Beyond the Script: My Own Path

Beyond the Script: My Own Path

Qin Wei

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The dull throb behind my eyes was just the beginning. I blinked, and golden text shimmered in the air: "Divorce Day! The classic starting point for the wife-chasing crematorium!" I was Ethan Miller, a tech entrepreneur who' d just coded for 36 hours straight. But the man in the mirror was Liam Stone, a cold CEO infamous for mistreating his wife, Olivia. A divorce agreement lay before me. The words weren't just floating text; a flood of Liam's memories poured into my mind. This man, driven by obsession for a manipulative ex, Sarah Jenkins, was destined for a miserable end. The toxic story was supposed to lead to Olivia's humiliation and suffering. Hovering comments confirmed it: "He' s definitely thinking about his precious Sarah right now." They expected me to act like the jerk Liam was, to prolong Olivia' s pain, and then spend 200 chapters groveling. They wanted the "crematorium." But I wasn't Liam. I wouldn't live his pathetic life. With a decisive flick of my wrist, I signed the divorce papers. "It's done. You're free." The floating comments flickered, then vanished. The plot was broken. My phone buzzed with a call from Sarah Jenkins. The "white moonlight." I didn't answer. I blocked her number. Then I fired the head of marketing for embezzling company funds to pay for Sarah's lavish lifestyle. My father, Richard Stone, confronted me, demanding I beg Olivia for forgiveness and threatening disinheritance. His words were harsh: "You will not see another penny from this family or this company." "Okay," I said. "You can have the company. You can have the family inheritance. I don't want it." I walked away from everything, the chorus of confused comments a soundtrack to my liberation. Later, at a charity gala, I watched them circle: Sarah, Mark Davies (her accomplice), and Olivia. The original story slated this night for Olivia's ultimate downfall. They had conspired to plant false rumors and even faked an accident that led to Olivia' s miscarriage. But I had other plans. With a tap on my phone, security footage of Sarah and Mark' s damning conversation, detailing their schemes including the "accident" that caused Olivia' s miscarriage, filled the screens. "You were so quick to believe the worst of me. You never once questioned your 'best friend'. You never once used your own judgment. You let them play you like a fiddle." I left the chaos behind. My father called, begging for forgiveness now that the truth was out. Olivia, too, whispered apologies. But my answer was cold: "The man you married, the Liam Stone who was obsessed with Sarah and cruel to you, that man is dead. He was killed by you, by Sarah, by Mark, by my father. You all had a hand in it. So don't talk to me about the past." A few days later, Olivia showed up at my new penthouse. She wanted to understand. "My tragedy was being born as Liam Stone in the first place." I told her. "I have no love for you, Olivia...You are a stranger to me. And I'd like you to leave my home now." I wanted peace. I wanted to build. And I would.

Introduction

The dull throb behind my eyes was just the beginning. I blinked, and golden text shimmered in the air: "Divorce Day! The classic starting point for the wife-chasing crematorium!" I was Ethan Miller, a tech entrepreneur who' d just coded for 36 hours straight. But the man in the mirror was Liam Stone, a cold CEO infamous for mistreating his wife, Olivia.

A divorce agreement lay before me. The words weren't just floating text; a flood of Liam's memories poured into my mind. This man, driven by obsession for a manipulative ex, Sarah Jenkins, was destined for a miserable end. The toxic story was supposed to lead to Olivia's humiliation and suffering.

Hovering comments confirmed it: "He' s definitely thinking about his precious Sarah right now." They expected me to act like the jerk Liam was, to prolong Olivia' s pain, and then spend 200 chapters groveling. They wanted the "crematorium."

But I wasn't Liam. I wouldn't live his pathetic life. With a decisive flick of my wrist, I signed the divorce papers. "It's done. You're free." The floating comments flickered, then vanished.

The plot was broken. My phone buzzed with a call from Sarah Jenkins. The "white moonlight." I didn't answer. I blocked her number. Then I fired the head of marketing for embezzling company funds to pay for Sarah's lavish lifestyle.

My father, Richard Stone, confronted me, demanding I beg Olivia for forgiveness and threatening disinheritance. His words were harsh: "You will not see another penny from this family or this company."

"Okay," I said. "You can have the company. You can have the family inheritance. I don't want it." I walked away from everything, the chorus of confused comments a soundtrack to my liberation.

Later, at a charity gala, I watched them circle: Sarah, Mark Davies (her accomplice), and Olivia. The original story slated this night for Olivia's ultimate downfall. They had conspired to plant false rumors and even faked an accident that led to Olivia' s miscarriage.

But I had other plans. With a tap on my phone, security footage of Sarah and Mark' s damning conversation, detailing their schemes including the "accident" that caused Olivia' s miscarriage, filled the screens. "You were so quick to believe the worst of me. You never once questioned your 'best friend'. You never once used your own judgment. You let them play you like a fiddle."

I left the chaos behind. My father called, begging for forgiveness now that the truth was out. Olivia, too, whispered apologies. But my answer was cold: "The man you married, the Liam Stone who was obsessed with Sarah and cruel to you, that man is dead. He was killed by you, by Sarah, by Mark, by my father. You all had a hand in it. So don't talk to me about the past."

A few days later, Olivia showed up at my new penthouse. She wanted to understand. "My tragedy was being born as Liam Stone in the first place." I told her. "I have no love for you, Olivia...You are a stranger to me. And I'd like you to leave my home now."

I wanted peace. I wanted to build. And I would.

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