004

Noya’s POV

The door rattled under Ethan’s fist.

“Noya, open the damn door.”

I didn’t move. I sat on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hands, scrolling through old bank statements while his voice rose on the other side of the wood.

“You’re acting crazy. One slap and suddenly you want a divorce? Over Lily? We’ve been through worse.”

Worse.

I almost laughed.

He had no idea what “worse” looked like. He had never felt teeth in his throat while the person he loved watched from safety.

I opened the joint account app. The numbers were the same as I remembered—comfortable, but not enough for what was coming. Most of the larger savings sat under his name. The old Noya had never questioned it. She had trusted him with everything.

That trust was gone.

I transferred every dollar that belonged solely to me into a new account I opened in under three minutes. The system pulsed faintly in the corner of my vision, as if approving.

[Financial foundation: 12% complete.]

Outside, Ethan’s voice dropped into the low, controlled tone he used when he wanted me to feel like the unreasonable one.

“Noya. Baby. You’re scaring me. Just open the door so we can talk. I won’t be mad about the slap. We’ll figure this out.”

Baby.

The word slid off me like water.

I stood, walked to the closet, and pulled out the small fireproof box I had always kept in the back. Inside were the marriage certificate, the deed to the apartment (still in both names), and the folder of insurance papers. I photographed every page, then slid the originals into my storage space. The blue rectangle swallowed them without a sound.

Ethan tried the handle again. Harder.

“If you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds, I’m calling your sister. Or worse—I’ll call my mother. You really want her involved?”

My sister lived three cities away and had always taken his side. His mother still believed I was lucky he had married me.

I unlocked the door.

Ethan pushed it open the second the lock clicked, face flushed, cheek still faintly red from my hand. He stepped inside like he owned the air between us.

“Finally,” he said. “Now sit down and explain what the hell is going on with you.”

I didn’t sit.

I looked at him the way I had looked at the infected the night I died—calculating distance, threat, and exit.

“I already explained,” I said. “I want a divorce. I’ll have papers drawn up today.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

He moved closer. The old instinct to step back flared and died in the same breath. I held my ground.

“You think you can just walk away?” His voice dropped. “After everything I’ve given you? The apartment, the lifestyle, the fact that I stayed when half the men I know would have left a woman like you years ago?”

A woman like me.

Soft. Convenient. Easy to leave behind a locked gate.

I tilted my head. “Say that again.”

Something in my tone made him pause. Just for a second. Then the entitlement returned.

“You heard me. You’ve always been emotional. Sensitive. I handled the hard decisions so you wouldn’t have to. And this is how you thank me? One bad morning and you’re throwing the whole marriage away over Lily?”

I smiled.

It felt wrong on my face—too sharp, too empty—but it stayed.

“I’m not throwing it away over Lily,” I said quietly. “I’m throwing it away because I finally understand what I was to you.”

Ethan reached for my wrist.

I moved first.

My hand closed around his thumb and bent it backward just enough to make him hiss. Not hard enough to break. Hard enough to warn.

He froze.

“Don’t touch me again,” I said. “I mean it.”

We stood like that for three full seconds. His breathing was louder than mine.

Then I released him and stepped past, heading for the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped.

“Out.” I picked up my bag and keys. “I have things to take care of. Don’t wait up. And don’t contact Lily on my behalf. She’s not my problem anymore.”

“Noya—”

I opened the door and looked back at him one last time.

“You wanted me to stay the same soft woman who fixed everything for you and your mistress,” I said. “That version of me died. The one standing here doesn’t need your permission to leave.”

I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind me.

The lock clicked.

For the first time in two lives, the sound felt like victory instead of loneliness.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I walked toward the elevator.

A message from an unknown number.

Lily: Ethan called. He’s really upset. Can we talk? I don’t want to come between you two.

I stared at the screen.

Then I deleted the message without replying and stepped into the elevator.

The system flickered once more.

[Emotional control: Stable.]
[Mission progress updated.]
[Suggestion: Secure liquid assets before the divorce process begins.]

I already knew.

This time, I would not leave a single useful thing behind for them.