I am not Your Love Story

“Sign it.”

Axton’s calm voice echoed in the room. The kind of calm that made silence deafening. He pushed the divorce papers across the polished desk, his expression cold and composed.

The pen rolled until it stopped in front of her hand.

Isla’s fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up. The golden ring on her finger glinted under the office light, a cruel reminder of everything that was about to end. Three years of marriage, three years of smiles and unspoken tenderness, now reduced to a signature line.

They had never married for love, binded by a contract signed for convenience, destined to expire the moment it no longer served its purpose.

And yet somewhere along the way, Isla had forgotten it was only temporary.

Axton had been attentive, considerate even. No matter how busy he was, he always showed up when she needed him. His assistant carried her medicine wherever they went. He remembered her favorite dishes, her food allergies, even the exact way she took her tea.

It wasn't decency, she used to tell herself. It was love.

She looked up at him now, searching for something in his face, remorse, guilt, or even the slightest hesitation, but there was nothing.

The sound of ink dragging across paper echoed through the office, and when the last curve of her name was complete, she set the pen down with trembling fingers.

She gently slid the papers back to him, “is that all?”

Axton nodded once, not meeting her gaze. “Yes. My lawyer will process the rest and forward your copy to you.”

And that was it.

Three years, undone in three words.

Isla stood. Her knees felt hollow, but pride steadied her spine. She smoothed the front of her dress, a pointless gesture and forced her voice not to shake. “I’ll send for my things later.”

He didn’t answer.

For a heartbeat, she wished he would look up. Even if it's just once. She just needed him to give her a sign that the last three years hadn’t been a complete illusion.

But his gaze stayed fixed on the papers, as though they were the only truth left.

Isla let out a deep sigh, turned and walked towards the door, but it opened before she could reach it.

A familiar scent drifted in first. Then she walked through—Maris Harlow, the woman Isla had only heard whispers about. The one who had left years ago, and apparently, the one Axton had never stopped waiting for.

Maris didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room like she owned it, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Her arms went around Axton’s neck, her voice a soft exhale. “I missed you, sweetheart.”

Axton froze. Just for a second. Then his hands came up to hold her.

“I missed you more,” he murmured. “Why did you take so long?”

Something shattered quietly inside Isla. She stood there, forgotten, and invisible as the world folded around the two of them.

No one said goodbye. No one even looked her way.

So she walked out.

The corridor felt endless. Her steps echoed faintly against the marble floors, each one sounding like a goodbye she hadn’t said aloud. When she reached the elevator, she pressed the button and forced herself to breathe.

Only when the doors closed did she let her composure slip. Her reflection stared back at her, pale, expressionless, and foreign. In her right hand, she still clutched the black pen she’d used to sign the papers.

It was a Montblanc. Axton’s favorite. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Funny,” she murmured.

Outside, the city glittered against the night. When she slid into the backseat of her car, she told the driver to drive anywhere just away. Away from him. Away from the building that had witnessed her ending.

As the car merged into traffic, she looked up at the tower through the side mirror. On the top floor, the lights in his office still glowed faintly. She could almost imagine them inside, his quiet murmur, and Maris’ soft laughter.

The sound that once made her heart ache now only made her stomach twist.

Her grip tightened around the pen until her knuckles turned white.

And as the city blurred past, her mind slipped back to the first night she’d ever met Axton.

Five years ago, her father, Brown, was Axton’s father’s chauffeur. He was loyal, trusted, and almost part of the Reid’s family. Bringing Isla to the estate wasn’t unusual; she’d just graduated and had come to visit him that afternoon.

Axton had walked in unexpectedly.

The moment he saw her, he froze. His usually stoic face faltered, and for a brief, foolish moment, she’d thought her beauty had left him speechless.

Her father, proud and beaming, had wasted no time in introducing them, and that was the beginning of her fairy tale life.

Axton had told her father to bring her around more often. He said he wanted company, someone to talk to outside of business and obligations. And she believed him.

They became close quickly, friends who shared quiet evenings and stories over tea. He listened when she spoke, and even remembered what she said last. To her, it had felt like the beginning of something real.

But the longer they spent together, the more she noticed his restraint. The way he’d glance at her and look away too fast. The way his mother’s questions about marriage made his jaw tighten.

She couldn’t understand it until she learned there was someone else.

Still, Isla stayed. She offered to marry him, thinking she could make him forget whoever held his heart. When he proposed a contractual marriage, she didn’t hesitate. She thought she could change him. She thought, given time, he would learn to love her. Her plan worked because for the three years of their marriage, he showered her with love, care and affection any woman would kill to have.

But two days ago, she’d found out the truth that broke her completely.

*****

“Babe?” Isla called, her voice echoing faintly through the hallway.

“Axton?”

She dropped her leather bag on the couch, irritation still pulsing through her veins. He’d promised to pick her up from the salon, but his phone had gone unanswered for hours.

Then she saw it.

A bouquet of roses, a velvet jewelry box, and an unopened bottle of wine arranged neatly on the dining table.

Her anger softened. A surprise, maybe? A peace offering?

Smiling despite herself, Isla picked up the bottle then froze.

The seal was broken. Two crystal wineglasses sat beside it, each half-filled, still glistening under the chandelier.

Her pulse stuttered.

Slowly, she set the bottle back down. “Axton?” she called again, louder this time.

No answer. Only the low hum of the central heating system.

She climbed the stairs in a rush. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar, light spilling through the crack. A sound drifted out low, rhythmic, and unmistakable.

Her breath hitched.

With trembling fingers, she pushed the door open and the world stopped.

Two silhouettes moved together against the pale sheets. Axton’s familiar, and intimate voice broke through the haze. The sound of it, the rawness, the betrayal, turned her stomach inside out.

Isla stood frozen, her heart slamming against her ribs. Every breath hurt, and every second felt like a blade twisting deeper.

“Axton…” Her voice came out as a whisper, strangled and disbelieving.

He turned sharply. The woman in front of him scoffed and pulled the duvet to her chest.

“Isla… wait…” Axton started, his face blanching.

“I can explain”

But she was already moving closer, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes saw.

A silk ribbon, and a broken cuffs glinted on the bedspread, accompanied by the faint trace of perfume that wasn’t hers. A long leathered whip and game cards also lay beside them.

The woman on the bed turned slightly, her face hidden behind a black lace mask. Isla’s heart pounded so hard it made her ears ring.

Her voice broke when she spoke. “Axton…”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Isla’s hand shook as she reached forward and pulled the mask away.

Her breath caught.

The face beneath it was hers, or almost hers. The same hair, the same eyes, only colder. The same lips, painted in a deeper shade of red.

It was like looking into a mirror warped by malice.

Isla staggered back, words failing her.

The woman sat up slowly, a satisfied smile curving her mouth. “Nice to meet you, Isla… Brown, isn’t it?” she said smoothly, as if they were meeting at a dinner party rather than in her shattered marriage bed.

Axton shut his eyes, as if wishing the world would disappear.

But for Isla, it already had.