Chapter 151 Then Let's Divorce
Zachary watched her, his gaze seeming to pierce through her to a memory of another girl, one bright and beaming, radiating an inner light that outshone the horizon's sun. Nothing like now, with a faraway look in her eyes, devoid of any gleam of hope for the future.
Such a look had never crossed her face, not even when she was dodging loan sharks left and right.
Back then, though distressed, she was hopeful for what lay ahead—her emotions, whether hate or joy, anxiety or fear were all so distinct and crisp.
And now, in just three years, so much had changed…
"Is it weariness, or because you know Matthew Watson has a fondness for you," he watched her, his voice a low rumble, "that you're so eager to spread your wings and fly away with him?"
"..."
After what seemed like eternity, Winona Sullivan spoke, her voice hoarse and tinged with a faint, bewildered laugh, “Zachary Bailey, after all we've been through as husband and wife, do you really want to keep up this fight until it destroys us both?”
Zachary’s eyes narrowed suddenly, a sharp pang of hurt shot through his heart, quickly replaced by a bitter resolve to crush her completely. He looked down, chuckling softly. “If I don’t agree, what’s your plan? To take your own life or take mine?”
Winona had exhausted all her energy with those words and fell into silence.
“You still think about taking photos, collecting evidence at a time like that, Winona Sullivan. Should I praise you for your foresight, or condemn you for being heartless?”
Silence filled the air again.
Zachary raised a hand to his forehead as his emotions subsided into a still calm. Whether it was because of her “fight to the death” remark, or simply exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. “If you’re in such a hurry, then let's get divorced,” he declared coldly.
After saying this, he closed his eyes, weariness radiating from him, his whole being exuding an icy aloofness.
Winona Sullivan had longed for a divorce, dreaming of signing the papers. Yet when Zachary uttered the words “then let's get divorced,” she was stunned, doubting her own ears. She moistened her lips hesitantly, “When should we sign?”
Having been taken for a ride before, Winona found his straightforward agreement somewhat unbelievable.
Zachary answered simply, “Tomorrow morning.”
He was unwilling to say a word more.
“Really?” asked Winona.
Annoyed, he opened his eyes and gave her a scornful look, his eyes bloodshot, “Winona Sullivan, there’s a mirror upstairs. Go and see for yourself what’s so special about you that I would cling to you. Is it your beauty, your figure, or your allure? You don’t stand out in any of these aspects.”
With that, he walked upstairs, as if he couldn’t bear to spend another second in her presence.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Winona saw that dawn wasn’t far off. Fearing he might change his mind once sobriety hit, she decided to stay at Regal Oaks until morning, waiting for the lawyer to prepare the divorce papers.
Upstairs.
Instead of going to his bedroom, Zachary Bailey headed for the study.
He opened the top-right drawer of his desk to find only a photo frame and a few letters.
The girl in the photo must have been around sixteen or seventeen, her smile radiant before the camera, eyes sparkling with the lively petulance that belonged to her age. Her delicate features were so perfect, they could have been directly lifted from a painting.
No one could guess that she had endured the pain of losing her mother, living in a family steeped in turmoil.
It struck Zachary Bailey—a sudden, visceral pain in his chest—as he considered her present expression, so eerily still like stagnant water. The pain spread from the depths of his heart, engulfing him completely like a surging tide.
Even such a profound blow hadn't stripped the smile from her face, yet three years of marriage had transformed her from a vivacious young girl into what she was now.
Zachary clenched his jaw until his lips whitened, his grip on the frame tightening.
"Crack."
The glass of the frame shattered.
Due to the force of his grip, shards of glass drove deep into his palm and fingers, blood welling from the wounds and quickly soaking the photo he held.
They say the fingers are connected to the heart.
The sharp pain yanked Zachary back to reality. He looked down at the distorted photo in his hand and tossed it carelessly into the nearby trash can.
As he withdrew his hand, he also pulled a letter from the drawer.
A cartoonish envelope, childish stationery, written in a bubbly font... The essence of a young girl flooded his senses.
' Matthew Watson' was neatly written in the center of the envelope, with a chibi version of Matthew Watson sketched beside it.
Zachary's blood smeared the pale envelope into a messy crimson, and the aged paper, now brittle, absorbed the blood quickly.
He didn't open it, but he knew the contents by heart, having read it countless times.
Every sleepless night he would take it out, the girl’s unhidden affection for another man spilling from the pages. It failed to bring him sleep; instead, his wakefulness persisted in a torturous cycle, yet he could never bring himself to throw the letter away.
...
Winona Sullivan leaned back on the couch, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, when a loud 'bang' from upstairs jolted her awake.
She opened her eyes, staring toward the ceiling where the sound seemed to have originated from the study—there was only one, like something being smashed or accidentally dropped.
Winona didn't go upstairs, but the jolt had left her restless, unable to fall back asleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, waiting quietly for dawn.
That night, Zachary never came back down.
By 8:30 am, with still no movement from above, Winona started to become anxious. She glanced up at the stairway, then at her watch, frowning.
Could it be that Zachary had regrets after sobering up?
The thought once it struck her, became increasingly uncontainable. As she stood to go upstairs to look for him, he finally emerged from the room, fashionably late as usual.
He had changed clothes, and his hand was clumsily wrapped in several layers of bandages. Winona Sullivan remembered the sound of something being smashed last night.
His expression was indifferent, as usual, though there was a faint bruise beneath his eye.
He glanced at her as if she weren't there, his eyes briefly sweeping past her.
They drove to the law firm. Thanks to Zachary Bailey’s heads up, they were expected upon arrival and quickly led to an office.
By noon, the divorce agreement had been drafted. Zachary signed first without hesitation, and seeing his decisiveness, Winona quickly followed suit. The lawyer collected the documents and filed the divorce petition with the court.
One week later, the court summoned them to attend a brief hearing.
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