Chapter 6: No More Scripts

The last time I was this speechless was… the last time.

It’s not even surprising anymore. She always knows exactly how to put me on the spot.

Can’t blame her—it’s because I used to care too much about her every move.

I remember those first months, watching her from across the boardroom table, hanging on every word, hoping for a smile. Now, I don’t even bother pretending.

The system starts hyping up like crazy.

[Go, grab her hand! Tell her not to be so cruel to you!]

[Hurry up and kick the male lead out! She’s your wife, your woman!]

The barrage of prompts makes my head ache. It’s like being shouted at by a personal trainer you never hired.

To avoid being shocked, I reach out and hook her pinky, only for her to shake me off immediately.

I barely touch her, but she pulls away like I’m made of poison ivy. The assistants behind the desk look scandalized.

I speak calmly, following the system’s script: "Hey, you, don’t be so cruel to me. If you have to be cruel, fine, but sign this agreement first."

My fingers brush hers for a second—she flinches, and my chest aches, just for a heartbeat. I keep my tone light, slipping the divorce agreement onto her stack of paperwork. My fingers shake a little, but I hide it behind a lopsided grin.

System: [Who told you to add that last sentence?]

A silent warning pulses in my brain. I ignore it, heart pounding.

Lillian takes the agreement and flips through it, pursing her lips: "Are you sure?"

She scans the pages with practiced efficiency, tapping her pen against the desk. For a moment, something almost like regret flickers in her eyes.

Before she finishes, the male lead comes out, eyes narrowed: "So it’s you."

He steps into the hallway, all swagger and suspicion. For a second, I brace for a punch that never comes.

Lillian puts the agreement away, hiding it behind her.

She slides the papers into her briefcase, lips pressed tight.

And the male lead starts provoking me like crazy.

"Heh, no wonder you wore a mask—you look about thirty percent like me. That’s all the luck you’ll ever have."

"If Lillian hadn’t begged me to spare you yesterday, you’d already be lying in a hospital bed, unconscious."

"Fine, I’ll get Lillian a new security guard. Go to HR to settle your wages—you don’t need to come tomorrow."

He talks big, chest puffed out. I try not to roll my eyes. The room is thick with tension, every word another push.

He really knows how to act.

It’s almost impressive—if he ever gets tired of business, Broadway would kill for a guy with his presence.

Makes sense—he doesn’t know I’m married to Lillian yet. In the book, when he finds out, he’s furious, spends a fortune to hire thugs to beat me—iron rods, sticks, fists and kicks, not a single patch of good skin left. I was bedridden for over thirty days before I could walk.

Just the memory makes my skin crawl. I rub my shoulder, half-expecting it to ache again.

The violence in the book’s details—don’t even ask how much it hurts.

I’ve read that chapter too many times. Not interested in a repeat performance.

So, better for me to reveal it myself now. I pat the male lead’s shoulder: "Can we talk in private?"

I keep my voice steady, forcing a smile. Better to be proactive than end up in the ER.