chapter 4

The signature

Silence swallowed the sitting room the moment Ryan spoke.

It wasn’t a loud silence. It was the kind that settles into your chest and makes it hard to breathe, the kind that makes you feel like the air itself had turned to glass and you were one word away from shattering.

To Mrs. Clara and Jasmine, what he said was almost taboo. His legally married wife. The phrase hung in the air like smoke from a fire no one was allowed to acknowledge.

Sandra didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her eyes were locked on Ryan’s face, searching for something she knew wasn’t there. Hope? Protection? A flicker of the man she’d once believed he might become? All she found was distance. Cold, measured distance.

Ryan’s voice was calm. Too calm. Like he was discussing a business contract, not the woman standing three feet from him.

She’s just a nobody, he said, and each word landed like a slap. But she still carries the Smith family surname. My name. And slandering her will reflect badly on our family. So take it easy on her.

That was it. That was all she was to him. A name. A liability. Something to be managed for the sake of reputation.

Then he turned and walked out without a second glance.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was worse than his words.

Jasmine didn’t waste a second. A sharp, cruel laugh tore from her throat, echoing off the marble walls like a knife being dragged across glass.

What a pity, she drawled, stepping closer until her shadow fell over Sandra. You actually thought he was defending you? Hahaha!

The laugh was louder now, mocking, relentless. It bounced around Sandra’s head until it drowned out everything else.

Sandra’s throat tightened. Her vision blurred. The tears she’d been holding back since the moment Ryan handed her those divorce papers as a birthday gift finally spilled over, silent and hot against her cheeks.

Her heart didn’t just ache. It felt like it had been stabbed from behind by the one person she’d sworn to trust. The betrayal didn’t burn. It froze her from the inside out.

Always giving me hope that ends in heartbreak The thought clawed at her mind, ragged and raw. Every word he says about me is poison. Not one kind word. Not once.

She swallowed hard, forcing her trembling legs to move. One step. Then another. The stairs felt like a mountain. Each step was heavier than the last, as if the weight of his words was pulling her down.

By the time she reached her room, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely turn the doorknob.

The room was quiet. Cold. The only sound was her uneven breathing.

Slowly, she walked to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. The divorce papers lay there, folded neatly, as if they hadn’t torn her life apart. The paper felt rough under her fingertips, like sandpaper against her skin.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded it. The ink was black and final. No room for negotiation. No room for hope.

Tears fell before she could stop them, landing on the signature line and smudging the words. It didn’t matter. What was there to ruin anymore?

With a shaky breath, she picked up the pen. Her hand hovered for only a second before she signed her name. Sandra Smith.

The moment the pen left the paper, it felt like she’d cut something out of herself. A part of her she’d clung to for two years, hoping one day Ryan would see her. Hoping one day contract marriage would turn into something real.

Done.

She dropped the pen. It clattered against the wooden surface, loud in the silence.

The door burst open before she could wipe her face.

Mrs. Clara stood in the doorway, her eyes cold and sharp as broken glass.

Sandra moved on instinct, shoving the divorce papers under a stack of clothes and wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She forced herself to stand straight, to mask the pain.

Mom, Sandra whispered, the word barely audible. It was the only title she’d ever been allowed to use for the woman who’d never treated her like family.

Call me that again and I’ll cut your tongue out, Mrs. Clara spat. Her voice was venom.

Sandra flinched.

Without warning, Mrs. Clara swept her arm across the side table. A glass crystal vase crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The sound was deafening.

Clean this up, Mrs. Clara ordered, her chin lifted high. And go make dinner. Now.

Sandra stared at the scattered shards. The light reflected off them, cutting sharp angles across the floor.

She didn’t cry this time. She smiled instead. Not a real smile. A bitter, hollow thing that didn’t reach her eyes.

This glass looks like my life in the Smith house, she thought. All shattered. Not one piece whole. Not one moment of happiness.

She knelt down carefully, picking up the sharp fragments one by one. Each cut on her fingertips felt like a reminder: this was her place here. At their feet. Cleaning up their mess.

When the floor was finally clear, she carried the broken pieces to the trash and headed to the kitchen without a word.

The kitchen was empty. Silent except for the steady thud, thud, thud of the knife against the cutting board as Sandra chopped vegetables. The rhythm was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Then the doorway darkened.

Ryan stood there, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his height casting a shadow over the entire counter. He was like a storm cloud that never brought rain just pressure, and dread, and the threat of destruction.

Sandra’s hand froze. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered against the board. She quickly bowed her head, a habit she’d formed over two years of trying not to provoke him.

Looking down again? Ryan’s voice was quiet, but it carried. “You always avoid my eyes, Sandra.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

You asked me once, he said suddenly. You asked if I could love you, even just once.

Sandra’s breath caught. She didn’t dare look up. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, as if meeting his gaze would burn her.

He waited. And when she didn’t respond, he continued.

Then get ready tomorrow. We’re going out.

he stated and left No explanation. No reason. Just an order, delivered and dismissed.

His footsteps echoed as he walked away, leaving Sandra standing alone in the kitchen with a knife in her hand and her heart in pieces.

She stood there for a long time, unmoving.

Going out? The thought echoed in her mind. After everything? After the humiliation? After the divorce?