<b>Chapter </b><b>211</b>
Before heading out to the city hall<b>, </b>Christine grabbed me by the shoulders, giving my lips a coat of bold red lipstick<b>. </b><b>“</b><b>Big </b>celebrations <b>call </b>for bright and fiery vibes. There you go!”
After applying it<b>, </b>she looked satisfied, waving me off with a smile. I <b>couldn’t </b>help butugh, feeling a sudden lift in my spirits. Indeed, wasn’t this what I had been longing for?
I perked up and went out, arriving at the town hall at 2 PM.
After waiting for him countless times over three years, I wasn’t keen on doing <b>it </b>again. Yet, as I stepped out of the car, there was no sign of Bryant. It seemed I was waiting for him once more.
Thankfully<b>, </b>he <b>didn’t </b>keep me waiting for too long. A few minutester, a tall figure stepped <b>out </b>of a sleek ck Maybach. His presence was imposing, and his gaze <b>icy</b>, clearly in a foul mood.
Since we headed toward divorce, he’d stopped hiding his true self. Gone was the gentle and reserved facade he used to put up.
However, he wasn’t alone. Two more figures emerged from the <b>car</b>. <b>Arm </b>in arm with Teresa, Margaret followed behind Bryant<b>, </b>oblivious that he was aware of their petty schemes.
Ignoring them, Bryant walked straight up to me without pause. “You were so eager for a divorce<b>, </b>weren’t <b>you</b>? Let’s get on with it then.”
“Oh.” I nced at Teresa and Margaret behind him and smirked, “What’s this? nning on swapping your divorce papers for a marriage license today, are you? You’re going out of your way to prevent your dad from being charged with bigamy.”N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content.
His eyes narrowed, his voice <b>t</b>, “Were you so sarcastic before?”
<b>“</b><b>I </b>used to love you, remember?”
How deeply I loved him<b>, </b>to the point where I lost myself. How could I bear to utter harsh words to him?,
He paused, his emotions unreadable in the dim light of the town hall. “And now? You don’t love me at all?”
His tone was so indifferent as if he was asking if I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry.
Caught off guard by his question, I looked away to hide my feelings. I pointed to the ticket machine as we reached the town hall’s entrance. <b>“</b>I’ll go get a number.”
“No need.” His voice barely faded when a middle–aged man in a sharp suit approached us from the office area. “Mr. Ferguson, right this way, please.”
“Right.” With a slight nod, Bryant nced at me, his words cutting, “Aren’t you in a hurry? Let’s save you some <b>time </b>in the queue then.” I couldn’t help but smile. “I never realized how considerate you could be.”
Unlike the sarcasm he’d thrown earlier, my praise was genuine.
His past disys of tenderness never seemed sincere, just superficial acts. He’d never truly cared for what <b>I </b>needed. It was somewhat ironic that I got to experience his thoughtfulness during our divorce.
The middle–aged man <b>led </b>us into an office, gathered our documents, and brought in the papers for <b>us </b>to sign. In no time, we were about to get our fresh divorce certificates.
Everything <b>was </b>smooth until Bryant received a phone call <b>just </b>after we’d signed the papers. His phone rang insistently. “Speak.” Whatever he heard on the other end made him stand up abruptly after <b>just </b><b>a </b>few seconds, his voice icy <b>cold </b>as he addressed the <b>middle</b>–aged official, “We’re not going through with this today!”
His tone was so chilling that it sent shivers down my spine, He then made to leave swiftly. Something urgent must have <be </b>up. I stood up, too<b>, </b><b>a </b><b>strong </b>sense of foreboding washing over me. “Why? We’re almost done. Are you going back <b>on </b><b>your </b>word <b>again</b><b>?</b><b>”</b>
“Why?” He turned to face <b>me</b>, his gaze piercing as ifced with venom. With each word strained, he pushed out, “<b>Don’t </b><i>you </i>know <b>why</b>, <b>Jane</b><b>? </b><b>You </b>say I’m going back on my word<b>, </b>but how are you any better?”
His anger felt like it was about to engulf <b>me</b>.