Chapter 236
The Wednesday morning sun was particularly bright. After dropping Billy off at kindergarten, I headed straight to the hospital to start my shift. My mind was still replaying the conversation with Henry from the previous evening. His sudden change in attitude was confusing.
I had barely changed into my scrubs and stepped into the office when I felt multiple sets of eyes on me. Before I could make it to my desk, a swarm of coworkers surrounded me, their excited voices overlapping.
“Sophia! Is it true your husband is really Henry Harding? A nurse from pediatrics thrust her phone in my face with Henry’s picture on the screen.
“Can you get me his autograph?” asked another, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Would you two like to join us for dinner sometime?” A third colleague chimed in, her voice sickeningly sweet.
My head was already pounding.
What the hell has Henry done now? I wondered bitterly.
Why did my entire department suddenly know he was my husband?
I tried pushing past the crowd when an elegantly dressed server appeared, holding a paper bag that smelled absolutely divine.
“Mrs. Harding?” he inquired politely. “Your breakfast, ma’am.”
The moment he left, my colleagues erupted into another chorus of excited whispers.
“That’s from Bellini’s!” gasped Emma from radiology. “They only deliver to their most exclusive VIPs. You need to be on a six–month waiting list just to get a reservation!”
Your husband must have arranged it,” sighed another nurse dreamily. “Only someone with his connections could pull that off.”
A technician elbowed me gently. “Sophia, if your husband treats you this well, why on earth are you divorcing him? Seems a bit ungrateful, don’t you think?”
I clenched my jaw. The news of my divorce had spread like wildfire, becoming the hottest gossip in Manhattan.
From the back of the crowd, I heard a cutting remark: ‘Henry is gorgeous, has a perfect physique, is filthy rich, and doesn’t even mind that she brought another man’s child into the marriage. What more could a woman want? I can’t understand why she’s throwing it all away.”
My eyebrows knitted together as I tossed the breakfast package carelessly onto my desk.
I turned toward the source of the comment–Karen from accounting–and fixed her with an icy stare.
“A husband who isn’t home for days, and when he does have free time, runs straight to his mistress–is that what you want?” I challenged her. “If that’s your idea of a dream marriage, I’d be happy to hand Henry over to you.”
Karen flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “At least you’d know where he is. Better than wondering.”
Julia from pediatric nursing rushed between us, attempting to defuse the tension. “Sophia, honey, think about it this way. Your husband is quite a catch. If you divorce him, aren’t you just making things easier for that Isabella woman? If I were you, I’d stay married just to spite her.”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Play the long game! Drain that mistress of her youth, wait until Henry’s too old and sick to leave, and then you’ll have everything–his money, his power, even control over his medical decisions! Imagine having that kind of leverage. One word from you, and they pull th plug!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic scheming.
She had a point–it was a practical, albeit cynical approach. But I knew better.
“Julia,” I said with a genuine smile, that approach is indeed logical. But we only get one life. If I waste mine playing games with those two, I’ll lose my thance at real happiness. What’s the point of that?”
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I shook my head firmly, “I want a clean break. I’m done with this marringe in name only. Henry can do whatever he wants, and I honestly don’t care anymore. I’m not going to waste another minute of my life on him.”
Julia sighed heavily, disappointment evident on her face. “You’re making a huge mistake! All that money could be yours! Are you really going to let that home–wrecker have it all?
I smiled and picked up the breakfast package from my desk, placing it in her hands.
Thanks for your concern, Julia. I appreciate it, really.” I nodded toward the food. “Enjoy. I’ve lost my
appetite.
There was no way I was eating anything Henry sent, even if I had to starve all day. I’d rather go hungry than accept anything from that man.
Seeing my cold demeanor, my colleagues finally took the hint and dispersed to their stations, the excitement dying down.
Once alone, I pulled out my phone and checked social media.
Henry’s comment-“I have no intention of divorcing my wife at present“-had generated a tsunami of responses. My blood boiled as I scrolled through the comments.
Goddamn it! I thought furiously. Why can’t he just leave me alone? Does he get off on creating drama?
Looking at my own social media, I saw hundreds of notifications urging me to respond to Henry’s statement. After reading through the mess of comments, ! took a deep breath and typed out a message.
“Sign these, and it’s all yours.” I attached two images: our divorce papers with my signature already on them, and a check for ten million dollars.
This was in response to Henry’s earlier public demand for “ten million in compensation for lost years.”
Back then, women across the country had started a crowdfunding campaign, joking they’d raise the money just to sleep with Henry if I divorced him. I hadn’t dignified it with a response at the time.
After posting the message, I slipped my phone back into my locker and focused on work.
I no longer cared about these dramas on the internet.
Within minutes, my post went viral. People were praising me as a symbol of modern independent womanhood, tagging Henry and telling him to watch out- that I meant business.
Meanwhile, across town, it was a significant day for Harding Investment. The company was preparing to expand into the fashion industry by signing a deal with the renowned Reynolds Apparel.
Reynolds Apparel was sending their star negotiator Alexander, while Henry would represent the Harding family.
At that moment, Henry was sitting in his car, heading to the negotiation when his phone began buzzing incessantly. As his car emerged from the underground parking garage, a swarm of reporters surrounded the vehicle.
One particularly aggressive journalist managed to stick a microphone through the barely–opened window. “Mr. Harding! Any comment on your wife’s response to your statement?‘
Henry looked completely bewildered. He grabbed his phone and quickly checked social media.
There it was–Sophia’s post with the signed divorce/papers and the ten–million–dollar check, challenging him to sign.
Henry’s confusion slowly transformed into curiosity.
This bold, confrontational woman was nothing like the meek, accommodating wife he’d known for years. Now Sophia was publicly challenging him, essentially telling him ‘sign these or shut up,
As he stared at the images, a single question formed in his mind: Where did Sophia get ten million dollars?
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He was becoming increasingly interested in Sophia.
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