Dying to Divorce Him

Chapter 1

I walked out of the hospital, clutching the lab report the doctor had just handed me.

His words echoed in my head: You don't have much time left.

It was a hereditary illness, incurable, unstoppable.

As I pulled out my phone, a news alert lit up the screen. "Top star caught holding hands with rising actress late at night."

I scrolled through the comments, only half-paying attention. A few fans cheered them on, but most were livid.

The driver arrived a few minutes later. I slipped the report back into my bag. Once I wrapped up everything here, I planned to go abroad for treatment.

I sent Felix Johnson a quick message. Where are you? Can you come home tonight?

Half an hour passed. No reply.

I called. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again.

I sighed and set my phone down, rubbing my temples.

The driver gave me a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Johnson is probably busy, ma'am. I'm sure he'll call you back when he gets a moment."

I let out a short laugh. "Busy, huh? Busier than me, the CEO? He hasn't answered his phone all day."

Then I added, "And stop calling him Mr. Johnson. Just say Felix. He needs to fix his damn attitude."

By the time I got home, the busy guy finally returned my call.

He said he was at a celebration dinner.

The background was so loud I could barely hear him. Before I could even get a full sentence out, he hung up.

I sat on the couch and waited.

All. Night.

By the time he stumbled through the door, it was morning.

He reeked of alcohol and some cloying perfume. He reached out to hug me, but I pushed him away.

"Go take a shower. You smell disgusting."

He sniffed himself, shrugged, and headed upstairs.

When he came back down, a towel was slung around his waist, water dripping from his hair.

He tossed another towel at me and asked with a grin, "Mind drying my hair?"

I knew what he was doing. Playing soft. He always did this after a scandal, come home all sweet, act pitiful, wait for the drama to die down, then clear things up like nothing ever happened.

And like a fool, I always forgave him.

Not this time.

He sat next to me and draped an arm over my shoulder.

"Let's not fight, okay? My career's just taking off. I've got a ton of events I can't say no to."

I pushed his arm off and sat across from him. I was ready to talk, really talk.

But he yawned. "I'm exhausted. Can we do this later?"

Then he headed upstairs without waiting for a response.

I let out a bitter laugh.

This is the man I built from the ground up. The same man who now treats me like an afterthought.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He hadn't taken it upstairs.

I reached for it, then hesitated. He'd changed the lock screen.

Of course he had.

I set it back down, changed into something more comfortable, and went upstairs to get some rest.

But when I tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry, something slipped out.

A hotel room key.

With a lipstick stain on it.

My hands clenched.

I saw red.

Storming upstairs, I shook him awake.

He groaned, trying to pull me into his arms, half-asleep.

But I wasn't there for cuddles.