On our third wedding anniversary, my husband Gu Yanshen didn't come back.
He brought back Bai Yueguang, who had been missing for many years, and a divorce agreement.
"Su Wanqing, stop acting. Your imitation of Weiwei made me sick for three years."
He threw the agreement in my face, his tone cold and biting, sure that I would cry and beg him not to leave like he had done countless times in the past.
After all, in order to marry him, I gave up my family, career and dignity and became a dodder who only knows how to make soup.
I looked at the woman next to him who looked exactly like me, with undisguised victory and sarcasm in her eyes.
I lowered my head, my shoulders shaking slightly, and when I raised my eyes again, tears were streaming down my face.
The second before Gu Yanshen showed a bored expression, I picked up the pen and signed my name neatly.
Then, in front of them, I dialed a number:
"Hey, Uncle Wang? Yes, it's me. The wind and waves are too big. I'm tired of playing with the boat. It's time to go home and inherit the billions of family property."
"Oh, by the way, help me deliver the posters for the comeback tour of the Lincoln Center prima ballerina 'Odile' next month to every office of the Gu Group."
After all, I, the "little white flower" he doesn't want, is the black swan that the whole world holds in the palm of his hand.
