The Foley Villa, Akloit.
Before the mirror stood a woman in a white cotton camisole nightgown that fell to her knees, revealing fair arms and slender legs. Her chestnut hair contrasted sharply with her pale face; the once bright eyes lacked their youthful radiance on this, the 1162nd day of her marriage to Kelvin Foley. For over three years, Cheyenne Lawrence had been nominally "Mrs. Foley," confined to the cold mansion, awaiting his infrequent returns. She laughed at herself. How courageous had she been to believe she could soften Kelvin, this stubborn, hard-hearted man?
A servant approached, carrying a black evening gown, her expression cold and disdainful. "Miss Lawrence," she said, "Mr. Foley will return soon. You must change to greet him." No one—neither Kelvin nor the servants—acknowledged her as "Mrs. Foley." Cheyenne was an unwanted person, deeply despised.
She picked up the long black dress. She dressed, looking like an exquisite princess, and sat obediently on the sofa, awaiting his arrival. Then he would grant her a divorce! Yes, their marriage ended today, with the return of that woman.
Cheyenne looked in the mirror, then smiled charmingly. After all, it was her last day as "Mrs. Foley." She applied lipstick, admiring herself in her phone's screen. She looked like a fairy!
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps sounded outside the door, each step tugging at Cheyenne's heart. Despite his infrequent visits over the past three years, she recognized him instantly. It was him!
"Bang!"
The glass door burst open, the autumn wind carrying dead leaves that fell near his polished leather shoes. He stepped on them without hesitation. She saw his long legs in black suit pants, highlighting his tall, lean frame. His face, capable of charming anyone—sharp features and deep-set, icy eyes—was now filled with anger. His gaze was as cold as winter snow. But she was accustomed to this; she smiled nonchalantly.
"Cheyenne, what are you dawdling for? We agreed on the divorce papers!" he barked, approaching her. He roughly grasped her chin. It hurt. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to show weakness, smiling even as she gritted her teeth.
"My dear husband," she said softly, "you're being impatient. I simply needed time for my makeup."
He roughly released her chin and stormed off without a word. As if touching something unclean, he pulled a white handkerchief from his suit pocket and meticulously wiped his fingers. Cheyenne winced. A chill ran through her, stealing her breath.
"Don't call me your husband; you're not worthy!" he snarled, his eyes like those of a bloodthirsty demon.
Cheyenne licked her lips, curving them into an elegant smile. "Yes," she said, her voice bitter, "I'm not worthy." Her delicate hands clenched into fists, leaving deep marks as her nails dug into her palms. But this pain was insignificant compared to even a fraction of what Kelvin had inflicted.
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne gathered her dress, stood, and said softly, "As long as our divorce isn't finalized, I am still your wife."
His anger intensified, as if he wanted to see through her very being.
"Do you truly lack men so much? If you want it so badly, just divorce me obediently. I'll give you ten or eight replacements," he sneered. To be rid of her, he would even cuckold himself.
Cheyenne's heart ached. He said that because he didn't love her. She turned, smiling serenely, replying cheerfully, "Certainly, thank you. I prefer gentle men."
Kelvin's disgust deepened. "Shameless!" he sneered.
Her smile widened, concealing the disappointment behind it.
(The promotional text for FindNovel.net has been removed as requested.)