Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 2: The Divorce Plan

The next morning, Wren called her office and took a half-day.

Her legs could barely carry her to the kitchen. Every step was a reminder—not of pleasure, but of how thoroughly she’d been used and discarded. She made herself tea and sat at the dining table, staring at her phone.

No calls from Adrian. No texts. Nothing.

Around noon, the pain started.

It began as a dull ache in her lower abdomen—easy to dismiss as cramps, maybe her period coming early. But within an hour, it sharpened into something vicious, a hot wire being pulled taut through her pelvis.

Then the bleeding.

Wren looked down and saw red soaking through her pajama shorts. Not spotting. Bright, arterial red, spreading fast.

This isn’t normal.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

The paramedics found her on the bathroom floor, ashen-faced, drenched in cold sweat. At the hospital, the diagnosis came quickly: ruptured corpus luteum. Emergency surgery required.

"Mrs. Lancaster," the surgeon said, his expression grave, "the rupture was likely triggered by intense physical strain. Given the severity, there’s a risk this procedure could affect your future fertility. We need a family member’s signature before we can proceed."

Intense physical strain.

Wren thought of last night. Adrian’s hands on her hips, the force of him, the way he’d pinned her wrists and told her to take it. Her body had been screaming even then—she’d just mistaken the pain for passion.

He did this to her. And he wasn’t even here.

Her fingers were ice-cold as she dialed his number. It rang twice.

"What is it?" Flat. Impatient. In the background, the faint clinking of porcelain—breakfast, maybe. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere that wasn’t a hospital.

"I’m at the hospital. I need emergency surgery. They need your signature."

A pause. Then:

"I mentioned last night that Maya wasn’t feeling well, and today you suddenly need surgery. Isn’t that a little too convenient?"

Wren’s vision blurred. Her heart felt like it was being wrung out.

He didn’t believe her. He never questioned a single word Maya Marshall said—but his own wife’s medical emergency was a performance to him.

She thought of their wedding day. The ceremony half-finished when his phone rang. Maya had said she had a headache, and Adrian had abandoned Wren at the altar, in front of everyone, and flown abroad that same night. He never apologized. Never explained.

The line between love and its absence had always been painfully clear. She was the fool who’d spent four years pretending she couldn’t see it.

"I’m not lying to you. I’m really at the hospital, Adrian."

His voice dripped with derision. "If you’re going to cause a scene, come up with a better excuse. Cursing yourself with a hospital story—you must have a death wish."

Wren stared at the fluorescent lights on the pre-op ceiling, tears sliding silently into her hair. "Adrian Lancaster, if you don’t come today, you might never see me again."

Before he could respond, she heard it—Maya’s voice, light and sweet, floating through the phone like wind chimes.

"Adrian, the cake’s ready. Come try some."

"Alright."

He hung up without a second of hesitation.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Wren lowered the phone from her ear and closed her eyes.

Adrian would rather eat cake with Maya Marshall than come to a hospital where his wife might be dying. He didn’t care if she lived or if she didn’t. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Something inside her chest clicked shut. Quietly. Permanently.

She opened her eyes and looked at the surgeon.

"Doctor, I’ll sign for myself. I accept all risks. Let’s proceed."

The surgeon hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. But he’d seen enough of life’s cruelties to recognize a woman who had no one else to call. He sighed.

"Prepare for surgery."

The surgery lasted two hours. It was a success.

When Wren drifted back to consciousness, the anesthesia was still clouding her senses. She slept for another hour in the recovery room before the sharp smell of disinfectant finally pulled her fully awake.

A nurse was changing her IV bag.

"You’re up! The surgery went perfectly. The department head said you’re in excellent health—it won’t affect your ability to have children in the future."

A wave of complicated emotions surged through Wren’s chest, but the heaviest knot loosened.

Thank God. At least He hadn’t taken away her chance to become a mother. Even if the man who should have been by her side had chosen cake over her life.

"You just rest. I’ve taken care of the admission paperwork," the nurse said warmly. "The department head says you’ll need to stay at least a week."

"Thank you."

The nurse closed the door softly. The room fell quiet. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, gilding the sill in amber.

Wren checked her phone. More than a dozen missed calls from the office. And a string of messages from the chief secretary:

"Unexcused absence this afternoon. What’s going on?"

"Your pay for today will be docked."

