“Ms. Lancaster, you have leukemia late stage.”
She was dying. The doctor’s verdict hit like a thunderclap, leaving Vivian Lancaster stunned.
Just then her phone buzzed. A photo popped up.
Her husband lounged on a sofa, half-unbuttoned white shirt, one arm looped around a woman’s slender waist.
Their eyes were tangled, their posture intimate.
The woman clung to his neck, curls cascading, her brows and eyes a mirror of his long-lost white moon.
Vivian Lancaster’s heart turned to ash. She let go cleanly divorce!
The settlement offered two hundred million?
Was it money she lacked?
She redrafted the agreement, signed with a flourish, and walked away without a backward glance.
Who could have guessed the man who’d demanded the divorce would come chasing after her…
