Chapter 5 — Walking Away Clean

The divorce attorney looked at me like I was lying.

Not because my story didn’t make sense—she’d heard worse—but because of what I didn’t ask for.

“No spousal support?” she repeated, pen hovering above the page. “Mrs. Hayes, given the length of your marriage and your husband’s income—”

“I don’t want his money,” I said.

She studied my face, searching for anger, desperation, leverage.

She found none.

“It’s not about pride,” I added calmly. “It’s about severance. Clean. Final.”

Across the polished desk, Liam sat rigid, jaw tight, fingers clenched like he was restraining himself from interrupting.

He’d begged me not to do this. He’d threatened. He’d tried charm again when the anger failed.

I’d said nothing.

Silence had become my sharpest weapon.

The attorney nodded slowly. “Very well. We’ll draft the agreement accordingly.”

Liam finally spoke. “You’re making a mistake.”

I turned to him, my expression unreadable. “You made yours first.”

The words landed quietly. They always did now.

---

I moved out that same afternoon.

No dramatic packing. No crying on the floor. I took only what was mine—clothes, books, a few personal items. I left behind the art Liam had chosen, the furniture that had never felt like me, the framed wedding photo still face down on the nightstand.

As I zipped my last suitcase, I paused, scanning the bedroom one final time.

This room had held promises once.

Now it held nothing but echoes.

Liam watched from the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re really doing this.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“You’ll regret it.”

I met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “No. I’ll recover.”

His mouth opened, then closed. For the first time, he didn’t know what to say.

I walked past him without touching his arm.

That mattered.

---

The car took me across town to a residence no one associated with Ava Hayes.

The building was discreet. Modern. Secure.

It had always been mine.

When the door closed behind me, the quiet felt different here. Not hollow. Intentional.

Naomi stood near the window, phone already in hand.

“You’re free,” she said.

I exhaled—a long, slow breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for years.

“Yes,” I replied. “I am.”

She glanced at the suitcase. “That’s all you took?”

“It’s all I needed.”

Naomi smiled, something like pride softening her features. “The board meeting is tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure you want to step back in now? You could take time.”

I shook my head. “No. If I pause, I’ll second-guess. And I’m done doubting myself.”

---

The Lancaster boardroom hadn’t changed.

Same polished table. Same city view. Same portraits of men who’d ruled before me.

My father sat at the head, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, studying me as I entered.

“Ava,” he said.

“Father.”

The room quieted.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he said.

“I needed to learn something,” I replied.

“And did you?”

“Yes,” I said evenly. “That I should never abandon my power again.”

A flicker of approval crossed his face—brief, but unmistakable.

We spoke for hours. About restructuring. About acquisitions. About Sinclair Global’s expansion strategy.

No one mentioned my marriage.

They didn’t need to.

By the time the meeting adjourned, the board had voted unanimously.

Effective immediately, Ava Lancaster would assume full executive control of Sinclair Global.

My name—my real name—was back where it belonged.

---

That night, alone in my apartment, I poured a glass of wine and stood by the window.

The city lights stretched endlessly below.

Somewhere out there, Liam was discovering what it meant to lose me.

He would call. He would rage. He would plead.

I wouldn’t answer.

I picked up my phone and typed a single message to Naomi.

Change my contact name. Ava Sinclair only.

She replied instantly.

Done. Welcome back.

I lifted the glass in a silent toast—to endings, to beginnings, to walking away without a penny and gaining everything.

I didn’t leave empty-handed.

I left unburdened.

And tomorrow, the world would start learning what that meant.