Half-Hearted: Mr. Sinclair, Stop the Act!-Chapter 173: Divorce Petition

Sebastian Prescott stepped inside, his eyes landing first on the two pots of azaleas on the low table.

The table is quite long, likely custom-made for green plants, with small hanging baskets on both sides.

But with only two pots of greenery, even with sunlight falling on the tender green leaves, it looked a bit lonely.

He paused for a few seconds, thinking, maybe he should bring a few more pots?

Sienna Monroe came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee, finding him standing there looking at the azaleas.

She couldn’t help but ask, "Do you like azaleas?"

Sebastian Prescott withdrew his gaze, looking at her makeup-free face, and replied blandly, "It’s okay."

He’s never been interested in plants; you wouldn’t find a single one in his home, but these azaleas...

He collected his thoughts, sat on the sofa, and noticed the black coffee she set down, hesitating slightly.

The coffee beans were bought by her at the supermarket yesterday; she doesn’t like coffee, but thought that since the house might have guests—Sebastian Prescott—preparing it seemed prudent.

Seeing him staring at the coffee, Sienna hesitantly spoke, "What’s wrong? Don’t you like it..."

She remembered that every time she went to the law firm before, he drank black coffee.

"Nothing."

Sebastian Prescott took a sip of the coffee.

It had been a while since he last drank coffee, though he’d been drinking it for so many years, already used to it.

Yet now, tasting it again, it seemed unbearably bitter.

But he showed no sign of discomfort, sipping a few times before placing it down and starting on business.

"Over an hour ago, I called Caleb Sinclair as your attorney, he doesn’t agree to an amicable divorce, so now we’ll have to go to court."

Actually, during the call, Caleb Sinclair said many unpleasant things, accusing him of having ulterior motives, being ill-intentioned, not a good person, and so on.

He didn’t refute any; there are many who curse him, he doesn’t mind adding one more.

Before hanging up, Caleb Sinclair asked, "Do you like Sienna Monroe?"

He frowned slightly then, neither denying nor confirming, and instead said, "Mr. Sinclair, since you don’t agree to an amicable divorce, our side will transfer this case to the court."

After saying that, he hung up the phone.

Sienna Monroe nodded, "Is there anything I need to do?"

Sebastian Prescott said, "No, the evidence and records of your properties are already organized. Now we just need your marriage certificate and ID card, a copy is required."

"Alright. Please wait a moment, I’ll go get them."

When she moved out from under the moonlight, she anticipated this.

Whether it was an amicable divorce or a legal divorce, the marriage certificate would be needed.

So when she was packing, she took her marriage certificate with her.

Sienna quickly brought it out.

Sebastian Prescott put down the half-empty coffee cup, took the marriage certificate with the red cover and gold embossed lettering, flipped through it, and the first thing that caught his eye was the two-person photo.

The man wore a white shirt, gold-framed glasses, his gentle, affectionate peach-blossom eyes quietly watching the camera.

And the woman with her hair down, also in white, her delicate, lightly made-up face bearing a blissfully gentle smile.

Anyone seeing it would have to praise it as "a perfect match."

Over three years ago, Sienna Monroe’s eyes seemed to lack the layer of calm, sharp edge that comes with enduring many hardships, her apricot eyes bright and shimmering, as brilliant as stars.

There was a liveliness and brightness now rarely seen.

Sebastian Prescott looked away, closing the marriage certificate, his gaze meeting Sienna Monroe’s face.

It perfectly matched the face on the marriage certificate, yet seemed somewhat different.

Suppressing his thoughts, he handed her a document.

He spoke slowly, "This is the complaint, which will be sent to the competent court, and it’ll take about three days for the case to be registered.

After registration, the court will deliver the complaint copy to the defendant within about five days. I’ll let you know of any progress immediately, so you don’t need to worry during this time."

On hearing this, Sienna Monroe’s heart, which was still quite calm initially, became even more settled.

She took the complaint, glanced at it, noting the bold black-fonted words "Civil Complaint."

Below were the details of the parties involved, the litigation request, marriage status, reasons for divorce, facts, and evidence.

All thoroughly detailed.

She returned the complaint to him with a smile, "So this matter is in your hands. Thank you."

Sebastian Prescott finished his coffee, the only taste spreading in his mouth was bitterness.

He frowned slightly, tossed the complaint into his briefcase, ready to get up and say goodbye, but before speaking, the doorbell sounded from outside.

Both were stunned.

Sienna instinctively looked at the wall clock; it was almost eleven.

It was Caleb Sinclair.

She pressed her lips, walked to the door, and on the video screen saw Caleb Sinclair’s face.

Following her, Sebastian Prescott saw the man inside, his brows knitted tightly.

Sienna Monroe felt a presence nearby behind her, turned reflexively to meet the sharp, cold-profiled face.

She paused, then quietly shifted half a step to the side, creating some distance.

She hesitated to speak, "Sorry, Lawyer Prescott, could you step into the room for a bit?"

Her voice was soft, like a feather, gently brushing past his ear, causing a slight itch.

He noticed her movement, slightly raised his brows, nodded, "Which room?"

As the words fell, the doorbell rang again.

Sienna Monroe frowned slightly, seemingly displeased with whoever was at the door, casually said, "Any door along the corridor will do."

Sebastian Prescott nodded again.

Her apartment’s layout was the same as his upstairs, so it was quite familiar.

Passing the living room, he picked up his coat, briefcase, and the coffee cup he drank from.

The main bedroom is generally at the end of the corridor.

There are three doors along the corridor; he walked over, casually opened one, and stepped inside.

Sienna intentionally waited more than a minute after Sebastian went inside, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

Looking at the warm and handsome figure outside the door, her brows inevitably furrowed.

Her gentle tone held a few hints of cool detachment and some impatience, "What are you here for?"

Caleb Sinclair’s eyes lit up with a hint of joy upon seeing her.

The wound inflicted by Isaac Sinclair with a tea cup yesterday was simply treated.

The cut was about an inch or two long.

On his face, originally elegant and gentle, it was very conspicuous.

In the past, Sienna Monroe would have certainly worried and panicked about whether it would scar or affect his appearance, after all, it hit the head, wondering whether there would be any aftereffects.

But now, no ripple stirred in her heart.

Caleb Sinclair, with a gentle gaze, seemed indifferent to her cold demeanor.

He raised the painting in his hand, his voice light and pleasant, "This painting is one you did with Mom, I remember you always cherished it, I took it out of the warehouse this morning and brought it to you.

On the way, I also bought the butterfly puff pastries and Mont Blanc you love, from the shop you used to frequent."