Fixation

Nadia's Pov 

"You need to sign these."

I looked up from my laptop to find my husband standing in the doorway of what used to be our shared study. Julian Ashford, tech mogul, perpetual absence, the man I'd married six years ago in a cathedral filled with strangers. He held a manila folder like it contained quarterly reports instead of the end of our marriage.

"Now?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"I have a flight to Singapore in two hours." He didn't step inside, just stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, checking his Rolex. Always checking that damn watch, as if every second with me was time stolen from something more important.

I stood, my hands trembling as I reached for the folder. Divorce papers. I'd asked for them three weeks ago, sitting across from him at the dining table we'd used maybe five times in six years. I'd rehearsed a speech about incompatibility and wanting different things, but he'd cut me off.

"Fine," he'd said. "I'll have my lawyers draw something up."

That was it. No questions about what went wrong. No attempt to fix what had been broken from the start. Just fine, like I'd asked him to approve a grocery list.

Now here they were, processed with the same efficiency he applied to every business transaction. Because that's all we'd ever been, a transaction. My father needed capital to save his manufacturing patents from bankruptcy. Julian needed those patents to dominate the tech hardware market. I was just the signing bonus that came with the deal.

I flipped through the pages without reading them. Dissolution of marriage. Division of assets. My lawyer had called twice about the settlement Julian was offering—enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Blood money, I thought. Payment for six years of being invisible.

"I don't want the settlement," I said.

Julian's jaw tightened. It was the most emotion I'd seen from him in months. "Don't be ridiculous, Nadia. You're entitled"

"I don't want your money." I grabbed a pen from the desk, my father's old fountain pen that I'd kept even after he died last year. Even after I realized the patents Julian had saved were now worth billions. "I just want out."

I signed every page that needed my signature, each stroke of the pen feeling like freedom. Let him have the penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows and million-dollar view. Let him have the Hampton house we'd visited twice. Let him have everything except me.

"There." I shoved the folder back at him. "We're done."

He took it, still standing in the doorway like my presence might contaminate him if he came any closer. "Where will you go?"

The question surprised me. In six years of marriage, Julian had never asked where I was going or when I'd be back. I'd planned trips to Paris, to Bali, to anywhere that might make me feel less alone, and he'd never noticed when I cancelled them because eating croissants alone in a foreign country seemed even more depressing than eating takeout alone in our empty penthouse.

"I found an apartment," I said. "In Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" He said it like I'd announced plans to move to Mars.

"Yes, Julian. Brooklyn. Where normal people live." I felt something crack inside me, all the loneliness and disappointment of six years suddenly pushing against my ribs. "Where they have neighbors and corner stores and lives that don't revolve around stock prices and board meetings."

"This is about the prenup, isn't it?" His voice went cold. "You think you can contest it, get more money by playing the victim"

"Oh my God." I laughed, and it sounded slightly unhinged even to my own ears. "You really don't know me at all, do you? After six years, you don't know the first thing about who I am."

"Then enlighten me." He stepped into the room finally, and I saw something flash in his dark eyes. Anger, maybe. Or just impatience because I was making him late for Singapore.

"I don't want your money because I don't want anything that reminds me of this." I gestured between us, at the two feet of space that might as well have been an ocean. "Of feeling like a ghost in my own life. Do you know what it's like, Julian? To cook dinner every night for a month, hoping you'll come home? To plan a weekend away and have you canceled from a hotel room in Tokyo? To sleep alone in a bed the size of a small country and know that the man who's supposed to be my partner doesn't even notice I'm gone?"

"You knew what you were signing up for." His voice was flat, businesslike. "This was never a love match."

"No," I agreed, feeling tears burn behind my eyes. I wouldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of him. "But I thought we might at least become friends. I thought maybe, eventually, we'd figure out how to exist in the same space without it feeling like I'm suffocating."

He looked at his watch again. "I need to go."

Of course he did. Julian always needed to go.

"Then go," I said. "You're good at that."

He paused at the door, the folder tucked under his arm. For a second, I thought he might say something. Apologize, maybe. Or acknowledge that we'd both failed at this, that the marriage our fathers had arranged had been doomed from the wedding vows.

But Julian Ashford didn't apologize. Didn't acknowledge failure.

"My lawyer will file these tomorrow," he said instead. "You'll be free in ninety days."

Ninety days. Twelve weeks. Two thousand one hundred and sixty hours until I could stop being Mrs. Julian Ashford and remember how to be just Nadia again.

"Perfect," I managed.

He left without looking back.

I stood in the study for a long time after he was gone, staring at the empty doorway. Then I went to our bedroom—my bedroom, since Julian had moved his things to the guest room two years ago—and started packing.

I didn't take much. Clothes, books, my mother's jewelry box. I left behind the designer dresses Julian's assistant had ordered for charity galas, the diamond earrings he'd given me for our first anniversary, still in their Tiffany box. I left behind every expensive, meaningless thing that was supposed to make up for the absence of a real marriage.

By midnight, I was gone.

By morning, I was standing in a tiny Brooklyn apartment with creaky floors and a radiator that clanged like it was haunted. The opposite of everything Julian represented.

It was perfect.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the small swell there that I'd been hiding under loose sweaters for weeks now. The secret I'd discovered three days after signing the divorce papers. The complication that would change everything.

"Just us now," I whispered.

My phone buzzed. A message from Julian's lawyer confirming the papers had been filed. In ninety days, I'd be free.

I had sixty day

s to figure out what to do about the baby Julian didn't know existed