Divorce

The clink of polished silverware echoed faintly in the silent dining room. Candles flickered in their crystal holders, casting long shadows across the table set for two.

Naomi Swift sat upright, her posture poised, a soft smile curving her lips.

Across from her, Kael Rhodes sat in his usual composed stance—immaculate suit, not a wrinkle out of place, his face unreadable.

She reached to pour him a glass of wine, but froze when he slid a folder across the table.

"Naomi," he said flatly. "Let’s not drag this out. I want a divorce."

The smile on her lips faltered.

Her hand hovered midair before she slowly set the bottle down. Her eyes dropped to the folder, then lifted to his face—searching. But there was nothing. No hesitation. Not even a flicker of guilt.

"I made mushroom risotto," she said softly, not touching the envelope. "Your favorite."

Kael didn’t answer. His gaze stayed on her—cold, detached, clinical. As if she were just another item to strike off his to-do list.

She stared at the folder. Cream-colored. Heavy paper. The kind they’d once used to write love letters in college.

With quiet grace, she picked it up and opened it. Lines of sterile legal language blurred in her vision, but the message rang clear: her name. His. And the reason—irreconcilable differences.

"That’s it?" she whispered. "You couldn’t even wait until after dinner?"

Kael spoke as if reading from a contract. "As compensation: the Old Town villa, your shop in the city center, ten million in cash, and the car."

She gave a soft, bitter laugh. "So that’s what my youth is worth to you."

He looked down at his plate, untouched. Steam still curled from the risotto.

"You knew this was inevitable, Naomi. You know how this marriage came to be."

"No," she said, voice steady but quiet. "I knew I was losing you. But I didn’t think you'd toss me out like last year’s business strategy."

Years ago, when the Rhodes family teetered on the edge of collapse, Naomi had offered him a deal: marry her, and the Swift family would rescue his.

They'd signed the marriage certificate in silence. He hadn’t touched her since. He left the country the next day. In four years, he returned only five times—just for a single meal each time, before disappearing again.

But she had once known a different Kael—the warm, chivalrous boy who’d walked her home in the rain. Who remembered her birthday before even she did.

That boy was gone. In his place stood this hollow man—cold and calculating.

She often wondered: if she hadn’t proposed the marriage… could they have had something real?

But regrets don’t rewrite the past.

Kael reached into his inner jacket pocket. She tensed—expecting more paperwork. Custody for a pet they never had, perhaps. Instead, he placed a pen next to her plate.

"Sign it tonight. We’ll finalize it at the Civil Affairs Bureau tomorrow. Ten sharp."

She stared at the pen. Then lifted her wine glass and took a long sip, her eyes burning into his.

"Tell me something, Kael. Is this about Danna again?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

"Of course it is," she murmured. "She gets a fever or a flat tire, and you drop everything. But when I cried on our anniversary, you walked out mid-sentence."

"This isn’t about her," he said, jaw tightening.

"Then who is it about? Me?"

Silence.

She nodded slowly. "I get it. The problem wasn’t that I was lacking—it was that I was too much. Too loyal. Too inconvenient."

Kael looked away. “I’ve signed the papers. I’ll see you at 10.”

Without another word, he rose from the table and walked out. The risotto sat there, untouched, going cold with the rest of the room.

...

The next day. 10:00 a.m.

Naomi stood alone in front of the Civil Affairs Bureau, the wind tugging at the hem of her coat. She glanced around—no sign of Kael.

Frowning, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number.

One ring. Two. Three.

Straight to voicemail.

Her brows furrowed. She hesitated for a moment, then tapped on Mario’s contact instead.

“Miss Swift?” Mario answered after a beat, his voice cautious.

“I’m here at the bureau,” she said, voice clipped but calm. “Where’s Kael?”

There was a pause on the other end. “I’ll try to contact him,” Mario replied. “Please wait a moment.”

He hung up before she could say anything else.

Naomi stared at her phone, lips pressed in a tight line.

Of course. She couldn’t reach Kael—but Mario always could.

How pathetic.

After waiting for what felt like fifteen minutes, a sleek black car finally pulled up in front of her. The engine hummed quietly before cutting off, and the door opened.

A man stepped out.

Her breath caught.

"…Mario?" she asked, blinking.

Kael’s assistant gave her a strained smile. "Miss Swift."

"Where’s Kael?"

Mario hesitated. "Mr. Rhodes asked me to handle the process on his behalf. He had… pressing matters."

Her fingers clenched at her sides. “Pressing matters... Danna?”

Even for their divorce, he wouldn’t spare her a final glance.

Mario watched the color drain from her face. "Are you alright, Miss—?"

"I’m fine." Naomi smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.

He looked as if he wanted to say more. "Miss Swift, maybe I can call—"

"No need," she interrupted, voice trembling but firm. "You’re here. Let’s get it done."

...

Ten minutes later, she stood on the courthouse steps, blinking against sunlight that felt far too bright for a day like this.

The divorce certificate still smelled like fresh ink.

Naomi Swift sat behind the wheel of her car, staring at the official seal on the paper beside her. Her signature was clean. Precise. Controlled—everything she no longer felt.

She had expected tears. Hoped, maybe, for a release.

But now, all she felt was weightless. Like a thread had snapped inside her chest, unraveling everything she used to be.

The beloved daughter of the Swift family. Once cherished. Once doted on.

Now discarded, like a forgotten promise.

She had cut ties with her family for this love.

And now, she had nothing.

She couldn’t even go home.

The world was vast, yet she had nowhere to go.

She turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. Pulling out of the parking lot, tires crunching over gravel, she merged onto the busy street. Her thoughts raced faster than the car. Memories. Regrets. Echoes of everything she’d lost.

Then—

Bang!

A blinding impact. Metal slammed against metal. Her body jerked forward, caught by the seatbelt.

Screams.

A jolt.

Glass shattering.

“Ah! A car accident!” a voice cried from somewhere nearby.

***