Captain, Check Your Divorce Papers

Back at the villa, I had the divorce papers ready.

I'd just signed my name when the door flew open.

Lucas strode in, saw me standing in the living room, and frowned.

"Lillian, you really disappointed me tonight."

"You know Clara's innocent and naive, and you went and said those things to upset her. Is that how the lady of this house should behave?"

In the past, I wouldn't have understood.

We were husband and wife—why should I worry about his sister's feelings?

But now that I knew the truth, there was no point arguing.

"I'm sorry. I was out of line." I kept my eyes down.

Lucas blinked, clearly thrown off by my easy surrender.

I didn't bother explaining. I just handed him the document.

"This needs your signature."

His gaze flicked from the paper to my face, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

"So that's why you're being so agreeable today. Not a single word of protest."

He took the file, didn't bother reading it, just waved it lazily.

"Let me guess—another designer bag? Or that necklace you were drooling over in the window last week?"

There it was again. That condescending tone, like I married him for his money.

It used to sting. I'd scramble to defend myself.

Now I just looked at him, silent.

He took my quiet as a yes, and signed without a second thought.

If he'd bothered to glance at it, he'd have seen it was a divorce agreement.

But in three years of marriage, he'd never cared enough to look closely at anything involving me.

He tossed the pen and paper back on the table, then added before leaving:

"I've got things to handle out of town. Don't wait up for the next few days."

"Stay out of trouble, and the money's yours."

"But remember—if you ever pull that stunt in front of Clara again, there'll be hell to pay."

With that, he was gone.

I watched his back disappear and tucked the signed divorce papers away.

Now that we'd both signed.

In seven days, it'd be official.

"There won't be a next time, Lucas." I whispered.

Since your heart was never mine, I'll step aside.

Seven days, and I'd vanish from your world.

Over the next two days, Lucas was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, Clara flooded her socials with gifts from her "mystery boyfriend."

A 50-carat pink diamond.

Fireworks over Las Vegas that burned all night.

A man kneeling to help her try on shoes.

Even though his face was never shown, I recognized Lucas instantly.

In one post, she asked: "He messed up and has been apologizing nonstop. Should I forgive him?"

Our mutual friends chimed in:

@ChicagoRealTalk: With a guy like that? Girl, forgive him already.

@SweetLikeHoney: Seriously, Clara, everyone's dying to know who your secret man is. When are you gonna introduce him? Or are we waiting for the wedding?

@SouthSideSally: The wedding's gonna be wild. Everyone knows how protective Lucas is of his sister—he's definitely gonna give that guy a piece of his mind.

Clara replied: "We're not thinking about a wedding yet. But he's given me all the romance I could ask for—takes me on a month-long vacation every year. I'm already so blessed."

When Lucas and I got married, it was a quick courthouse thing. No ceremony.

All I wanted was a weekend honeymoon. Miami, even just a private beach to lie in the sun.

But Lucas turned me down flat, said his hockey training schedule was too intense.

Now I got it. It wasn't about being busy. It was about not wasting time on someone who didn't matter.

I said nothing. Just liked Clara's post.

Then I logged off and kept packing.

I cleared out every bag, every piece of jewelry he'd given me, the few photos we'd ever taken together.

Watching the room I'd slowly filled over the years go bare, I felt a twinge of melancholy—but mostly relief.

By day three, I was tossing out the last box when Lucas showed up.

He spotted what was in the trash and frowned.

"What are you doing?"