Time to Divorce

Two years after our arranged marriage, I played the role of Tyrone Cook's wife with unwavering diligence, even though I was nothing more than a stand-in.

The night his ex-girlfriend, the woman he could never forget, returned to the country, Tyrone stayed out all night for the first time.

The next morning, I placed the divorce papers in front of him and said plainly, "Mr. Cook, our two-year term is up. Now that she's back, let's end this properly."

1

I hadn't slept well the night before, so I arrived at the office early.

After refilling my coffee in the break room, I walked back to my desk, only to overhear gossip drifting from the secretary's office.

"That actress, who made headlines yesterday, isn't she Mr. Cook's ex?"

"She dumped him and left the country back then, but now she's back, and he even gave her a grand airport welcome. Looks like he's ready to pick up where they left off."

"And why not? They were childhood sweethearts, and their families are a perfect match. I heard that before she left, they were already discussing marriage. Now that both are single, it's only natural."

"What about Kate, though...?"

A scoffing laugh cut through the chatter.

"The real deal is back. Why would Mr. Cook still care about Kate Gill? Everyone knows she's just his kept woman. How else could she have climbed from a tenth-floor receptionist to the chief secretary on the eighteenth floor?"

The gossip was getting more absurd by the second.

I rubbed my forehead, my sleepless night leaving me lightheaded and irritable.

Listening to Adele Elledge spin her outrageous theories, I almost wanted to applaud her imagination.

Even novelists didn't make things up this fast.

After Tyrone and I registered our marriage, I was the one who suggested keeping it a secret.

Back then, I had just started as a receptionist here, and he was the acting CEO. If our marriage became public, everyone would assume I got the job through connections.

No way was I letting that happen.

But just when I was about to be officially confirmed in my receptionist role, Tyrone, without a word of warning, transferred me to the eighteenth floor as his personal secretary.

I wouldn't deny that his influence played a role in my promotion. But if Adele wanted to question my competence, I wouldn't tolerate.

I took a sip of my black coffee, then pushed open the office door without hesitation.

The room fell dead silent.

A few people stiffened, their guilty faces a mixture of embarrassment and unease, like kids caught red-handed.

I smiled coolly, my presence alone enough to shift the atmosphere.

"Why are you all standing around? Nothing to do? Is yesterday's data report finished? Are the materials for the meeting ready?"

The moment I spoke, they scattered back to their desks.

Only Adele remained, glaring at me with unconcealed resentment.

I arched a brow indifferently.

As I turned to enter my private office, she suddenly sneered behind me.

"Kate, Jennifer is back. She'll be marrying Mr. Cook soon. Let's see how long you can keep that smug look on your face!"

I glanced back, my expression unchanged.

"Oh? Then be sure to congratulate her for me."

Even though I acted unbothered, shutting my office door behind me, I couldn't deny that Adele's words had soured my mood.

As if on cue, my phone kept buzzing with entertainment news updates-

"Rising Star Jennifer Stevens Makes a Grand Return to the Country!"

"Jennifer Spotted in an Intimate Airport Reunion with a Mysterious Man-Suspected Romance?"

One of the leaked photos clearly showed Tyrone leaning against a car, embracing her.

I exhaled slowly, suppressing the frustration and bitterness welling up inside me.

Divorce.

I need this divorce.

I can't live like this anymore.

2

Tyrone didn't show up at the office until just before noon.

His tall, aloof figure flashed past the doorway before disappearing into his office.

Five minutes later, I gathered the growing stack of documents that needed his approval and knocked on his door.

"Come in."

His voice was cold. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his fingers. Just as he was about to take a drag, he saw me and put it out instead. He tilted his chin slightly and gestured.

"Close the door."

I silently turned back to shut the door, then walked over to his desk, neatly placing the documents down. My tone was strictly professional.

"Mr. Cook, these are the urgent files requiring your attention. The meeting with the marketing department was postponed to three in the afternoon..."

"Kate."

Tyrone pulled at his tie, looking impatient. He clearly had no interest in my report and interrupted, his tone slightly irritated.

"Why didn't you wait for me this morning?"

Every morning, Tyrone and I left for work together.

