Chapter Two: Divorce

Night had fallen over the Fu family estate.

As Song Qingyou stepped through the door, laughter echoed from the front hall. But the moment the group gathered around the dining table caught sight of her, their smiles vanished, as though her presence at this moment of family reunion were some kind of ill omen.

She was long accustomed to this coldness, but the sight of Lin Miaomiao, Fu Tingshen’s delicate and helpless old flame, seated at the table gave her pause. The elder Fus had always cared about family background; they might dislike Song Qingyou, but at least she was from the Song family. Lin Miaomiao, on the other hand, came from a modest background with no connections. Not only did her in-laws disapprove of her, but even Fu Tingshen kept her outside the house—bringing her in only occasionally, as a provocation, never openly inviting her to dine at the main table.

Song Qingyou sensed that something unusual was afoot, but she maintained a calm facade. “Dad, Mom, Tingshen, I’m home.”

Fu Tingshen, dressed sharply in his suit, looked even more imposing. His expression was icy. “If you’re so eager to play aunt to Fu Wenzhou, why not just be his mother instead?”

The house was warm from the central heating. Song Qingyou slipped off her shawl, revealing delicate, pale arms. As she bent to change her shoes, her graceful figure was accentuated.

She showed no reaction to her husband’s familiar sarcasm of three years. “Xiaozhou is allergic to alcohol. The waiter called you all first, but no one answered, so they called me. After all, I am her aunt—I couldn’t just ignore her.”

The Fu family’s business empire was vast. The patriarch had two sons. Fu Wenzhou’s parents died young, and the old man felt guilty about his grandson, believing he owed him. When dividing the inheritance, he gave nearly all the tangible assets to Fu Wenzhou. Fu Tingshen’s branch was left with only some entertainment venues; the real power now lay with Fu Wenzhou. This was why Fu Tingshen’s family resented Fu Wenzhou so bitterly, wishing him dead so they could inherit his fortune.

It was also why Fu Wenzhou could, with perfect justification, see Song Qingyou—no one in the Fu family would ever answer his calls.

Qin You put on a false show of concern. “Tingshen said you wouldn’t be home tonight, so I didn’t ask Mrs. Zhang to cook for you. I don’t know if you’ve eaten.”

Perhaps the evening wind had gotten to her; now she was feeling the aftereffects. Song Qingyou pressed her lips and coughed, her cheeks flushed. “I’m... cough... not hungry. Dad, Mom, you eat. I’ll go to my room.”

Fu Tingshen was most annoyed by her frail, sickly demeanor. He said coldly, “You know the wind makes you ill, but you go out anyway. Serves you right.”

Song Qingyou said nothing. Someone else, though, could no longer hold back.

Lin Miaomiao, unable to bear being ignored, had come tonight determined to upset Song Qingyou. Emboldened by her own leverage, she smiled triumphantly. “Song Qingyou, I have good news for you. I’m pregnant—almost two weeks now! Tingshen’s going to be a father!”

Song Qingyou paused, finding it all rather absurd. The wife was still standing here, yet the mistress had already barged in to announce her pregnancy. The drama was almost laughable.

No wonder Fu Tingshen brought her home for dinner tonight. No wonder the whole family was so harmonious and cheerful. It seemed she was the outsider here.

She glanced indifferently at the protagonist of this farce. His handsome brows were furrowed, his face betraying no joy at impending fatherhood.

How strange, Song Qingyou thought.

Lin Miaomiao kept proclaiming, “Tingshen wants me to stay here and rest for the baby. I’ve moved my things in. The baby needs his father, so I had your things moved out of the master bedroom. From now on, you’ll live in the guest room downstairs.”

Qin You sneered, “What use is a hen that can’t lay eggs? At least Miaomiao’s womb is up to the task.”

Fu Changlin said gravely, “Your stomach has been silent for three years. Now that Miaomiao is pregnant, her child will be the Fu family’s eldest grandchild. You’ll have to make do.”

Song Qingyou’s ascent up the stairs halted. After a moment, she retracted her slender leg and replied calmly, “All right.”

Fu Changlin and Qin You snorted and left.

