Chapter 1. The divorce papers

Ava Blackwood had never wanted the world.

She had only wanted her husband.

For three years, she lived inside the Blackwood mansion a palace of glass, marble, and cold echoes without ever truly belonging to it. She wore the title Mrs. Blackwood like a borrowed silk, delicate and easily taken away. She endured the silence, the distance, the nights alone, believing that patience could turn obligation into love.

She was wrong.

On this faithful day, the rain had been falling since dawn, relentlessly sliding down the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Blackwood Group’s top-floor office. The city below looked distant, blurred into gray shadows, as though the world itself had stepped back to watch her fall.

Ava stood in front of the massive black desk.

Her fingers were clenched tightly around the strap of her handbag. The leather dug into her palm, grounding her. If she let go, she feared she might collapse, she sat down like she was attending an interview.

Across from her sat Ethan Blackwood.

Her husband of three years.

No.

Her soon-to-be ex-husband.

He didn’t look at her. He was reviewing documents, flipping pages with measured precision, his long fingers calm and unhurried. His expression was the same one he wore in boardrooms when he decided the fate of billion-dollar deals.

Today, that same face was deciding the end of her marriage.

“Sign it.”

His voice was low. Flat. Final.

He slid the papers across the desk.

The sound was soft.

To Ava, it was thunder.

Her gaze dropped to the bold heading.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

The words blurred. Her name sat neatly beside his, black ink against white paper, waiting to erase three years of silent devotion.

Her chest tightened.

Three years of sleeping alone in a king-sized bed.

Three years of eating cold dinners while pretending she wasn’t waiting.

Three years of telling herself that love needed time that if she stayed gentle enough, loyal enough, invisible enough, he would one day see her.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

She prayed it's a dream but it's the reality staring at her.

She lifted her head slightly.

“Is it… final?”

She muttered.

Her voice barely existed.

Ethan finally looked up.

His eyes dark, sharp, unreadable met hers without warmth. They had never softened for her. Not once.

“Yes.”

One word.

It struck deeper than any insult.

Ava swallowed hard. Her throat burned. Her heart shattered into pieces.

“Because she’s back?” she asked softly.

For a fraction of a second so brief she might have imagined something flickered across his face.

Then it vanished.

“Isabella needs me,” he said. “You knew this marriage had an expiration date.”

She did but never thought it would happen so soon.

From the very beginning.

Their marriage had never been about love. It was a strategic alliance business, image, convenience. Ethan had never lied about where his heart belonged.

Isabella Montreal.

The woman who had left him years ago.

The woman whose name Ava had learned to swallow like poison.

Knowing didn’t make the pain hurt less.

Ava lowered her gaze, afraid he would see the tears gathering.

“And me?” she asked. “What about me?”

Ethan’s fingers tightened slightly on the desk.

"It's over".

“You’ll be compensated,” he said. “The house will be transferred to you, you will have both cars and there will be a monthly allowance.”

Compensated!!!

The word echoed cruelly.

She let out a small, broken laugh.

“I don’t want your money.”

His brow creased. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

The irony nearly shattered her.

Unreasonable!!

She had never asked for his love.

Never demanded his time.

Never questioned his cold silences or endless absences.

She had been the perfect wife by disappearing.

Ava reached for the pen.

Her hand shook.

“You won’t regret this?” she whispered.

Ethan paused.

Then, without hesitation, “No.”

Something inside her finally broke.

She signed.

Each stroke of her name felt like carving flesh from bone. When she finished, she placed the pen down carefully as if it might explode if dropped.

She pushed the papers toward him.

Ethan picked them up without looking at her.

Then he pressed the intercom.

“Send Isabella in.”

The door opened.

Ava turned as a tall, elegant woman stepped inside.

Isabella wore white. Soft. Untouched. Her beauty was delicate, fragile in a way that invited protection. Her eyes flicked to Ava.

Then she smiled. Small. Polite. Victorious.

“Ethan,” Isabella said softly.

He stood immediately.

Ava watched as the man she had loved for three years walked past her toward another woman without a single glance back.

Her chest constricted painfully.

She felt a nauseous pain in her stomach.

She turned and walked out.

The door closed behind her.

Only then did her knees give way.

Ava collapses in the Elevator.