The day after our divorce, Lucian took his own life. Our marriage was a family arrangement—we don't have any real feelings for each other. Even after we married, we followed the elders' expectations and had a set of twins, a boy and a girl. But when the person I was truly meant to be with appeared, I made the bold decision to divorce. "Didn't we promise each other that we'd set each other free?" His eyes didn't even flutter as he signed the divorce agreement. After his death, letters from his youth, never sent, unfolded in front of me. A strange mixture of fear and sadness filled my chest. His mother said he believed I hated him, and hated his children too. I lay there, exhausted, in my room—walls covered with memories of me—struggling to understand. When I woke up, it was our wedding night. Lucian, with a cold expression, was clutching a pillow, heading toward the study to sleep. Different from how I ignored him in our previous life, I wrapped my arm around his waist and said, "Are you really sure you want to go?"
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