I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 02

I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 02

I moved into the apartment near the office.

This place was bought in our second year of marriage—a 750-square-foot, two-bedroom unit originally intended for Sean’s parents to stay in. Later, they complained the city was too noisy and never visited once.

Sean, however, had been here twenty-seven times in the last three months.

I pushed my suitcase through the door and stood at the entryway for a long time.

There was a faint scent of gardenia in the air—not the perfume I usually wear.

On the coffee table sat two mugs. One was my usual plain style; the other was printed with a cartoon cat, with a faint ring of lipstick on the rim. That cartoon mug was from a brand Jade was obsessed with.

I opened the fridge.

Mineral water, sparkling water, a few boxes of imported yogurt—the expiration dates were all very fresh.

In the freezer lay a half-bag of frozen ravioli—garlic and onion flavored. It was the scent Sean hated most, but my absolute favorite.

He had never cooked for me.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from Sean:

“Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

“I had the housekeeper change the sheets in the master bedroom to your favorite set.”

I looked at the screen, remembering his hesitant expression when I left.

Was he feeling guilty? Or was he merely performing the role of a considerate husband?

“Good.”

The conversation ended. No “goodnight,” no explanation, and not a hint of reflection on that absurd game.

I tossed the phone onto the sofa and began unpacking.

In truth, there wasn’t much to unpack. It was only half a month—a few changes of clothes and a laptop.

What truly needed sorting were the doubts that had accumulated over three years of marriage.

The details I had deliberately ignored now all floated to the surface.

Sean’s frequent late-night “overtime” had started last fall.

He said the company had taken on a new project and that as the lead, he couldn’t step away.

I believed him. I even felt sorry for how hard he was pushing himself, staying up every night waiting for him to come home, reheating the soup again and again.

Until one late night,

I drove to the office to bring him his stomach medication and saw Jade leaning over his workstation.

Their heads were almost touching, their shoulders shaking as they laughed at something on the computer screen.

“Claire?” Jade was the first to notice me. She straightened up, her expression flawlessly natural.

“Sean’s stomach was killing him but he insisted on staying. I was just trying to convince him to go to the hospital.”

Sean was clutching his abdomen, and his face was indeed pale.

I helped him downstairs. He leaned on my shoulder and whispered:

“Why did you come? I could have managed on my own.”

Back then, I thought that was love.

Now I realized that what he was “managing” wasn’t stomach pain, but a situation that was about to spiral out of control.

I hung my clothes in the closet and found a paper bag at the very bottom.

It was a luxury brand shopping bag containing a silk scarf—pale pink, pure silk.

The tags hadn’t been removed, and the crumpled receipt was shoved at the bottom of the bag.

Last month for Sean’s birthday, I gave him a watch.

He put it on immediately and posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: “Thanks, babe.”

And this scarf—he had likely intended to give it to someone else before having a change of heart.

I snapped a photo and sent it to my lawyer.

“Does this count as evidence?”

The reply came quickly:

“Circumstantial, but useful. Keep collecting—especially financial records.”

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The soundproofing in this apartment wasn’t great; I could faintly hear the TV and a child’s laughter from next door.

An ordinary night for an ordinary family, yet it filled me with a strange sense of envy.

The phone vibrated again. It was an update to Jade’s Instagram Story.

The photo showed a table full of late-night snacks with the caption: “Overtime perks.”

The camera angle carefully avoided the person sitting across from her, but the corner of the table revealed a well-defined hand wearing a wedding ring—the same design as the one on my finger.

I took a screenshot.

The next day was Saturday. I went to the office as usual to handle some backlog.

I ran into Kevin from the marketing department in the elevator. When he saw me, his expression visibly stiffened.