Celine Monroe stirred her espresso slowly, her crimson nails tapping against the porcelain cup like a ticking clock.
Across from her, Ex-Husband Number Seven, Nolan Smith, sat with his lawyer, oozing fake charm and entitlement. The table was set for lunch, but no one had touched the food.
"I'm only saying," Nolan began, adjusting his cufflinks, "we can settle this quietly, Celine. You transfer the properties to me, and I'll drop the mental instability claim."
Celine arched a brow, her gaze cold and unimpressed.
"You're calling me unstable because I screamed at your mother for trying to burn sage in my penthouse?"
"She said you threatened her," the lawyer added smugly, sliding a manila envelope across the table. "We'll be filing for full asset control. Given your estranged family ties and… pattern of marriages, the court may favor—"
"Finish that sentence," Celine cut in smoothly, "and I'll pour this espresso in your lap."
Silence.
Nolan chuckled, leaning forward. "Just sign it, Celine. It's only fair. You don't have anyone left. No family, no sympathy. Be smart for once."
When she didn't respond, his tone softened.
"I loved you," he said. "Still do, in some twisted way. But you? You're incapable of it. That's why no man stays. That's why you'll lose this in court."
A pause.
"They'll say you're unstable… and I'll get everything anyway."
Celine didn't blink.
Didn't react.
She picked up the document, scanning it like a menu, then folded it neatly in half.
"I see," she murmured.
Hope flickered in Nolan's eyes.
She stood.
"You'll get nothing," she said calmly. "I stopped playing fair after husband number three."
And with that, she walked away, heels striking the floor like a final verdict.
By the time she stepped out onto the street, the noise of the city swallowed her whole.
She walked fast. Too fast.
The control she wore so effortlessly inside began to slip, piece by piece.
By the time she turned into a quieter street, the weight caught up with her.
Her back met the wall of a closed boutique.
She exhaled as her fingers slipped into her clutch, pulling out a small orange bottle. She tapped two pills into her palm and swallowed them dry, her expression unchanged.
The bitterness lingered.
She didn't react.
Around her, life went on, cars honking, laughter spilling from nearby cafés, people moving with purpose.
It all felt distant.
Like a world she had chosen not to belong to.
Celine didn't cry.
She had outgrown that.
She pushed off the wall and continued walking.
She had seen the signs in Nolan, the arrogance, the lies, the secrets he never hid well enough. She had walked away before it got worse.
Or so she thought.
Now he wanted her properties?
Pathetic.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the small figure darting into her path.
Impact.
A sharp cry followed.
Celine stopped immediately, her gaze dropping.
A little boy, no older than four, sat on the ground, eyes glossy with tears.
She frowned slightly.
"…Are you hurt?"
The boy's face crumpled, and then,
He wailed.
Loud. Dramatic. Immediate.
Heads turned.
Of course they did.
Celine straightened slightly, irritation flickering beneath her composure.
"Hey. It was an accident," she said, voice controlled. "You ran into—"
"Bad aunty!" the boy cried. "Foolish aunty!"
Celine blinked.
Once.
"…Excuse me?"
A few people nearby snickered.
Wonderful.
"You blind or what?" the child continued, outrage growing. "You broke my knee! My soul hurts!"
Celine stared at him.
"Your… soul?"
"I'll tell my daddy!"
She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together.
Of all the situations she had handled in life,
This was new.
"Liam."
The voice was calm. Firm.
Immediate silence.
The boy froze.
Celine looked up.
A man approached, his presence alone enough to shift the air around them. Broad shoulders, an apron tied loosely at his waist, flour dusting his arm like he'd left work mid-task.
His gaze moved from the child… to her. Sharp. Assessing.
"Liam," he said again, quieter now. "What did we say about insults?"
The boy sniffled. "Only when people deserve it…"
The man glanced at Celine briefly.
"And did she?"
"…She made me fall."
He bent, lifting the boy with ease, brushing a hand through his hair.
Celine crossed her arms.
"This kid's yours?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "Why?"
"He cursed at me."
A hint of amusement touched his expression.
"I apologize. He's not usually like this." A pause. "Let me make it up to you. Lunch?"
Celine looked at him for a moment. Then shook her head.
"Control your child," she said coolly, already turning away. "I don't have the patience for chaos."
And just like that, she walked off.
The man watched her go, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
Then he looked down at the boy in his arms.
"Someone's having a bad day," he murmured.
The boy sniffled, holding onto him tighter.
And the man, smiled slightly.