5

I leaned back on the couch, one hand resting unconsciously on my stomach. "I'm taking my life back."

"You already have more money than most people will ever see."

"And you still have your reputation," I replied. "Your father. Your companies. Your future. You never once lost any of it."

There was a tense pause on the line.

"Is there another man?" he asked suddenly.

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "You really can't imagine me standing on my own, can you?"

He let out a low, derisive chuckle. "I'll look forward to seeing how long you last on your own. Don't bother crawling back. I won't accept you."

Crawling back? He really thought that highly of himself.

What the hell did he think he was?

My mind was made up. I was done waiting here like a fool while he enjoyed his life with other women. I just needed to make a call, and I’d get the hell out. I was going to resume my career. It was time to stop being the pathetic bride.

“Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m not some desperate wife chasing after her cheating husband. I wouldn’t come between you and your pathetic love.”

Two days later, I made my final request.

We sat across from each other in his study.

"This is the last one," I said.

He folded his arms. "Make it quick."

I slid the document across the desk.

He read it once. Then again. His breath left him slowly, as if someone had punched it out of his chest.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he said hoarsely.

I stood. "You want me gone. This is the cost."

"This isn't just money," he snapped, slamming the paper down. "This is my inheritance. My father's trust."

"Yes," I said calmly. "It is."

His eyes lifted to mine, sharp and searching. "How do you even know about this?"

I didn't answer. The document wasn't just an asset transfer; it was a restructuring request. A clause activation, one that required my signature as his legal spouse. The incomplete divorce was the point.

His phone buzzed on the desk between us. He glanced at the screen and froze, the color draining from his face. I didn't need to see the name to know who it was. His father's lawyer never called twice.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

I looked from the papers back to him. "I made sure," I said softly, "that when I leave, I don't disappear."

His phone buzzed again. This time, he answered. "Yes," he said stiffly. "She's here."

He looked up at me as the voice on the other end grew louder, sharper. "I'll put her on."

With a shaking hand, he slid the phone across the desk toward me.

"Ariana," his father's voice came through the speaker. "We need to talk. Immediately."

I rested my palm flat against the document and smiled faintly. "Of course. I was waiting."

And for the first time since our marriage began, I saw it clearly in his eyes: Maxwell wasn't in control anymore.

The conversation with his father lasted exactly twelve minutes. I didn't need to explain much. The old man already knew what his son had done, the affair, the humiliation, the reckless disregard for the family name.

"You've been patient, Ariana," the old man said, his voice rough with age but still commanding. "More patient than he deserved."

Maxwell stood there listening, his face growing redder by the second.

"I didn't raise him to disrespect his commitments," his father continued. "And I certainly didn't arrange this marriage so he could make a fool of both families."

I said nothing. I didn't need to. The documents spoke for themselves.

When the call ended, Maxwell looked at me as if I had just stabbed him in the back.

"You went to my father?"

"No," I said calmly. "Your father's lawyer reached out to me three weeks ago. He wanted to know why you were liquidating assets without board approval."

His mouth opened, then closed.

"Every transfer you made to keep me quiet triggered alerts. Your father's legal team has been watching this whole time."

The realization hit him like cold water. He had been so focused on keeping me silent that he hadn't considered the paper trail he was creating.

"You used me," he said quietly.

"No," I corrected. "You used yourself."

He sank into his chair, hands gripping the armrests as if he needed something solid to hold onto. For once, he had nothing to say.

I stood up and started walking away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I already knew what I’d see. I could feel his rage.

Three days passed in silence. He stayed in his office or vanished to wherever Selene was. We didn’t speak or acknowledge each other.

My lawyer called every morning. Maxwell’s team was scrambling. His father had frozen several accounts pending an audit. The restructuring clause I triggered meant any major financial move needed my signature until the divorce was final.

He was trapped. And he knew it.

I rested. I slept without flinching at every sound. I ate meals without guilt. Sometimes my hand drifted to my stomach, a habit I hadn’t broken.

I still hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy. Not my lawyer. Not my friends.

On the fourth day, my phone rang.

I picked it up and checked the caller ID.

Durrell.

Maxwell's cousin. The one who seemed to make it his mission to piss me off with every word that came out of his mouth.

I wanted to ignore it, but decided to answer.

I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "What do…" He didn't let me finish.

"Get to the hospital now! Your dad's been shot," he said frantically, before hanging up.

My phone slipped from my hand, and for a moment I couldn't move.

"What is it?" Maxwell's voice cut through the haze.

I picked up my phone with trembling hands, my heart racing. "It's my dad," I whispered. "He's been shot."