Divorcing My Husband Over His Stepsister's Secret novel Chapter 140

Chapter 140

Anna’s POV:

stood frozen in the doorway, my stomach churning with nausea after hearing Claire’s words. The sickening feeling crawled up my throat, but I forced it down. Despite the trembling in my voice, I manged to keep my tone ice–cold.

“I want to find our marriage certificate,” I said, looking directly at Cire. “Get it for me. Blake and I are getting divorced in the morning.”

I knew in this house, everyone was more eager for Blake and me to sparate than we were ourselves–especially the girl standing in front of me now.

Claire’s expression shifted from shock to undisguised delight. Her eyes suddenly lit up.

“Really?” She spun toward Blake, excitement bubbling in her voice. “Blakey! I’ll go find it right now!”

She was practically bouncing as she prepared to leave the room, her movements as light and quick as if she were about to perform in one of her ballet shows.

Blake’s hand shot out, grabbing Claire’s shoulder before she could take another step. His fingers tightened visibly, stopping her escape. “After Anna and I divorce,” he said, his voice low and glacial. I plan to have a baby with Scarlett.”

Despite speaking to Claire, his sharp gaze landed squarely on me. The words seemed forced through his clenched back teeth, his jaw line tense with displeasure.

Claire’s entire demeanor deflated instantly. “Oh.” Her eyebrows and eyes drooped, the corners of her mouth turning downward. She turned to me, her tone suddenly cold. “Anna, get out. I need to sleep. I have an important ballet rehearsal in the morning.”

I wanted to scream internally. ‘Blake, you just ruined my plan!‘

I raised an eyebrow, my voice dripping with icy sarcasm. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy your brother is having a baby? Isn’t that wonderful news for the family?”

“Of course I’m happy!” Claire responded reflexively, but her voice quivered.

She sniffled, tears welling in her eyes, her delicate fingers continuously twisting the hem of her nightgown. Without warning, she launched herself at Blake like a child, clinging to his arm and practically hanging off him.

“Blakey,” she whined, her voice thick with obvious tears, “you always told me I was your little princess when we were younger. If you have another baby, will you still like me? Will you still care about my dance performances?”

Blake’s palm moved to her back, patting it with the gentleness one would use with fragile china. “Don’t worry, he murmured, his voice suddenly so tender it was barely recognizable. “You’ll always be my little princess. That won’t change.”

My chest felt stuffed with cotton, making it impossible to breathe. My throat tightened as my heartbeat became faint, my fingers turning to ice as I stood there, frozen in place.

I couldn’t stay in this room another second. I turned and walked away quickly, not even bothering to close the door behind me.

Nwandered aimlessly through the house, eventually finding myself outside the rarely–used basement door. I pulled it open and descended the stairs. The further down I went, the dimmer the light became, the air growing increasingly damp and cold wooden steps creaked beneath my feet.

In the corner, I spotted a pile of my clothes – favorite dresses and T–shirts now filthy, covered in dust and cobwebs.

1/2

Chapter 140,

Claire probably used my clothes to clean the basement, I thought mbly. Or maybe she just threw them down here to rot.”

Strangely, I felt calm. These things could no longer stir any emotion in me. I was just tired. Bone–deep tired.

Then I saw it a familiar blue wooden box in the corner. The memory box I’d decorated by hand. I walked over to it without thinking.

Several of the small decorations I had carefully attached were missing, and there were visible scratches on the surface. A sense of dread washed over me as I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightl

“This box holds all the beautiful memories Blake and I made together…”

When I slowly opened the lid, I froze. Inside was a pile of fragments what had once been my treasures was now just a box of “garbage.”

All the photos, notes, and mementos had been maliciously torn into pieces of various sizes. Some appeared to have been soaked in water. Our marriage certificate was also shredded to bits, its edges yellowed, mixed indistinguishably with the other debris.

With shaking fingers, I picked up a fragment of a photo. On it, I could just make out the edge of a light–colored dress.

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