The Stream Queen's Return

Under the spotlight, I had just finished a round of product introductions. As the Chambers Group's Live Stream Queen, I had spent a week preparing for this live broadcast debut of the new beer. When the assistant handed me the sample, I habitually checked the label. The label read "Whole Wheat Beer," but the bottle lacked that familiar chill against my hand. "Luna, hurry up and drink—the live comments are urging you." The voice of the intern, Yvette Diaz, sounded in my ear, tinged with subtle urgency. The countdown in the live streaming room had already begun. Without a second thought, I twisted off the cap and took a big gulp. The sharp bitterness of the lemon exploded instantly, my throat itched, and my breath grew rapid. I knew—something was wrong. I'm severely allergic to lemons; even a trace can trigger shock. "Stop the broadcast! Stop the broadcast!" I clutched my throat, struggling to speak into the camera. My vision blurred, the barrage of comments accelerated, and a roaring chaos filled my ears. Sudden, intense cramps seared through my abdomen; I doubled over, curling on the floor as my consciousness faded. Before I lost consciousness, I saw Yvette standing there, a strange smile playing at the corner of her lips. When I woke again, I was in a hospital room. My husband, Hermes Chambers, sat beside the bed, his face dark and grim. He is the president of the Chambers Group and also my direct superior. "Awake?" His voice was cold, utterly devoid of concern. "The child... how is my child?" I gripped his hand, my voice trembling. Hermes avoided my eyes and pulled his hand away. "The baby didn't make it. The allergic shock affected the fetus." The words struck me like a hammer, pounding my heart mercilessly. Tears brimmed as I choked out, "How could the sample be lemon soda? I clearly warned about my allergy." "Yvette took the wrong sample. I fined her five hundred bucks." Hermes' tone was flat. "Five hundred bucks?" I couldn't believe my ears. "Her mistake made me lose my baby, and she was only fined five hundred bucks?" "Her family is poor, and she just graduated. It's not easy for her." Hermes frowned, as if I was overreacting. "Just focus on taking good care of your health." Seeing his cold face, a chill ran through me. At the most painful moment of losing my child, he only thought about protecting someone else. That night, Hermes said the company had urgent matters and left the hospital early. After he left, the phone on the bedside table suddenly lit up. It was a message from Yvette: "Hermes, when are you coming? I made the soup you love." My heart sank, and on impulse, I opened their chat history. It was full of blatant intimate conversations and several indecent videos. In the video, Yvette wore my pajamas and lay on our marital bed, entwined with Hermes as they slept together. So, they had been together all along. So this "accident" wasn't accidental at all—it was Yvette's calculated revenge. I took out my phone, opened the divorce agreement template, and filled in the details one by one. The more I once loved, the more I now hate. When Hermes returned and saw the divorce agreement on the bedside table, his expression changed sharply. "Luna, what are you doing?" He snatched up the agreement, his voice seething with anger. "Divorce." I looked at him calmly, my eyes betraying no emotion. "Just because of Yvette?" He frowned. "I already said it was her mistake, and she was punished." I threw his phone to him, opening the chat history and videos. "See for yourself." Hermes's face slowly drained of color; he opened his mouth but couldn't say a word. "Sign it." I handed him the pen. "I don't want any property—I just want the divorce." He remained silent for a long moment but finally picked up the pen and signed his name.