Leaving My Cheating Husband to Inherit a Fortune

My nails dug deep into my palms, sharp enough to break skin. The pain made my fingers tremble, yet it still wasn't as suffocating as the weight crushing my heart.

Sebastian had always wanted to clear out Jacob's room as soon as possible, saying it hurt him to look at it.

But I stopped him, again and again.

Because that room... was the last trace of our son's life—the only place in this house where I could still feel him.

But now, even that final piece of him is being casually erased by others.

Sebastian clearly expected me to argue with him like before, to fight tooth and nail to keep our child's room intact. He was already bracing himself.

But instead, as if I had become someone completely different, I simply nodded and said calmly, "Alright. I was planning to tidy up anyway. I might as well clear everything out."

Only by severing every memory in that room can I leave this "home" I've been guarding with my whole heart—without looking back.

The moment I said that, Sebastian froze, as if all his prepared arguments had nowhere to go.

Sabrina immediately chimed in, voice dripping with sweetness. "Madam is really so considerate. I was afraid I'd trouble you."

I didn't even bother looking at her. I just moved faster, my breaths turning cold and hollow.

One by one, I folded Jacob's drawings, his toys, his tiny shoes. I held each item to my chest, as if I were holding a child I would never get back.

By the time I closed the lid on the last box, my chest felt empty, carved clean.

I forced myself to lift the suitcase and dragged it toward the door.

My vision blurred.

My steps faltered.

Crack.

The dull, sickening sound of glass piercing flesh echoed sharply in my ears.

Agonizing pain shot up from my foot like electricity.

My knees buckled, my whole body trembling from spine to fingertips. Tears spilled before I could stop them.

I clung to the doorframe, cold sweat sliding down my neck.

But upstairs, Sebastian and Sabrina's laughter floated down effortlessly.

"The light on this balcony is great."

"President Mitchell, your study is so spacious..."

His study—the place where he snapped at me every time I stepped inside.

So someone else could waltz in effortlessly, welcomed, and praised.

As long as it wasn't me, it seemed even a woman who looked nothing like my sister—nothing like his past—could easily earn his gentleness, his attention, his preference.

My vision turned hazy.

Only when my blood had soaked half the floor did I drag the box to the living room and sit down. I dabbed at my wound with tissues, each touch painful enough to shake my hand.

A while later, Sebastian finally came downstairs.

His gaze swept through the now-emptied child's room. His brows knitted.

"Why did you clear it out so thoroughly?"

As if he found the emptiness... strange and unsettling.

I lowered my head. "You said it was an eyesore."

He paused but didn't respond to that. Instead, he said, "Later, go buy a new bedding set and cushions. Sabrina is a pampered young lady—not like you. She can't sleep on the things you buy."

Blood was literally pooling beneath my feet, yet he didn't spare me even a glance.

In his eyes, I never deserved the best. But Sabrina... by simply standing beside him—deserved everything.

I silently applied medicine, ignoring him. My silence made Sebastian finally sense something was off.

He stared at me for a long time before speaking, "Why aren't you responding? Oh right—I forgot to tell you. The day after tomorrow, come with me to a fragrance gala."

I didn't want to go.

Before I could even respond, he snapped at me coldly. "You're my wife. If you don't attend, you'll embarrass me. People will start speculating about our marriage. How am I supposed to explain that?"

On hearing that, I swallowed every refusal.

Fine.

I'll treat it as the last occasion I attend as his wife before the divorce—

a beginning and an end.

Besides, I need to find a reliable partner for the future. I can't just bring back anyone to meet my father.

On the day of the banquet, the wound on my foot had barely scabbed over. Every step felt like my shoe was slicing into the flesh again.

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Sabrina walked ahead, hand in hand, their steps brisk and light—never once slowing down for me.

Watching their backs felt like watching seven years of my own stupidity.

The banquet hall glowed under warm lights. Perfumers and collectors from major fragrance families mingled.

Someone spotted Sebastian from afar and approached cheerfully. "President Mitchell, long time no see."

Then the man's gaze shifted toward Sabrina. His smile brightened. "And this must be Mrs. Mitchell? Her taste is exquisite—and what a beautiful presence."

He was a senior expert in the industry, known for sharp accuracy.

Sebastian hesitated, not correcting him immediately.

Sabrina's cheeks turned beet-red. "Oh no, I'm just President Mitchell's secretary. How could I be the Madam..."

The man blinked. "Secretary? But the scent you're wearing—cold wood base with a hint of clean leather and the faintest soap note... This ratio is extremely rare."

He clicked his tongue appreciatively. "This fragrance is gentle, clean, yet carries a subtle, falling-in-love warmth. Very romantic. Didn't President Mitchell create it as a personal blend for his wife?"

Only then did his gaze land on me.

He sniffed lightly, then raised his brows, "Don't tell me that cheap roadside perfume clinging to this lady... is something President Mitchell created?"