CHAPTER 105: CHAPTER 105: NEVER AGAIN WILL I LOVE SO DEEPLY

When Zinnia Lawrence heard his instructions, she breathed a sigh of relief, yet tears uncontrollably streamed down her face again.

The car’s cabin was so small, and the driver didn’t dare make a sound. Although Zinnia tried not to cry aloud, intermittent sobs kept echoing in the confined space.

Jenson Forrest’s brows furrowed in irritation. He turned, his cold eyes fixed on her. "Zinnia, if you cry again, I’ll change my mind!"

If they don’t separate, she cries. If they do, she still cries. Could she be crying tears of joy? The possibility made Jenson’s handsome face turn even graver. The hand resting on his knee clenched into a fist, making a faint creaking sound.

Startled, Zinnia’s tears immediately stopped. She blinked her red-rimmed eyes and shrank back against the car window like a frightened little rabbit.

"Don’t be harsh, I’ve stopped crying."

Her muffled voice seemed to lodge in Jenson’s chest, stifling the anger he felt.

He sneered. *This* is what she calls harsh? The heartless woman. She’s never even seen me truly angry.

Jenson closed his eyes, as if another glance at her would be a nuisance.

Zinnia let out a breath, grabbed a tissue, and wiped her face. She then secretly pulled out a mirror to check her reflection. Seeing her red eyes and somewhat disheveled appearance, she grew annoyed.

This wasn’t how I imagined the divorce would be. Our wedding wasn’t grand or filled with boundless beauty, so I thought that for our divorce, I should at least treat it with seriousness. I would dress beautifully and carry myself with a carefree, dignified air. But things didn’t go as planned...

Zinnia sighed silently, tidying her hair as she looked in the mirror.

Jenson’s eyes were slightly closed, but they snapped open when his phone rang. He found Zinnia in the mirror, primping and preening. Her relaxed demeanor made the coldness in his eyes intensify.

So she really is overjoyed, desperate to divorce me.

The call was from Timothy Cohen. Jenson had instructions for him, so he answered.

"President, just now in the coffee shop, Miss Six..."

Timothy was reporting on the incident at the coffee shop, but he had barely started before Jenson cut him off with an order.

"Go to the study in the old residence right now. Get the household register and our marriage certificate and bring them to the Civil Affairs Bureau on Concord Avenue."

On the other end of the line, Timothy was completely baffled. He understood every word, but the meaning wasn’t computing.

"What did you say, President Forrest?"

Jenson’s voice was like ice. "Are you going senile and deaf already?"

Even through the phone, Timothy could feel his boss’s dangerously low mood, but he didn’t dare agree.

The Civil Affairs Bureau only handles marriages and divorces, right? Is the president actually getting a divorce? But hasn’t he been trying to win his wife back this whole time? How did he end up chasing her straight to the crematorium? If I agree to this, and the President later pins the blame for the divorce on me, what kind of future will I have left! And what if the President has me on speaker? Maybe he’s just been backed into a corner by his wife and is looking for a way out. If I, his special assistant, fail to read the situation and cause him to *actually* get divorced, my life is over today.

In just a few seconds, Timothy’s mind had run through a dozen scenarios. His palm sweating, he held the phone and shouted, "Hello? Hello! President Forrest, what did you say? The signal is bad, hello..."

Under immense pressure, Timothy pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up.

The car fell silent. Timothy’s voice had been so loud that Zinnia had heard him too. Fearing another setback, she began to suspect that Jenson might have secretly signaled Timothy to cause such a ruckus.

She looked at Jenson with a probing, suspicious gaze and frowned. "Assistant Cohen isn’t on a business trip in the middle of nowhere, so how could his signal be bad? If your documents are at the old residence, I can call the driver there to bring them. Or we could go back and get them ourselves. There’s still time..."

Jenson’s icy gaze swept over the frantic woman. Squeezing his phone tighter, his lips curled into a cold smirk. "No need."

"What do you mean, ’no need’? Are you planning to go back on your word again? Why won’t you just agree to the divorce? Acting like this, I’m starting to think you’ve actually fallen in love with me and can’t bear to let me go!" Zinnia blurted out in her haste.

Jenson’s expression became momentarily unreadable. He raised an eyebrow. "If I said I love you and can’t let you go, would you call off the divorce?"

Zinnia’s heart hammered in her chest, and her mind went blank at his words. She stared at him, dazed, but the mockery at the corners of his lips and the unwavering cold in his eyes pulled her back to reality. No one confesses their love with an expression like that, let alone in such a sarcastic tone.

Besides, how could Jenson Forrest possibly love her and be unable to leave her? Weren’t two years of cold emotional abuse in their marriage enough to make her see the truth?

Zinnia clenched her hands tightly. "An arrow, once loosed, cannot be recalled. This divorce has to happen."

She stared at him. But there was no heartbreak on his exceptionally handsome face, no humiliation from being rejected—only endless ridicule and indifference.

"Of course we’re getting a divorce," he said, his long fingers tapping lightly on his phone.

He flipped the phone over in his palm and dialed Timothy again. The phone rang once more. Timothy held it like a hot potato, but he didn’t dare refuse the call.

"You’re quite the actor. Do you need me to pay you an extra salary for your performance?" Jenson’s low voice was laced with sinister displeasure at Timothy’s self-righteous cleverness.

With "DOOMED" practically written across his forehead, Timothy hastily replied, "President Forrest, I’ll go get them and bring them to you right away."

After hanging up, Jenson glanced at Zinnia—a look that seemed to say, "Don’t flatter yourself, and stop judging a gentleman by your own petty standards."

Zinnia felt a pang of embarrassment. She bit her lip and looked out the window.

The car fell into a heavy silence that lasted until they arrived at the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Timothy hadn’t arrived yet. The driver, perhaps finding the atmosphere too stifling, took the opportunity to slip away to "use the restroom" and disappeared.

Only Zinnia and Jenson remained in the car. The man leaned back against the seat, resting with his eyes closed, while Zinnia couldn’t help but watch him cautiously.

Even without love, the man before her was the most important man in her life. He had played so many roles: savior and guiding light, idol and mentor. He was like a brother and a father, and above all, the lover she could never have. Zinnia knew that in the long years to come, even if time healed all wounds and taught her to love someone else, that love would never be as deeply etched in her soul as her love for the man before her. No one else would ever carve their name so vividly and forcefully into her heart. No one.

The thought was like a thousand arrows piercing her heart. Zinnia almost blurted out, "Let’s not get divorced. Let’s try again."

"Had your fill of staring?" Jenson suddenly opened his eyes.

As he turned to look at her, Zinnia blinked rapidly, masking all traces of her sorrow.

She smiled and said, "Third Brother, your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you."

She knelt on the seat, leaned over, and tugged at his tie without giving him a chance to object. He had just loosened it himself, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.

Zinnia straightened the tie, first carefully tidying his shirt collar and fastening the buttons. Only then did she undo the tie, intending to knot it again from scratch.

Jenson looked down at the woman so close to him, who looked for all the world like a gentle, doting wife.

Perhaps she wasn’t as desperate to leave as she let on.

He reached out and clasped her wrist. "Zinnia," he asked in a deep voice, "is there anything else you want to say?"

If you admit you’re just making a scene, it’s not too late to take it all back.