<b>Chapter </b><b>210</b>
“No problem.” <b>I </b><b>nodded</b><b>, </b>giving her a skeptical nce. “Has Steven been bothering you?”
<b>“</b><b>Yep</b>! Burp…” She sipped her water, belching slightly, her gaze unfocused<b>, </b>yet her thoughts seemed <b>crystal </b>clear. “He <b>said </b>he <b>didn’t </b><b>want </b><b>to </b>split up and would ditch the arranged marriage for me.”
I was stunned. “For real?<b>”</b>N?velDrama.Org content rights.
“Are you <b>daft</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>Christine’s fingers, adorned with an elegant manicure, poked my forehead, her rity unshaken. “Whether it’s true or not <b>doesn’t </b>matter. Even if he wants that, do you think his folks would agree? His family might not be as posh as the Ferguson family, but <b>still</b><b>, </b><b>a </b><b>girl </b>like me marrying him? Fat chance<b>.</b><b>”</b>
Christine continued, “No matter how passionate love is, can it stand up to his family’s staunch opposition? <b>And </b>if I do marry <b>him</b><b>, </b>how <b>long </b>before the happiness turns to bitterness<b>? </b><b>Only </b>a fool would fall for that!”
After hearing her out, I pinched her cheek. “Had quite a bit to drink, yet your brain’s still ticking, huh?<b>”</b>
She gave me <b>a </b>bittersweet smile. “That’s why I drank so much.”
That was too lucid. Christine didn’t even allow herself the chance to <b>sink </b>into oblivion, to grasp a moment of fleeting happiness.
Christine rested her head on myp, murmuring, “Cindere ended up with the prince because she was born into nobility. But I’m just the Little Match Girl.”
My heart ached for her. “Then I’ll buy your matches with all my savings and make <b>you </b>rich.”
After all, Bryant had given me plenty, enough to provide for Christine.
The next day, I woke without an rm, freshened up, and headed to the kitchen to cook breakfast. I made a simple affair of milk with sandwiches.
Christine sat at the dining table, looking deted, eyeing me with a shaky voice. “I feel you’re in a good mood today.”
“Feeling pretty decent.” I set breakfast in front of her. “I’ve got an appointment with Bryant today to to sort out our divorce papers.”
“Today?” She yawned, piecing <b>it </b>together. “Weren’t you guys in the cooling–off period till next month?”
I answered, “A call from Bryant can sort it out.”
Christine frowned, “He’s that eager, huh?”
“I was the one who suggested it.” I smiled, sitting opposite her, took a sip of milk, and dropped the bombshell. “You were right about Albert and Margaret being an item.”
Christine was stunned, speechless. “For real? You caught them in the act?”
I smirked. “Yup.”
She snatched my phone. “Did you take pictures? Show me!*
“Eye–watering stuff,” I warned kindly.
Undeterred, she dered, “I’ve seen it all. It won’t faze me.”
After viewing, her verdict was sinct. “Wow, quite the quick shooter, huh<b>?</b><b>”</b>
I nearly choked on my breakfast, shooting her a re and urging her to eat up.
Post–breakfast, Christine offered to wash the dishes while <b>I </b>stepped out to the balcony<b>, </b>dialing Bryant.
He picked up immediately, silent, waiting for me to speak.
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I pursed my <b>lips</b>. “When can you make it today? I’ll be at the <b>town </b>hall waiting for you.”
Crash! It sounded like a phone smashed, followed <b>by </b>a burst of static
I clutched my palm, zoning out on the balcony for a bit before heading back inside when
It was Kevin.
my phone rang again.
I answered, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Ferguson… Kevin sounded unsettled. “Mr. Ferguson told <b>me </b><b>to </b>inform you, 2 PM<b>.</b>”
I took a deep breath<b>. </b>“Okay.”
As the <b>moment </b>to officially divorce approached, I felt an uncanny <b>sense </b>of unreality.