“If you come back to run the company, you can’t just come and go like before.”

“From now on, any man you bring in has to be a husband. Marriage, assets, kids? Everything has to be in your name.”

He stopped for a beat.

“That’s the Victorians rule.”

“I know,” I replied without hesitation. “I agree.”

A soft sigh came through the phone.

“Seven days then,” he said. “You need to report to the company in seven days.”

“Alright.”

Shortly after, the car pulled up in front of the law firm.

I didn’t hesitate. I went straight inside, explained my intention, and asked for a divorce agreement to be drafted.

The receptionist lawyer hesitated, her expression turning awkward.

“Ma’am… there’s already a divorce agreement under your name,” she said. “It hasn’t been signed yet.”

My heart skipped.

“Who filed it?” I asked.

“Sir Viggo Roosevelt.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard, so I asked to see the document.

After verifying my identity, the lawyer handed it to me.

I flipped through it page by page. With every line, my heart grew colder.

The agreement spelled everything out clearly. How Viggo would “use” my premarital assets free of charge. How the company we built after marriage would be transferred entirely into his personal name. How he even accused me of “marital infidelity” to claim a larger share of the assets.

In the end, I would walk away with nothing.

Not even the company we had built together. He didn’t plan to leave me even a single damn cent!

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So that’s how it is.”

I pushed the agreement back across the table, my tone so calm that even the lawyer froze for a second.

“Have my lawyer revise it,” I said. “When it’s done, give it back to Viggo.”

He wants me penniless?

Oh, Viggo, if you don’t end up exactly the way you were before marrying me, with nothing to your name, then I don’t deserve the Victorian family name.

By the time I got home, it was already late.

Cruella was sitting in the living room playing with her toys. The moment she saw me, her face darkened.

“Bad woman! Why are you home so late?”

She frowned, her voice sharp. “Were you out fooling around again?”

I stopped in my tracks. “Cruella—”

“You’re so shameless!” She raised her voice. “Other kids’ moms are already home by now. You’re the only one who isn’t!”

Viggo stood up from the couch, his tone displeased.

“Look at yourself,” he said. “You’re a mother. Do you think this is appropriate?”