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Chapter 5
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2026-02-25 20:53:15Maya's POV
I lifted my chin, Selina is there beside Mason, in a romantic posture.
“How do you sleep at night, Selina, with all that evil sitting on your chest like a stone?”
She laughed soft, delighted. “Easily. Because I finally stopped pretending to be the good girl who waits for her turn”
I looked past her to Mason. He hadn’t moved from behind the desk. He watched us like a spectator at a mildly interesting tennis match.
“I know,” I said quietly, addressing them both. “I know about the affair. I know she’s two months pregnant, like the doctor told you in the boardroom when you thought no one was listening. I heard the kiss. I heard the promises. I heard everything…..”
Selina’s smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
Mason’s expression didn’t change at all.
“Today,” I continued, forcing each word past the knot in my throat, “was supposed to be our eighth anniversary. Eight years of trying. Eight years of hoping you’d wake up one morning and choose me anyway. But you’re right, this is the perfect day to end it. Just the way it began: cold, calculated, on paper…”
I drew a slow breath.
“I’m filing for divorce. And I'm taking everything I've invested, my family's investments with it.”
Mason tilted his head. Then slowly, deliberately he smiled.
Not a warm smile. Not a relieved one.
An evil one. The kind that belongs in boardrooms when someone realizes they’ve already lost before the game even started.
“You’re adorable,” he said. “But you’re too late…..”
Ice slid down my spine.
“What?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers interlaced. Casual. In control.
“You’re already divorced, Maya.”
The room tilted.
I gripped the edge of the nearest chair to keep from swaying. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh, it is.” He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a slim folder, cream-colored, official-looking…..
He slid it across the polished wood toward me. “Take a look. Page seven. Your signature. Dated two years ago.”
My hand moved before my brain caught up. I flipped the folder open.
There it was.
A decree of dissolution of marriage. Decree absolute. My name. His name. My signature looping, familiar, the same one I’d used on every contract for the last decade.
But I didn’t remember signing this…..
My eyes flew to the date.
Two years ago.
The Maldives.
Our so-called anniversary trip. The one he’d insisted on private villa, no staff, no distractions. He’d brought paperwork “for the new Singapore joint venture.” Said it was urgent. Said I could sign while he poured champagne. I’d been tired, jet-lagged, still raw from another failed round of IVF. I’d skimmed. I’d trusted.
I’d signed.
“You tricked me,” I whispered.
Mason shrugged. “You signed without reading. That’s not a trick. That’s negligence.”
Rage….white-hot, blinding, flooded every vein.
“You forged the circumstances. You lied about what the document was.”
“Prove it.” His voice was velvet over steel. “Go ahead. Drag this through court. Spend years and millions proving I misled you about one signature among hundreds you’ve placed over the years. By the time you’re done, the child will be walking. And you’ll still be the ex-wife who couldn’t be bothered to read what she was signing. And thanks for signing everything you worked hard for away.”
Selina stepped beside him, slipping her hand into his. A united front.
I stared at them, my husband and my best friend, now ex-husband and soon-to-be replacement, standing there like they’d won the lottery and I was the losing ticket.
“You planned this,” I said slowly. “All of it. The pregnancy….. The project coordinator switch. The divorce papers. You waited until I was broken enough to trust you with anything.”
Mason didn’t deny it.
He simply smiled again, that same cold, victorious curve.
“Happy anniversary, Maya,” he said softly. “You’re free now. No more boring wife. No more obligation. You can go find someone who actually wants you…..”
I looked down at the papers. My signature stared back at me like a betrayal carved in ink.
Then I looked up at them.
Something inside me shifted, not broke, not shattered.
Settled.
Like the last piece of a long, ugly puzzle finally clicking into place.
I closed the folder. Gently. Precisely.
“You think this ends it?” I asked, voice steady for the first time in days.
Neither of them answered.
I turned toward the door.
“Enjoy the empire,” I said over my shoulder. “Enjoy the baby. Enjoy each other. But remember this: you didn’t win because you were smarter.
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