An early autumn chill had settled over River City.

“I’m pregnant. Eight weeks. It’s Ethan’s.”

“Mrs. Blackwood, Ethan loves me. Not you. The only thing you have is that title—nothing else.”

“You’ve been married to him for three years with no child. Aren’t you ashamed to still call yourself Mrs. Ethan Blackwood?”

…

The woman speaking was dressed head-to-toe in designer labels—flowy dress, flat shoes, impeccable makeup, flanked by two nannies and three bodyguards. She stood like a queen, looking down at Clara Walton with pure contempt.

Clara remained seated calmly on the sofa, watching her. Then she sighed softly and lifted her gaze—her expression peaceful, her voice even softer.

“And you are?” Clara asked with a polite smile.

Olivia Sterling froze.

Clearly, she hadn’t expected anyone in River City not to know her. A-list actress, constantly in the media—Olivia assumed Clara was feigning ignorance.

“Olivia Sterling,” she replied, irritation creeping into her tone. “Mrs. Blackwood, do us both a favor and sign the divorce papers. Stop clinging to Ethan.”

She stared straight at Clara, taken aback by how unshaken this supposedly gentle woman seemed—completely unmoved by the threat. As if Olivia were beneath her notice.

It threw Olivia off balance. Before she could gather her thoughts, Clara stood up and offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Clara walked closer. “Miss Sterling, do you know how many women have claimed to be carrying Ethan’s child in the past year? More than thirty.”

Olivia’s expression tightened.

“You’re not the first,” Clara continued, her smile unchanged. “And I doubt you’ll be the last.”

That smile sent a chill down Olivia’s spine. Then Clara lightly rested a hand on Olivia’s stomach. Olivia flinched and jerked backward.

“What are you doing?! Don’t touch me! I know what you’re trying to do—stay away from my baby!” she cried, shielding her belly in a panic.

Clara tilted her head, still smiling. “Are you absolutely certain it’s Ethan’s?”

“Of course I am!” Olivia snapped, a little too forcefully.

“Alright then,” Clara said pleasantly. “But here’s something you should know—Ethan had a vasectomy. He didn’t want any… complications.”

She let the words hang in the air before continuing, “So if you’re sure it’s his, by all means, have the child. The Blackwoods would be delighted to have a grandchild. They’ll take good care of you.”

Olivia’s face went pale.

“But—” Clara’s voice turned cold, “—if this story of yours isn’t entirely true, you understand how serious the consequences could be, don’t you?”

All the earlier casualness vanished from Clara’s demeanor. Her eyes locked onto Olivia’s, sharp and penetrating, as if she could see right through her. Olivia took an involuntary step back, visibly shaken.

“You know what Ethan hates most?” Clara added softly. “Being lied to. Especially by someone trying to pass off another man’s child as his.”

She didn’t need to say more.

Olivia’s earlier arrogance and false confidence crumbled. She turned and fled as if her life depended on it.

Just like that, it was over. Without Ethan even being present, Clara had made her point clearly—handling women like Olivia was effortless. Wiping them out of River City was only a matter of time.

…

Clara watched Olivia rush away and sighed again.

She really was playing the part of the capable, perpetually bored Mrs. Blackwood perfectly. From being shocked the first time a woman showed up at her door to resolving these confrontations in under ten minutes—now, she felt no sense of victory, only weariness.

Her eyes drifted thoughtfully downward before casually shifting toward the staircase—Ethan was there.

Of course he was. He had seen and heard everything, yet he looked utterly entertained, as though the mess wasn’t his doing.

Clara let out a quiet, mocking laugh.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her against a solid chest. The familiar scent of tobacco and cologne washed over her—she didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

“Darling,” Clara murmured softly.

Ethan responded with a low “Mmm. You went to see your mother today?”

He meant Linda. Her health had been unstable lately, and she was still at Aurelux Hospital.

Clara nodded slightly.

Before she could react, Ethan turned her toward him. His lips brushed lightly against hers as he spoke. She didn’t resist—just let it happen.

Her arms naturally wound around his neck. She hated how her body betrayed her—saying no with her words, but screaming yes with every gesture.

The atmosphere in the room shifted almost instantly.

“Clara,” Ethan murmured against her mouth, “since when did I have a vasectomy?”

She stiffened for a half-second, then offered an awkward smile. “I had to shut her up, didn’t I?”

Three years of marriage, and Clara had essentially been Ethan’s stand-in—playing the perfect wife for his family and dealing with every woman who chased after him.

Their relationship was plastic, superficial—except in bed, where somehow, they always fit.

“You’ve been a little sharp with me lately,” Ethan remarked.

Clara paused. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t like handling these women?” He was still kissing her.

“It’s whatever. Ten minutes each. They all use the same old tricks—nothing original,” she mumbled lazily.

“…”

Ethan chuckled—a low, almost irritated sound—then nipped her lip sharply.

Clara winced and fell silent. But as the tension between them built, she couldn’t help muttering, “With so many women around you, why bother coming home to mess with me?”

“Jealous?” Ethan looked down at her.

…

Jealous, my foot. She swallowed the words and stayed quiet. Ethan didn’t push further.

In the master bedroom, things quickly intensified. Heat, tension—River City’s early autumn night carried a restless warmth that lingered long after.

…

Later, Ethan released her and headed toward the bathroom.

“Ethan,” Clara called out suddenly.

He stopped mid-step and waited. She was biting her lip, eyes downcast, clearly weighing her words. He didn’t hurry her.

Then she said it: “Let’s get divorced.”

The calm on Ethan’s face shattered. His brows drew together sharply, and his voice turned low and tense. “What did you just say?”

“Ethan Blackwood,” she repeated, using his full name, “let’s get divorced.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and started walking back toward her. There was something overwhelmingly intense about his presence—each step made the air feel thinner.

But Clara didn’t back down.

He stopped directly in front of her, tall and imposing. She met his gaze steadily and said, “She’s back, isn’t she? I saw the news.”