But not today.

Seriously? Like he didn't know why!

He was still wearing the same suit from yesterday, the one I had picked out for him. I had even tied the tie myself. Now, it hung loose around his collar, and his once neatly pressed white shirt was slightly wrinkled.

I didn't answer his question. Instead, I asked, feigning mild surprise, "You came home this morning?"

Then something else crossed my mind, and I added, "Did you see the divorce papers on the coffee table? I already signed them. You just need to..."

"I tore them up." He cut me off coldly, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray, his expression dark and unreadable.

I froze.

He... tore them up?

Why?

3

Tyrone and I had a marriage of convenience.

We met through a setup arranged by mutual connections.

That day, due to a mix-up, I mistook Tyrone, who had also been reluctantly dragged into this setup, for my intended date. When he saw me, he visibly froze for a moment, only snapping out of it after I reminded him a few times. His expression quickly shifted back to indifference.

He introduced himself, "I'm Tyrone Cook."

Tyrone Cook?

My date wasn't supposed to have this name.

I was momentarily stunned, staring blankly at the strikingly handsome man across from me, his deep, dark eyes holding an unreadable gaze. The next second, I sprang up and hurriedly apologized.

"Sorry, I mistook you for someone else."

I grabbed my purse, ready to leave.

To my surprise, Tyrone called out to me in a calm, unhurried tone, "Miss Gill, if you don't mind, we can have this date."

That night, Tyrone added me on social media, but he never initiated a conversation.

Attracted by his exceptional looks and charisma, I spent the first few days waiting, hoping he'd reach out. But my phone remained silent. As the days passed, one after another, my anticipation turned into disappointment, which eventually settled into indifference.

Fine.

Tyrone gradually faded from my life.

I reassured myself that it was just a fleeting moment of distraction in my otherwise mundane routine.

Then, two weeks later, my mother fell critically ill.

The overwhelming medical bills left me struggling. Even after borrowing money from everywhere I could, I still couldn't come up with enough for her kidney transplant. Desperate, I took on a job at a high-end lounge, serving drinks.

A friend questioned my choice.

Bitterness welled up in my heart. "Because the money comes quickly."

What I didn't expect was that my first customer would be Tyrone. He was lounging in a dimly lit corner of the VIP room, cigarette in hand, looking effortlessly refined yet exuding an air of exhaustion.

When I stepped inside, dressed in a tight-fitting uniform that barely reached mid-thigh, we both froze.

A man sitting nearby smirked and reached for me with ill intentions.

"Well, well, the new girl's got a killer body. And that face.. ouch!"

Before he could finish his sentence, a sharp crack echoed through the room. Tyrone had grabbed his wrist and twisted it back. The man yelped in pain, collapsing onto the sofa.

Then, without a word, Tyrone grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the room.

I winced at the pain and snapped at him, "Mr. Cook, what the hell are you doing?"

Tyrone's lips were pressed into a thin line. His gaze was unreadable, deep and unsettling. I instinctively looked away, but his low, gravelly voice followed.

"Kate, I'll give you twenty million dollars. Marry me. Two years, then we divorce. You'll be free. Think about it."

I froze.

I couldn't think.

He wanted me to consider it, but I had no time for that. My mother was lying in a hospital bed, and we needed a fortune to secure a kidney.

So, when Tyrone dropped me off at my place, I barely hesitated before giving him my answer.

"Okay."

4

Tyrone acted fast.

The next morning, he was already waiting downstairs at my apartment.

He was dressed unusually formally-in a suit and tie, his hair neatly styled. Standing with one hand in his pocket outside the old apartment building, he looked so distinguished and refined that he seemed completely out of place in the surroundings.

What?

I stopped in my tracks, momentarily stunned. A sudden wave of nervousness crept over me.

Tyrone's gaze landed on me. His brows furrowed slightly, his expression carrying a hint of dissatisfaction.

Of course.

He had dressed as if he were attending a high-profile business meeting, while I... was in a white T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, with only a layer of sunscreen on my face. The lipstick, the only touch of color, had been hastily applied before I left.

I couldn't have looked more casual.

