It was unfair to me, and frankly, unfair to the other women too.

Perhaps in his eyes, I was just a fragile little woman with no support system, someone who couldn't survive without him. That was why he had been so unscrupulous—he believed that no matter what he did, I would never truly leave.

But for the past week, I had evaporated.

Completely disappeared from his world.

Well, except for the divorce papers my father had arranged.

Thanks to Dad's connections and efficiency, Jackson and I had already entered the mandatory divorce cooling-off period. We only needed to wait one month to pick up the final certificate.

And that was when Jackson panicked.

The night before the banquet, I sank into a hot bath, letting the water soothe my nerves. Maybe it was the steam, or maybe it was the memories, but my emotions felt raw.

For the first time in a week, I turned on my old phone.

It vibrated violently in my hand. A bombardment of 99+ notifications flooded the screen, nearly causing the device to freeze. Messages and missed calls from unfamiliar numbers.

I scanned them briefly.

Jackson.

**Jackson Sharp:** [Maya Henson, have you made enough trouble yet? Come back now, and I'll pretend none of this happened!]

**Jackson Sharp:** [How did you do it? I didn't sign anything—why has the cooling-off period started?]

As I scrolled down, his attitude shifted. The arrogance crumbled into desperation.

**Jackson Sharp:** [Please, Maya. I was wrong... Honey, come back, okay? As long as you come back, I'll cut off all those women. I swear.]

**Jackson Sharp:** [What will it take for you to forgive me? Are you telling me our feelings these past few years were fake? You can't be willing to part with me... Honey, where are you?]

**Jackson Sharp:** [Divorce or not, can you just see me once? Don't disappear like this. I really know I was wrong...]

Reading until the end, a weight lifted off my shoulders. The heavy, suffocating feeling in my chest dissipated.

It seemed... I didn't care about Jackson Sharp as much as I thought.

At least, seeing him beg for reconciliation didn't trigger any impulse to forgive him.

Instead, I felt a distinct, cold pleasure.

The satisfaction of striking back.

But this revenge was only just beginning.

I thought for a moment, then typed a reply to one of the numbers:

**[If you want to see me, find a way into the Henson heiress's return banquet.]**

Then I turned the phone off again.