"You’re not answering your phone or replying to messages. Wren Sutton, are you trying to start a rebellion?"

"The Group doesn’t pay slackers. Provide a reasonable explanation by six, or don’t bother showing up tomorrow."

Wren set her phone down. Her heart was strangely calm.

She wasn’t just Adrian Lancaster’s wife. She was also a secretary in the Lancaster Group’s secretarial department—the lowest rung.

Aside from Kevin Dawson, the CEO’s executive assistant, no one at the company knew she was Mrs. Lancaster. To the chief secretary, she was just another junior employee to bully.

Wren was meticulous at her job. She’d never once made an error. But her looks—her face, her figure—had made her a target from day one. The chief secretary picked at her constantly. The other secretaries froze her out. She endured it all in silence, year after year, because she was Adrian’s wife and didn’t want to cause him trouble.

What was the point?

She was giving up on Adrian Lancaster. She didn’t need his company’s paycheck, and she certainly didn’t need to swallow abuse from women who’d be tripping over themselves to apologize if they knew who she really was.

Whoever wants that job can have it.

Wren spent the next several days recovering alone in the hospital, with a hired caregiver to help her.

Her parents were aging and not in good health. She couldn’t bear to worry them.

Adrian didn’t call. Not once. She didn’t expect him to.

From the company group chat—which she still hadn’t left—she learned that Adrian was away on a business trip. Due back either today or tomorrow.

Coincidentally, Maya Marshall had been active on social media all week. No photos of Adrian directly, but every post dripped with implication—a man’s suit jacket draped over a chair, two wine glasses on a balcony, and a caption that read: "Made coffee. Waiting for him."

A week ago, Wren would have been gutted. Now she scrolled past it the way you’d scroll past a weather alert for a city you no longer lived in.

She was too busy browsing real estate listings.

After comparing several properties, she settled on a large, beautifully furnished flat in Amberwood Estates. The price was steep, but the interior was stunning—modern, full of light, move-in ready. A home that looked nothing like the cold Lancaster villa with its empty rooms and emptier marriage.

She was mid-conversation with the real estate agent when her phone rang.

Isla Griffith. Her best friend. Her only real friend.

Wren answered with a smile she hadn’t felt in days. "Well, well. If it isn’t the famous actress, finally taking a break."

"I just flew back from Starlight Studios. These past two weeks nearly killed me," Isla groaned. "I’ll be near your office in a bit. Lunch?"

"I’m not at the office."

"Home?"

"Nope."

"Then where? Send me the address. I’ll come to you."

Wren hesitated a beat. "I’m at the hospital."

Isla Griffith burst into the hospital room like a tornado with designer heels.

"That bastard Adrian Lancaster! It’s not like he’s some inexperienced teenager—why was he so goddamn rough?! He’s the one who put you in this state, so where the hell is he? Why isn’t he here?"

Wren gestured to the chair beside her bed. "Sit. Calm down. I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t need him here."

Isla froze. "What do you mean?"

"I’m going to divorce him."

Isla stared.

Wren met her gaze, steady and clear-eyed. "Maya Marshall is back. In four years, Adrian has never once truly cared about me. I’ve been left out in the cold for the entire marriage. I’m not going to suffer through it any longer."

Isla’s eyes went red. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Wren into a fierce hug.

"Good," she whispered. "Good. Leave that scumbag. With what you’ve got—your brains, your face, your heart—you’ll have men lining up."

Wren returned the hug, letting herself lean on someone for the first time in a week. "I know I’ll find a man who actually loves me."

Isla pulled back, fire rekindling in her eyes. She launched into a blistering tirade—creatively, colorfully, and at impressive length—against both Adrian Lancaster and Maya Marshall. The caregiver in the corner pretended to be very interested in the wall.

"Adrian is the one at fault here," Isla said, jabbing a finger in the air. "You can’t let him walk away clean. The divorce settlement needs to hurt."

"I’ve already picked out an apartment. At least I’ll have somewhere to go after." Wren paused, then leaned in and lowered her voice. "But the apartment isn’t the real plan. Here’s what I’m actually going to do—"

She whispered the rest into Isla’s ear.

Isla’s eyes widened, then lit up like fireworks. She pulled back and gave Wren a massive thumbs-up.

"Wren Sutton, you magnificent woman."