Yet, Tyrone merely pressed his lips together, refraining from any comment. Instead, he simply asked, "Did you bring your ID and paperwork?"

That was an unnecessary question.

But under his unwavering gaze, I felt compelled to reassure him.

"Yeah, I have them."

Only then did his tense expression soften a little.

I had been wanting to ask him why the sudden decision to get married? And why me?

But I could never seem to find the right moment.

It wasn't until three days after we registered our marriage that I finally got my answer.

Tyrone took me to meet his parents.

After stepping out of the bathroom, I accidentally overheard their conversation.

"Doesn't Kate look a bit like Jennifer?"

"It seems Jennifer breaking up with him and moving abroad really hit him hard."

"You don't think... Tyrone is using Kate as a stand-in for Jennifer, do you? That would be terrible..."

"Don't let Kate hear that. She'd be upset."

I lowered my gaze.

At that moment, I understood.

Tyrone had a beloved ex-girlfriend.

And I just happened to resemble her.

He wasn't in love with me. I was just a substitute.

No wonder.

5

After snapping out of my thoughts, I sighed quietly, preparing to persuade him once more.

We should part on good terms and maintain some dignity.

Just then, I noticed him bracing himself against his desk, bending forward with an uncomfortable expression. My heart skipped a beat, and before I could think, my body moved on its own. I rushed forward to steady him, my voice laced with worry.

"What's wrong? Is it your stomach again? Have you been skipping meals?"

In my anxiety, my tone came out sharper than intended, carrying both blame and undeniable concern.

"Where's your medicine?"

Tyrone didn't seem the least bit annoyed. In fact, he almost looked amused. A faint smile played on his lips as he obediently pointed to the suit jacket hanging on the coat rack.

"It's in there."

I watched him from the office's guest sofa, my expression unreadable as he waited for the pain to subside. Once his face regained some color, I decided to cut to the chase.

"Mr. Cook, about the divorce..."

"Kate." His voice, for once, lacked its usual authority and coldness. Fatigue and weakness were evident in his furrowed brows, making him look unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I'm hungry. Let's eat first."

I clenched my jaw.

Tyrone had, yet again, cut me off, clearly dodging the conversation about divorce.

But lunchtime had arrived, and through the office blinds, I could see Adele glancing inside now and then. I took a deep breath. This wasn't the right time or place for this discussion.

So I drove Tyrone to his favorite restaurant.

Ever since I became his assistant, my dining choices had shifted from the company cafeteria to exclusive, high-end restaurants.

Adele had once thrown a passive-aggressive remark at me about it.

"Some people, no matter how high they climb, can't hide their humble roots."

She was bitter. Jealous.

I understood.

When I first started at the company, Adele had been Tyrone's assistant. Then I was promoted out of nowhere, taking her place, along with her access to Tyrone.

And when she saw Tyrone bringing me along to business trips, banquets, and private dinners, the way she looked at me... she might as well have wanted me dead.

She spread rumors across the office, claiming I had seduced Mr. Cook, using my body to gain privileges others couldn't dream of.

That I was nothing more than a gold-digger.

One day, fed up, I smiled and countered, my voice dripping with false helplessness.

"What can I do? Mr. Cook is too dependent on me. I couldn't shake him off even if I tried."

She was so caught off guard by my words that she flushed, then went pale. Satisfied, I turned and strolled straight into the CEO's office without knocking. Then, without hesitation, I reported the work mistake Adele had made, one that had nearly cost the company a major client.

As co-workers, I had initially chosen to turn a blind eye. But she was the one who kept picking fights.

So I saw no reason to hold back.

Tyrone was flipping through documents at the time. Without even looking up, he responded in his usual indifferent tone.

"You're her supervisor. Handle it as you see fit."

"Can I fire her?" I asked.

"Yes."

"We can afford the severance pay."

At that, he finally looked up, his gaze holding something unreadable.

There were times when I caught Tyrone looking at me with an intensity that almost felt affectionate. As if I were someone he had loved deeply for years.

But I wasn't.

So whenever he looked at me like that, I either averted my eyes or pretended not to notice. Because I knew he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at someone else through me.

His beloved ex-girlfriend-Jennifer Stevens.

