Chapter 3 The Papers
These past few days had been pure freedom.
Before the amnesia, every time I went out, I had to report to Song Jin Nian.
There was even a curfew—home by ten.
Now no one controlled me.
The long-lost feeling of liberty wrapped around me again.
I stayed out all night, wandering.
Slept all day.
When I groggily woke up, there was a figure beside the bed.
Pretty handsome.
I thought I was having a daytime spring dream.
I smiled and was about to pounce.
Then I saw his face clearly.
I slammed on the brakes, nearly falling off the bed.
Song Jin Nian.
When had he come back?
He was in a full suit, like he’d rushed over right after a meeting.
He looked at me without expression, like I was a stranger.
Except for the hand that had caught my waist.
I felt that hand instinctively rub once across my skin.
I jerked back in fright.
Song Jin Nian had lost his memory.
But his body’s instincts hadn’t changed.
I cautiously looked up.
His eyes were clear and cold.
Didn’t seem like he’d regained anything.
I let out a quiet breath of relief.
“Why are you back so suddenly?”
Song Jin Nian frowned at the messy room.
“Was the house always like this before?”
I felt a little embarrassed.
“You used to clean it for me.”
Song Jin Nian was a clean freak. He never let maids into private spaces like the bedroom.
I made the mess. He cleaned it.
His frown deepened.
He seemed baffled that someone with his habits would marry a woman like me.
“Clean up. We’re going to handle the divorce formalities soon.”
I leaped out of bed.
“Okay!”
I forgot I was wearing a lace nightgown.
The strap slipped with the movement.
The whole thing slid down, revealing everything.
I faintly heard the sound of his throat moving.
When I turned, Song Jin Nian was already at the door.
His voice was ice.
“Those little tricks won’t work on me. I’ll wait downstairs.”
I shrugged.
That nightgown was one he’d picked himself—like most of my loungewear, soft and comfortable but designed to slide off easily.
We’d be talking, and suddenly the clothes would be gone.
Then he’d start flipping me like a pancake.
I never thought the day would come when he’d complain about clothes he bought.
I got ready and went downstairs.
He was sitting on the sofa,
staring at the framed photo on the wall.
Our wedding photo.
In it, we were pressed close, intimate.
He had me completely enveloped, like he was claiming ownership.
Afraid he’d remember something, I quickly blocked his view.
“I’ve been packing these days. Haven’t had time to take it down yet.”
He looked at me.
Something unreadable flickered in those cold eyes.
“Were we very in love before?”
“That was before. Love changes.”
Something dark and unclear stirred in the depths of his gaze.
“You don’t seem sad at all that I want a divorce.”
Was it that obvious?
I shook my head.
“Of course not. I’m just respecting your wishes. Love is about respect, right?”
He gave a cold laugh.
“Pretty words. Did you trick me with lines like that before?”
“They won’t work now. Drop the act. I hate fake people most.”
He tossed the Divorce Agreement over.
“No objections? Sign it. We part cleanly.”
I reached for it.
Then a sudden cramp twisted in my stomach.