The Contract Ended, So Did We

“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

Dylan set her gently on the bed.Rainwater still clung to her lashes, and her skin glowed faintly beneath the soft lamplight, fragile and ethereal, like someone who had run too far from home and forgotten the way back.He exhaled slowly, tugging at his ruined shirt. The smell of vodka and vomit clung stubbornly to the fabric. With a grimace, he peeled it off and tossed it into the bin.When he turned back to her, she hadn’t moved. Her damp clothes clung to her body, chilled against her skin. For a moment, he just stood there, torn between decency and the urge to help. Then, with a quiet curse, he scooped her up again and carried her into the bathroom.The hiss of running water filled the silence.He adjusted the temperature, testing it against his palm before guiding her under the stream. She stirred at the touch, murmuring something incoherent.Her blouse turned translucent beneath the water. He caught the faint outline of her figure and immediately looked away, his jaw tightening.

The elevator chimed.Dylan Frost adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit, his expression unreadable as he stepped into the executive floor of Frost Holdings. New York air always carried too much noise, but inside his company, silence was a rule.His personal assistant, Evelyn, trailed beside him with her tablet, her heels clicking softly in rhythm with his steps. “Sir, about the internal screening…”He didn’t look at her. “Proceed.”Evelyn nodded quickly. “Your mother approved the idea of a private selection. Six candidates have been shortlisted, all with verified backgrounds, strong social standings, and no prior scandals. I’ve organized their profiles in your system.”Dylan’s jaw flexed. The entire ordeal was absurd, a “selection” to find a wife, orchestrated under the guise of corporate image and family legacy. But his mother had made it clear: his father’s will wasn’t negotiable. Marry before his half-brother’s wedding, or lose Frost Holdings to someone who didn’t deserve to inh

The words hit him like a physical blow.Dylan stumbled back from the door, his pulse roaring in his ears. He made it to the stairwell before his composure cracked, bracing himself against the cold concrete wall.His mind spun, trying to grasp the implications. The timeline matched, but…He pulled out his phone with trembling hands, scrolling through his calendar. The night he’d gone to that bar after a frustrating negotiation. The woman with tears streaming down her face.It couldn’t be.But even as he tried to deny it, certainty settled in his chest like lead.He’d noticed the torn condom afterward, cursed himself for being careless, planned to tell her in the morning. But she’d vanished before dawn, leaving nothing but a note and the faint scent of her perfume on his sheets.He’d told himself it would be fine. That the chances were slim. He thought she was smart enough to use a pill in the morning.What was I thinking?Dylan’s fist clenched against the wall. He’d been careful his

The restaurant was exactly the kind of place his mother preferred; exclusive, elegant, and designed to impress. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light over white tablecloths, and a string quartet played Vivaldi in the corner. The private dining room overlooked the city, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view that cost more per square foot than most people earned in a year.Dylan arrived at 6:55 PM, precisely on time.His mother was already there, resplendent in a navy Chanel suit, her silver hair swept into an immaculate chignon. She looked up from her wine glass as he entered, her sharp eyes assessing him instantly.“You look tired,” she observed.“Good evening to you too, Mother.” Dylan kissed her cheek and took the seat beside her. “I’m fine.”“You’re never fine when you say you’re fine,” she repeated her words from yesterday, but this time with a hint of genuine concern. “Is it the Nakamura deal? I heard they’re being difficult about the merger terms.”“The deal is progressin