6

After Tyrone finished eating, I pulled the freshly printed divorce papers from my bag and placed them in front of him.

"Mr. Cook, now that you're done eating, let's take care of this."

Tyrone stared at the papers for two seconds, his long lashes fluttering. His tone was calm as he asked, "Kate, have I treated you poorly these past two years?"

I was taken aback for half a second.

"No."

That was the truth.

During our two years of marriage, Tyrone and I had no emotional connection, but I had to admit he treated me very well.

When my mother was seriously ill, he would come to the hospital with me every evening after work.

When I was sick with a fever, he stayed by my side, taking care of me. Even though he had never cooked before, he made me chicken soup, and if it turned out wrong, he would start over.

He would pat me gently to sleep when I had nightmares, always leaving a cup of water on the nightstand, and when I had menstrual pain, he would offer me painkillers to help ease the discomfort.

Thinking back, his tenderness and attentiveness were hidden in the subtle details of everyday life.

His kindness had quietly seeped into my life, making me gradually rely on him.

He was too good.

So good that I started to want more, to keep this version of Tyrone to myself, not letting him look at other women.

But Jennifer's return to the country was like a wake-up call, shattering my beautiful dream and forcing me to face reality.

Snap out of it.

I was just a substitute...

"Is it because I'm not good in bed?" Tyrone asked again. "Did I not satisfy you?"

I was drinking water when I choked at his words. "W... what are you talking about?"

Could he really say something like that in public?

He moved over from the opposite side of the table, instinctively patting my back to help me breathe. His voice was low, tinged with confusion and disbelief, "Am I making you uncomfortable? Or is it too much for you? If so, I'll be more restrained, maybe just five times a week."

His words made my scalp tingle, and my face turned bright red.

As people around us cast strange glances our way, I reached out to cover his mouth tightly, gritting my teeth, "Shut up!"

Five times a week, and he called that restraint? I could have killed him!

It was strange.

The night I moved into his house, I suggested sleeping in separate rooms. First, I wasn't mentally prepared, and second, since it was a fake marriage, there was no need to share a bed.

Tyrone respected my decision.

Our calm, distant married life was interrupted after half a month.

That night, I got drunk, and under the influence of alcohol, I couldn't resist his allure. I kissed his Adam's apple, stripped off his clothes, and then... Tyrone narrowed his eyes dangerously and carried me into the master bedroom.

A night of chaos followed.

Since that night, I somehow moved into his room, sharing the same bed.

I didn't expect it to be his first time as well, but once a man who had been celibate for twenty-seven years finally gave in, the consequences were so intense I could barely handle it.

It was painful but pleasurable.

7

"It's not about those issues," I said, my tone irritated.

"Then why insist on the divorce?"

I turned to meet his dark gaze, catching the confusion and helplessness deep in his eyes. I sighed.

He really didn't see the heart of the problem.

But I didn't want to say it out loud- that I was nothing more than a substitute.

I didn't want to humiliate myself further.

"It's nothing. It was always a marriage of convenience. You gave me twenty million to help me out of a bind, and I'm grateful for that. So, I've done my best to take care of you these past two years."

Suddenly feeling exhausted, I continued in a weak voice, "But a marriage without love is never going to last. There's no point in dragging this out."

Tyrone remained silent for a long while.

In a hoarse voice, he cautiously asked, "Do you have no feelings for me?"

I did.

But what difference did that make?

So I denied it, "No."

I forced a smile, and casually asked, "Do you have feelings for me?"

Tyrone opened his mouth, about to answer, but I quickly interrupted him, dreading what he might say.

"It doesn't matter. Whether you do or not, it doesn't matter anymore."

The atmosphere turned awkwardly quiet.

I leaned forward, took the divorce papers back, and with the pen I always carried in my bag, I swiftly signed my name at the bottom. I paused for a moment, then handed the papers to him.

"Go ahead."

To my surprise, Tyrone remained silent, pulled a check from his wallet, and wrote a string of zeros on it with the pen, his assertive stance mirroring that confident night at the nightclub.

"I'll give you one hundred million. Let's not get divorced, okay?"

I was at a loss for words.

Why was he so determined?