"Oliver, stop making a scene over nothing." Tessa stepped forward, her voice pitching up. "Tell me—where have I failed you? Whatever it is, I'm willing to change."
She clung to my arm, her grip desperate.
I shook her off.
Perhaps I used too much force, or perhaps she was unsteady in her heels—she stumbled and collapsed onto the snowy pavement.
"Oliver!"
Carter rushed forward, scooping her up with exaggerated distress. He turned his glare on me. "You ungrateful leech. Tessa has fed you, clothed you, supported you for five years. This is how you repay her?"
His self-righteous shouting and Tessa's soft, broken sobbing instantly drew a crowd.
Among the onlookers, I recognized several faces—Tessa's subordinates from the company.
"My god, isn't that Director Fletcher? Did I hear that right? Her husband wants a divorce over a snowman?"
"No way. Her husband worships the ground she walks on. He brings her dinner every time she works late."
"He's just a house husband. Delivering food is the only skill he has."
Vicious whispers assaulted my ears while the biting wind drilled into my collar.
Yet internally, I felt no chill. The cold inside me had long since frozen over.
"Sign it," I repeated, ignoring the audience. "While this hasn't completely blown up, while I haven't changed my mind about the terms—sign it. It's for your own good."
I thought of our five years together. Despite everything, I was still giving her a chance to walk away with her reputation intact. Still urging her to sign an agreement where I left with nothing but the clothes on my back.
"I won't sign! I absolutely won't sign!" Tessa cried out, tears streaming down her face. "Oliver, you're being incredibly petty. I missed one snowfall with you. I built one snowman with Carter. And for that, you want to throw away our marriage?"
She paused, her tear-filled eyes widening as if struck by sudden realization.
"Wait... say it. Do you have someone else? Is that it? Did you deliberately wait until today to stage this?"
Her face was a mask of pure grievance, painted with the perfect amount of betrayal.
Instantly, the murmurs around us grew louder, turning into a roar of judgment.
"The freeloader is cheating?"
"Director Fletcher must be right. Look at his face—guilty."
"He definitely found his next meal ticket. Why else would a man divorce his wife over a snowman?"
"Scumbag. Absolute trash. I'm exposing him."