The word divorce made him pause. Then he laughed, low and mocking.

"Divorce? Alex Simmons, what tantrum is this? You're the one who took a million-dollar contract and sold yourself to the Gilbert family. And now you want out? Could you really walk away from all this?"

His fingertips traced down my cheek.

"High IQ. Pretty face. You were always the perfect match for me. So why not just behave and stay Mrs. Gilbert?"

His words dragged me back seven years.

Grandma had collapsed. The medical bills were astronomical. I'd just graduated—I had nothing.

Right when I was about to break, I scrolled past a video. Richard Gilbert, publicly advertising for a daughter-in-law.

The posting spelled out every requirement: IQ, appearance. Promised generous compensation.

I had no other options. So I went to him.

Maybe I checked all the boxes. The moment Richard saw me, his face lit up. Without a word, he handed over one million dollars and solved my crisis on the spot.

I'd carried this debt for seven years, willing to spend all that time repaying it—yet I still never fulfilled the contract's requirement of getting pregnant.

I knew the truth in my heart: a family like the Gilberts would eventually need an heir.

And I just couldn't give them that.

Now that seven years had passed, I had no reason to keep occupying the position of Mrs. Gilbert and delay the family line.

I pulled out my phone and found Richard's contact:

"Chairman Gilbert, thank you for saving my life seven years ago. I've already repaid the one million in full. I want to leave the Gilbert family. I hope you'll grant it."

Shortly after sending, Richard replied.

Just one line:

"You've thought it through?"

My fingertips paused, but I still typed:

"I've thought it through."

His response came quickly:

"Since you've decided, I respect your choice."

When I put my phone away, I met Ethan's puzzled gaze. He frowned. "Who were you texting?"

I shook my head slightly and didn't explain.

After all these years, no matter what I said, he never cared.

Seeing I wouldn't answer, he didn't push—just added flatly, "My dad's 60th birthday is in two days. Be there on time."

I didn't respond, but I'd already made my decision.

Richard had always treated me well. Even if I'd decided to leave, attending his birthday was something I owed him.

I'd treat it as the last time I celebrated with him. One final repayment.