I Rose to Fame with Secret Recipes

Today is the tenth anniversary of Mason Collins and me getting married. I had booked his favorite restaurant in advance and bought custom cufflinks, eagerly anticipating this belated celebration. When my mobile phone vibrated, I thought it was his usual off-work reminder, but when I opened it, I was met with a series of photos. The background was our master bedroom's large bed; the man in the photos was my husband, Mason Collins, and the woman was my sister, Stacy Lynn. My stomach twisted violently. My fingers gripping the mobile phone turned white, and every breath I took felt sharp with pain. I don't know who the sender is, and I couldn't be bothered to guess. These photos are enough to crush all I've worked for in the past ten years. When Mason Collins came back, he smelled faintly of perfume—not the one I usually wear. "Happy anniversary, honey." He hugged me as usual, his tone so natural it was as if nothing had happened. I pushed him away and threw the mobile phone onto the coffee table, the photo still frozen on the most glaring one. "Mason Collins, I want a divorce." My voice was calm—so calm that even I was surprised. His smile froze on his face. He picked up his mobile phone and glanced at it. His expression gradually darkened, but there wasn't a trace of guilt. "Who sent this to you?" he asked. "Does it matter?" I replied. He put down the phone, leaned back on the sofa, tapping his fingers on the armrest, wearing an indifferent expression. "It was just a moment of weakness." He shrugged it off lightly, "Stacy is still young and immature. Don't hold it against her." "Young? She's only two years younger than me." I laughed, tears nearly streaming down, "Mason Collins, do you take me for a fool?" "Divorce is fine." He suddenly dropped his joking expression and pulled out a Divorce Agreement from his briefcase that he had prepared long ago. "I've already signed it." I was stunned. He had actually prepared it all this time? "I've already drafted the property division. This house will be yours, along with a black card with no spending limit." He pushed the agreement towards me, his tone dripping with condescension. "All you have to do is sign, and it's all yours." "Do you think I care about any of this?" I looked at his unfamiliar face, and my heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by a hand. "Or what?" He raised an eyebrow, eyes filled with challenge. "Leave me? What could you possibly do? You've been a full-time housewife all these years, completely cut off from the world." "None of your business." I picked up the pen and signed the agreement without a moment's hesitation. He watched me sign, a mocking smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Thought it through? Don't come back with regrets." "I never regret making the right choice." I carefully put away my copy of the agreement. He handed me a black bank card, but I brushed it aside with my hand. "Keep these things to yourself." I said. "Putting on airs." He scoffed and took back the card. I didn't argue with him any further. Holding the Divorce Agreement, I turned and walked out of the home I'd lived in for ten years. The wind outside was cold, cutting across my face like a knife, yet I felt unbelievably light. This marriage, full of betrayal, had finally come to an end.