“Seriously? It's just a baby—was it worth spending two whole hours making soup? Even I never got that treatment.”
I rolled into the house in my wheelchair. The front door was wide open. The scent of food wafted through the air, mingled with the sound of Winston and Kiara laughing and playing around.
“Keep your voice down! What if your sister hears you? Just keep up the act for now. Once I get full control of the company, you’ll be Mrs. Flemming.”
Outside the elevator, I tightened my grip on the forged medical report and made a deliberate noise to announce my presence.
Winston appeared at the door in a bathrobe, looking flustered as he tugged at the collar.
He shot me an annoyed glance and snapped, “You should’ve called if you were coming back. If it was inconvenient, I could’ve picked you up.”
He pushed me into the living room, where Kiara, also in a bathrobe, brought out a steaming bowl of chicken soup from the kitchen.
Their outfits left little to the imagination. I could guess what had been going on in my absence.
I crushed the paper in my hand, warping it beyond recognition. The concern on Winston’s face vanished the moment I stepped inside.
He arranged the dishes on the table, then casually disappeared into the bedroom to change.
“Kia and I are heading to the airport to pick up my parents. You go ahead and eat.”
“Wait.”
I pulled out two documents from my bag—a share transfer agreement and a divorce contract.
Winston froze in place, glaring at me with rising irritation.
“Bianca, what is this supposed to mean? You want a divorce?”
I smiled calmly and pulled out a pen.
“Since the miscarriage, I’ve been nearly paralyzed. I can’t keep up with the company anymore. From now on, I’ll be relying on you.”
Sighing, I continued, “You know how heavy the tax is on share transfers. A fake divorce would make everything easier to handle.”
He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the agreement. His mood visibly improved as he confirmed that I was transferring all of my shares to him.

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