Not All That's Broken Can Be Fixed

Christian's POV

It was then that the staff at the courthouse handed me the divorce application receipt, saying, "Your divorce registration has been processed, and it will become legally effective in one month."

I accepted the receipt from the staff, only for Abigail Southall, my soon-to-be ex-wife, to snatch it away and snap a photo. She then stared at her phone with a dreamy grin, like a lovestruck teenager.

In that instant, the staff behind the counter threw me a sympathetic look.

In order to humor Abigail's boyfriends, Ethan and Owen Lincoln, I had played along with Abigail in countless fake divorce acts, to the point where the staff all recognized me.

Abigail finally looked up at me with a tender expression after a long while, holding up a red velvet box. She then showed it to me and asked, "Do you think these look pretty, Christian? Do you think Ethan and Owen will like them?"

There were two highly expensive rings inside.

I nodded calmly and said, "They're beautiful."

I unconsciously rubbed my ring finger, which bore nothing but a faint indentation from a ring.

It was a week ago when Ethan and Owen threw a tantrum to force Abigail to propose to them—one hid in a fishing village and slit his wrists, while the other flew abroad and overdosed.

They specifically demanded the exact same wedding rings Abigail and I had. Those were one-of-a-kind, custom rings she had made for me, the only pair in existence.

Abigail took my ring off while I was asleep and claimed it was sent out for cleaning, but I knew she was lying. She had actually flushed both of our rings down the toilet, just to appease both Ethan and Owen.

Abigail instinctively reached for my hand as we got into the car.

I suddenly noticed that the interior decor I had designed had been changed to green.

Abigail, noticing me staring at it blankly, quickly explained, "Those two are so childish—they've been obsessed with some cutesy animal life-sim game lately, insisting I repaint the car to match it. I'll change it back eventually, Christian."

I merely hummed softly in agreement, thinking that it made sense that the car should get a makeover too since we were divorced now. I couldn't stop myself from sneezing between the overpowering scent of the new air freshener and the trunk full of fresh flowers.

Abigail finally looked up from her phone and noticed the rash breaking out on my neck. She furrowed her brow and said, "I forgot you're allergic to pollen."

She immediately instructed the chauffeur to take us to the hospital, only for her phone to ring while we were waiting at a traffic light. She answered the phone, and her face immediately fell. "Pull over this instant!"

Abigail turned to me and said, "Ethan got a blister from some boiling water. He's usually so aloof and cares so much about his appearance, but right now he's actually crying and asking for me, so I need to go over there. You'll have to go to the hospital yourself, Christian."

I was dropped off on the busy street and stood before the passing cars, disoriented. I finally came to my senses when my phone buzzed with a notification that my plane ticket had been successfully booked. I eventually took the cab to the hospital.

Upon seeing that I was alone, the nurse was a bit taken aback. "Your wife didn't come with you this time?"

I had an allergic constitution; usually, if I came into contact with even a little dust, Abigail would get paranoid and rush me to the hospital—so much so that she had even postponed a shareholders' meeting for my sake.

I merely shook my head and replied with a smile, "She's currently busy."

I had just gotten my antihistamine injection when a sudden commotion broke out at the nurses' station.

"She's an absolute badass!"

"Have you guys ever seen anyone bring their young boyfriend to the hospital with 99 roses? She was literally holding his hand with one hand and cradling the flowers with the other!"

"It was just a minor superficial burn. If he had come in any later, it would've practically healed by itself."

I looked through the window and caught sight of those fresh, vivid red roses, as well as the woman who had her head down, busy typing away on her phone.

It was then that I received a message from Abigail. "How are you doing, Christian? Do you feel any better now?"