He Didn't Know He Was Signing the Divorce Papers

"The screen window at Clara's new apartment was broken. I just had someone replace it."

"Tomorrow I'll have my assistant transfer some money to your account. Next week I'll clear my schedule and take you to the islands."

Damian turned off his screen, reached up to loosen his tie, and his voice softened.

He walked over and leaned down to kiss my forehead the way he always did, that instinctive gesture of affection after coming home late.

I turned my head, slid the signed document into my briefcase, and dodged his lips.

His kiss landed on empty air.

Damian's brow furrowed slightly. His dark eyes fixed on my face.

"What's wrong? You've barely said a word tonight."

"Nothing. Just tired." My tone was flat.

He looked at me, a faint flicker of something probing in his eyes, and his long fingers reached toward the corner of the desk.

"That urgent document you signed earlier. What project was it?"

His fingertips were just about to touch the zipper of my briefcase.

The phone in his pocket buzzed urgently. Clara's name lit up on the screen.

Damian's hand stopped midair.

He looked at me, then at the buzzing phone. In the end, he pulled his hand back, swiped to answer, and walked toward the balcony.

"Clara, what's wrong? ... Thunder scared you? Don't panic, I'm coming over."

Night air slipped through the balcony door, carrying the first chill of autumn.

Less than a minute later, he came back for his car keys, hurriedly changing his shoes at the entryway.

"She's not used to living alone. I'm just going to check on her. I'll be back soon."

The front door slammed shut.

The living room was left cold and empty.

I opened a drawer and took out the employment letter and transfer approval I'd already prepared from the overseas research institute.

The official reporting date at the overseas life sciences lab was in three days.

I placed the divorce agreement and the employment letter neatly into a lockbox and started clearing out every trace of myself that actually belonged to me in this house.

The next morning, Damian pushed the door open.

He was carrying a tiramisu from the bakery I used to love.

"Stood in line for half an hour."

He set the cake on the dining table, his expression a little awkward as it softened. He reached for my hand.

"Last night she was really unstable. She kept crying. I couldn't just leave. Tonight I'll cancel all my plans and take you out to dinner."

I picked up a glass of warm water and avoided his touch, heading toward the walk-in closet.

"No need. I made plans with a friend."

Damian followed me in.

His eyes landed on the half-empty closet. The coats and dresses that used to hang neatly beside the steamer were mostly gone.

He stopped short. His brow knitted instantly. "Where are your clothes? Why is it so empty?"

His voice dropped, carrying a trace of unease he couldn't quite hide.

"Changing seasons." I folded the cashmere wrap in my hands without changing expression. "Old clothes, worn for four years. Out of style. I called a resale service this morning."

Damian stared at the side of my face, trying to find a crack in my expression.

But all he saw was calm.

The tension in his eyes slowly eased, replaced by a strange irritation and something like fear.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck.

"My cards are all with you. If you're tired of the old stuff, just have the brands send the new season's collection to the house. Don't wear old things, okay?"

His embrace was tight. His breath was hot against my collarbone.

Four years of marriage, and he was used to keeping me safe in the background.

Only when he sensed, faintly, that he might be losing his grip on me did he get this urgent need to confirm that I belonged to him.

His palm cupped the back of my neck. He lowered his head and kissed me, his movements carrying a rare possessiveness and urgency.

His hand slid up my waist, his fingers flicking open the buttons of my shirt, pressing me against the closet door. His breathing grew heavier. "Vivian, we haven't..."

The doorbell rang.

One ring after another. Not loud, not soft, but insistent.

Damian froze.

He stopped at my collarbone, took a deep breath. His eyes still churned with unspent desire and the irritation of being interrupted.

"Don't move. I'll get the door. I'll be right back."

He straightened my collar and strode out.

He opened the door. Clara stood outside, eyes red-rimmed.

She was wearing a loose knit sweater, clutching a throw pillow, looking utterly pitiful.

"Damian... I'm sorry to bother you. I kept having nightmares last night. I dreamed about drowning again. I woke up and my heart was racing so fast. There was no one at home to talk to. I was so scared..."

The tightness between Damian's brows eased when he saw it was just a nightmare. But he still instinctively stepped forward to steady her arm.

"It's just a nightmare. Don't scare yourself."

"I really can't stay in that room alone, Damian. Will you come downstairs with me for a bit? Just half an hour..."

Clara tugged at his sleeve, eyes red, her voice soft and pleading.

Damian's body stiffened. He instinctively turned to look at me standing in the closet doorway.

A flicker of obvious awkwardness and apology crossed his eyes.

"Vivian, she's always been timid. She's been like this since we were kids whenever she had a nightmare." Damian softened his voice to explain, his expression coaxing. "I'll walk her around downstairs. Once she calms down, I'll come back up. Wait for me at home."

"Go."

I smoothed the wrinkles from my shirt, my expression utterly calm.

Damian pressed his lips together. Something about my easy compliance seemed to bother him.

But Clara tugged at his sleeve again, and in the end, he turned and went downstairs with her.

The front door closed again.

I walked back to the master bedroom, took out my phone, and sent a confirmation to the overseas project team.

"Personal belongings cleared. Handover complete. Departing on schedule."