Chapter 4

Countdown: 1 day.

As if by tacit agreement, Dante and I rarely appeared together in project meetings anymore.

However, whenever Nadia was not present, Dante would walk down alone from his 47th-floor office and stand silently at the back of the meeting room, staring at me quietly with his deep green eyes.

I no longer tried to guess his recent regret and abnormal behavior, nor did I bother to understand it.

I began secretly moving my personal belongings out of the villa piece by piece, trying not to attract Dante's attention.

On the final afternoon, after the meeting ended, Dante suddenly called me into his private study.

He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His voice was hoarse and exhausted.

"You’ve moved a lot of things out of the main house recently, and you haven't slept in the master bedroom for several days."

"I’ve been staying in the old house in Brooklyn recently," I answered calmly with a pre-prepared reason. "It's quiet there, making it convenient for me to modify the design blueprints."

Dante turned around abruptly and walked toward me.

"Elena, regarding the wedding... I have thought about it for a long time. We can hold the wedding on schedule. I will handle all the interference from the family side—"

"Dante," I interrupted him softly, "there is no time left."

His eyebrows twitched violently, and panic instantly surged in his eyes.

"What do you mean... there is no time left?"

I paused, resting my hand on my handbag, hesitating whether to slap the signed divorce agreement directly in front of him.

Before I could act, his phone suddenly rang. The name flashing on the screen was Nadia.

Nadia claimed her low blood sugar acted up again after a shower, asking weakly if Dante could rush over to accompany her.

I smiled faintly, took a step back toward the door.

"Go fulfill your responsibility. There's no rush to talk about our matter."

A familiar struggle flashed in Dante's eyes, but he ultimately sighed.

"I will definitely go to the old house in Brooklyn tomorrow night to find you. I swear to you, Elena, no matter what happens, I will get there."

However, the next day, he broke his promise once again.

I sat on the mottled leather sofa in the old Brooklyn house, looking down at my phone screen.

Countdown: 12 hours.

The news app popped up the latest headline.

In the photo, Dante stood solemnly before the media and bodyguards, holding a tearful Nadia in an extremely protective grip, officially announcing to the whole city the Syndicate Empire's absolute protection over her entire family.

Looking at the photo, a self-mocking and ironic smile appeared on the corner of my lips.

If he knew these were the last 12 hours he would spend with his wife, would he still choose to abandon me to shield another woman from the wind and rain?

Maybe not, maybe he still would.

However, the answer no longer mattered to me.

I spent a few hours cleaning this once warm old house spotlessly.

There were not many things left of me here. What I missed was merely the happy times Dante and I had spent here together.

I called Lucy to make a final professional farewell, and then dialed my private lawyer's number.

"The divorce agreement was notarized and filed by the court a month ago," I asked calmly. "Do I still need to complete any procedures now?"

"No," the lawyer answered crisp and clear. Pausing for a moment, he added in a gentle tone, "Congratulations on regaining your freedom, Elena."

"Thank you," I replied softly and hung up the phone.

I stayed quietly in this old house, watching the night envelope all of New York.

Countdown: 3 hours. I packed my last flight suitcase and checked my one-way ticket to Paris for tomorrow morning.

Countdown: 2 hours. I picked up the scissors by the bed and neatly cut Dante out of all our early photos together, leaving only my younger self in the frames.

Countdown: 1 hour. I placed the divorce agreement that was about to take effect neatly in the very center of the wooden dining table.

The moment the countdown on my phone hit zero, I put on my coat, picked up my suitcase, and put my hand on the door handle.

It was over.

All my devotion.

My marriage.

My love.