Lin Miaomiao watched smugly as Song Qingyou entered the guest room, her eyes filled with arrogance. But looking up, she saw Fu Tingshen still staring at the closed door, a flicker of jealousy crossing her features before tears welled up, making her look pitiful. “Is it that you don’t want our child?”

Fu Tingshen frowned.

Lin Miaomiao’s heart sank, tears flowing freely. “I knew it! Everything you used to say to me was a lie. You don’t love me—you’ve already fallen for Song Qingyou, haven’t you?”

His frown deepened; he gently wiped her tears away. “Don’t overthink it. You’re the one I’ve always cared about.”

Lin Miaomiao sobbed harder, her voice trembling. “Then you don’t want the baby. But Tingshen, the doctor said surgery would be risky for me. If I lose this baby, I might never be a mother again. Don’t you want to have a child with me?”

He hugged her, pained. “You’ll be a mother. I promise.”

As the night wore on, Song Qingyou, a light sleeper, woke the instant the door opened.

The light flicked on. She withdrew her hand from the switch, meeting Fu Tingshen’s slightly startled gaze.

Looking down, she realized she wore only a silk camisole, her neckline low. She frowned, pulling the quilt up to her shoulders. Anyone woken abruptly from sleep would be displeased. “What do you want?”

His expression was grim. At last, he tossed a document onto the bed. “This is the divorce agreement. Look it over—sign it if you have no objections.”

Without makeup, Song Qingyou’s face was luminous, her features delicate and breathtakingly beautiful. Even Fu Tingshen found himself occasionally bewitched by her beauty.

Perhaps it was only as their marriage ended that he realized how cruel he’d been these three years. He knew her life with the Songs had been hard; for once, he felt a rare pang of pity. “I’ll talk to the Songs. Don’t worry about them making things difficult for you. If necessary, I’ll apologize in person.”

Song Qingyou seemed not to hear, her attention on the division of assets. “A villa in the eastern suburbs and fifty million yuan.”

Fu Tingshen looked at her. “I promised Miaomiao that I’d marry her if she had my child. I owe her too much—three years ago, I wronged her. I can’t fail her again. The house and the money are your compensation.”

Song Qingyou nodded. “I’ll divorce you.”

He said, “Good. If you agree, just—”

“But with this little money, President Fu, are you treating me like a beggar?”

He was startled, thinking he’d misheard. “What?”

She smiled faintly, polite yet distant. “We had a prenuptial agreement—your premarital assets are yours, I want none of it. But the marital assets must be split fifty-fifty. Also, I want fifteen percent of Ding Sheng Pharmaceuticals’ shares.”

“You’re being utterly outrageous!” Fu Tingshen snapped. “Fifty million isn’t enough for you? You dare covet shares of Ding Sheng? You must be delirious!”

Song Qingyou coughed weakly, her voice faint. “I contributed to Ding Sheng too. I’m asking only for what’s rightfully mine. Besides, you’re the one at fault for infidelity. I could demand you leave with nothing.”

“In your dreams!”

“I have every record of your rendezvous with Lin Miaomiao over the past three years, surveillance footage of her causing scenes here, and recordings of your parents threatening and humiliating me. If you refuse my terms, I won’t hesitate to call a press conference.”

“And the villa you bought Lin Miaomiao in the West Hills, the money you’ve transferred, the cars, the jewelry, the collectibles—all the receipts are with me.”

She smiled. “All of this is marital property. I’m entitled to reclaim it.”

Fu Tingshen stared in disbelief at the once docile, submissive woman he thought he knew, as if meeting her for the first time. Veins bulged at his temples in anger. “Song Qingyou, you’re ruthless! Then there won’t be a divorce. You’ll spend your life trapped in the Fu family!”

She replied, “Fine. Let her wait until I’m dead to marry in. My health may be poor, but my life is tenacious—I might live another three or five years.”

His gaze darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly it threatened to break.

She was right—she could wait, but Lin Miaomiao and the child could not. The divorce had to happen.

After a long silence, he finally relented, his voice as cold as ice. “I’ll have the divorce agreement redrafted. Monday at ten, outside the civil affairs bureau.”

With that, as if utterly repulsed by her, he turned on his heel and strode out without a backward glance.