Chapter 1
The rain had stopped only minutes earlier, but the marble driveway of the Laurent Villa still glistened beneath the pale blue moonlight. Every polished stone reflected the warm golden lights spilling from the mansion behind it, creating a cruel contrast between comfort and exile. Luxury cars lined both sides of the entrance like silent witnesses. Crystal chandeliers shimmered through the tall windows, and distant laughter drifted from inside as though nothing extraordinary was happening outside those enormous doors.
Except everything was.
At the foot of the marble staircase stood Elena Laurent.
Thirty years old.
Her beige coat was damp from the cold night air. A single worn travel bag hung from one shoulder, while several cardboard boxes and expensive suitcases lay scattered across the driveway. One suitcase had burst open when it struck the ground. Clothes spilled across the wet stone—carefully folded sweaters, family photographs, an old notebook, and a framed wedding picture now lying face down in a puddle.
No servant dared move.
No security guard stepped forward.
Everyone understood that tonight wasn't simply about luggage.
It was an execution.
Not of a life.
Of an identity.
Standing several steps above her was Richard Laurent.
Tailored black suit.
Perfect posture.
His hands rested casually inside his pockets as though discussing tomorrow's weather rather than ending a marriage.
Beside him leaned Isabella.
Her scarlet silk dress shimmered beneath the villa lights.
Diamond earrings sparkled every time she tilted her head.
One perfectly manicured hand rested possessively around Richard's arm while the other lazily held a champagne glass.
She wasn't pretending anymore.
She didn't need to.
Everyone already knew.
The silence stretched long enough for the cold wind to carry one of Elena's photographs across the driveway.
Richard finally spoke.
"This house is no longer yours."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
The words echoed against the stone walls.
Elena looked at him without answering.
She had imagined this conversation a thousand times over the past six months.
None of those versions felt as empty as reality.
Richard took another slow step down the staircase.
"I've already signed everything."
"You have nothing left here."
His tone wasn't angry.
That somehow made it worse.
Because anger meant emotion.
This sounded like business.
Behind him, Isabella laughed softly.
"Oh, Richard..."
She looked down at Elena as if examining forgotten furniture.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Then she leaned closer to him.
"Let her go."
"She doesn't belong here anymore."
Several house staff lowered their eyes.
May you like
No one smiled.
No one defended Elena.
