The Billionaire's Obsessive Redemption

The October night was bitter cold, wind howling through the French windows of the mansion. Crystal chandeliers cast warm amber light across the drawing room, illuminating oil paintings and Persian rugs—everything appeared elegantly serene.

Until the front door was violently pushed open.

"Delia! Delia!" Ruby's voice shattered the quiet night. She supported the swaying Max Reed with one arm, clutching his coat with the other.

Delia rose gracefully from the sofa, her silk robe flowing as she moved. She observed the 22-year-old blonde, whose delicate face was written with provocation and triumph.

"Oh, Ruby." Delia's voice was calm as still water. "So late at night, how did you—"

"Max had too much to drink tonight, so I brought him home." Ruby cut her off, deliberately pulling Max closer to herself. "Look how drunk he is. I was absolutely worried sick."

Max appeared completely unconscious, his head resting on Ruby's shoulder, eyes closed, occasionally muttering incoherently. Ruby's arm gripped his waist tightly, as if making some sort of declaration.

"Delia, you should go get him some water." Ruby's tone carried a commanding undertone. "Remember, no honey—Max doesn't like that."

The tension in the air thickened instantly. Ruby's eyes challenged Delia provocatively.

But all she received was a faint smile.

Delia stepped forward, gently taking Max from Ruby's arms. Her movements were as graceful as a waltz, without a trace of panic or anger.

"Thank you so much, Ruby." Delia's voice was sweet as honey, yet carried an almost imperceptible mockery. "You've been so thoughtful. Shall I call you a car? Really, Max shouldn't have let such a young, beautiful girl escort him home so late. After all, an unmarried young lady out alone at night—it's always concerning."

Ruby's expression changed instantly. She had expected to see Delia's fury and helplessness, never anticipating such composure.

"I... I don't need one." Ruby's voice trembled slightly. "I have a driver waiting."

"How wonderful. Drive safely." Delia nodded politely, already turning to help Max into the drawing room.

Ruby stood in the doorway, watching Delia's retreating figure, suddenly feeling an inexplicable sense of defeat. Everything she had orchestrated—bringing the drunk Max home at midnight, displaying their intimacy before Delia, showing her Max's true affections—had completely failed to achieve its intended effect.

Instead, she felt like a fool.

"Well... I'll be going then." Ruby's voice was barely audible.

"Good night." Delia replied without looking back.

The sound of the closing door echoed particularly loudly in the night.

The drawing room fell silent, leaving only Delia and the "intoxicated" Max. She settled him on the sofa and was about to head to the kitchen when she heard a clear voice:

"Has she gone?"

Delia turned to see Max opening his eyes, his gaze crystal clear—not a trace of intoxication remained.

"So you were pretending." Delia's voice remained calm, showing no surprise.

Max sat up on the sofa, straightening his shirt. "She's been rather clingy lately, always talking about marriage. I thought I'd cool her off a bit, let her know her place."

He spoke matter-of-factly, as if this were a game he'd played countless times.

Delia watched him quietly, that familiar disgust rising in her chest. This man, her husband, was always the same—treating women like chess pieces, emotions like a game.

"Max." She spoke, her voice soft as a falling feather.

"Hmm?" Max looked up, expecting to hear her complain about Ruby's impropriety, or perhaps praise his clever handling of the situation.

"Let's get divorced."

Time seemed to freeze.

Max's expression solidified on his face, as if someone had pressed pause. He opened his mouth but no sound emerged.

"What?" He finally found his voice. "Delia, are you joking?"

"I'm not joking." Delia walked to the desk, withdrawing a thick document from the drawer. "I'm seeing someone else, Max. Someone who truly loves me."

She placed the papers on the coffee table, pushing them toward Max. The cover clearly read: "Divorce Agreement."

Max's face went completely pale. With trembling hands, he picked up the document, turning to the first page to see dense legal text and Delia's elegant signature already in its designated place.

"When... when was this prepared?" His voice was hoarse.

"Two months ago." Delia settled back on the sofa, her posture still graceful. "The lawyer said that according to the agreement, you can keep most of the assets. I only want my fair share."

"Two months ago?!" Max suddenly exploded. "You've been planning this behind my back for two months?! Delia, have you lost your mind? We've been married ten years! Ten years!"

"Yes, ten years." Delia's voice carried an ineffable weariness. "Ten years as husband and wife in name only, ten years of playing our separate games, ten years of false harmony. Max, I'm tired."

She stood and walked toward the staircase.

"Delia!" Max leaped from the sofa. "You can't do this! Think of our friends, think of society, think of the Kane family reputation!"

Delia paused, turning back to look at him. Under the crystal chandelier's light and shadow, her face appeared both beautiful and strange.

"I have fallen in love with another." Her voice was as light as a sigh.