street.

"Ms. Slater, Mr. Benson is reviewing data right now. He's not available," his executive assistant, Halbert Burke, said, stepping in front of me.

Reviewing data?

I followed his gaze to the narrow gap in the glass door. But what floated through the small gap wasn't the voice of an analyst delivering a financial briefing—it was the soft, rhythmic beeping of a monitor.

Inside what was supposed to be one of the most secure offices in the world, the screen wasn't displaying figures for market trends. It was monitoring Rowena's heartbeat in real time.

A man who could strike down a 10-billion-dollar investment without so much as a flicker of emotion was now staring at a medical monitor, his face taut with panic. How ridiculous!

I still remembered how, during the early days of our marriage, I had once cut my finger on the edge of a folder while delivering documents to him. Blood had beaded on my fingertip.

Upon seeing it, Micah had thrown his pen across the room without hesitation.

"Sabrina, I hate any form of imperfection," he said coldly as he grabbed my wrist. "Clean it up. Don't let me see it again."

From that day on, I wore double-layered gloves even when pruning the thorns off roses.

"Ms. Slater…" Halbert's voice pulled me out of the past.

I let out a bitter laugh and said, "It's fine. When he's free, just have him sign this."

Halbert nodded, took the file from my hand, and disappeared into the office.

I thought I would have to wait at least a few minutes. Surely, he would finish watching Rowena's heartbeat on the monitor before giving me even a sliver of his attention.

But less than 30 seconds later, the door opened, and Halbert handed the file back to me. Micah's signature was already on the final page.

He hadn't even looked at it.

My fingers tightened around the divorce agreement as my chest tightened.

Since I was 15, I had known that I would marry Micah. He was the emotionless king of a business empire—cold, untouchable, and incapable of loving anyone. Yet I naively believed that if I became perfect enough, I could be the exception.

But it turned out that place was already reserved for someone else.

Now, with a few strokes of a pen, he had turned all my foolish hopes into a joke.

When I returned to the penthouse overlooking all of Ashbourne City, I asked the maid, Simona Reynolds, to take Micah's and my wedding portrait down.

"But Mrs. Benson… that painting's your favorite. You had one of the most celebrated artists in Edevia make it…"

She was right. I once saw that painting as proof that I had tamed the cold-blooded man—that I had trapped him in a photo frame and made him my husband.

But I had forgotten that it wasn't easy to change someone's nature. Micah hadn't changed; he had only been lying low for a while.

"Burn it, Simona. There's no need to leave it around lest it bother his new muse," I said lightly.