Chapter 13: The Signing

Aria’s POV

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the guest room window and the buzz of my phone on the nightstand.

A text from Marcus: “Papers are ready. Come by the office at 8 AM.”

I checked the time. 7:15 AM.

Jason’s bedroom door was already closed when I passed it on my way to the shower. I could hear him moving around inside, getting ready for work.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face after I handed him the papers.

Marcus had everything ready when I arrived. The divorce petition sat on his desk, thick and official-looking.

“Grounds for divorce: adultery and physical abuse,” he said, flipping through the pages.

“I’ve included copies of all your evidence. The hotel receipts, the photographs, the recording from the parking garage.”

He paused at the photo of my bruised cheek. “And this.”

I stared at my own face in the image. “Once you sign this and he signs it, we file with the court,” Marcus continued. 

“The prenup becomes void due to the adultery clause. You’ll be entitled to half of all marital assets acquired during the marriage.”

“I don’t want his money.”

Marcus looked up, surprised. “Ms Myles…”

“I don’t want anything from him except my freedom.” I picked up the pen. “Where do I sign?”

He showed me. I signed my name…Aria Myles, not Hartley…in three places.

“Now we need his signature,” Marcus said. “Typically, we’d have him served by a process server, but given the… sensitivity of the situation, you could deliver it yourself if you prefer.”

I thought about a stranger showing up at Jason’s office with divorce papers. The gossip it would cause. The humiliation.

Then I thought about walking into his office myself and watching his face when he realized what was happening.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Marcus slid the papers into a manila envelope and handed them to me. “Good luck.

Hartley Industries occupied the top fifteen floors of a glass tower in midtown. I’d been here exactly three times in two years of marriage…once for a holiday party, once when Jason forgot his phone, and once when his mother insisted I bring him lunch to “be supportive.”

Each time, I’d felt out of place. Like everyone could see I didn’t belong.

Today, I walked through the lobby as if I owned it.

The receptionist recognized me immediately. “Mrs Hartley! Is Mr Hartley expecting you?”

“No. But I need to see him. It’s important.”

She hesitated, then picked up the phone. I heard her murmur something, then Jason’s assistant’s voice crackling through. “Send her up.”

The elevator ride to the forty-second floor felt longer than it was. I watched the numbers climb, the envelope heavy in my hands.

Jason’s assistant, Patricia, was waiting when the doors opened. She was in her fifties.

“Mrs Hartley.” Her smile was polite but puzzled. “Jason’s in a meeting, but he said he’d see you. Give me just a moment.”

She disappeared into his office. I heard low voices, then she returned.

“He’ll see you now. But he only has five minutes before his next call.”

Of course he did.

I walked past her into Jason’s office.

It was exactly as I’d imagined. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Sleek furniture. Awards and certifications on the walls. Everything is designed to intimidate.

Jason sat behind his massive desk, typing on his laptop. He didn’t look up when I entered.

“What is it, Aria? I’m busy.”

I closed the door behind me. The click made him glance up, irritation flickering across his face.

“I said I only have five minutes.”

“This won’t take long.”

I walked to his desk and dropped the manila envelope in front of him.

He stared at it, then at me. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

“Aria, I don’t have time for games…”

“Open. It.”

Something in my voice made him pause. He picked up the envelope slowly, pulled out the papers, and started reading.

I watched his face change.

Confusion first. Then disbelief. Then something that might have been fear.

“Divorce?” He looked up at me. “You’re filing for divorce?”

“Yes.”

“On grounds of adultery and abuse?” His voice rose. “Aria, this is insane. We discussed this. The prenup…”

“Has a morality clause,” I finished. “Which you violated. Multiple times. With Violet Brown.”

“I told you, that’s not…”

“I have receipts, Jason. Hotel records. Text messages. Photos of her wearing the necklace you bought her.” I leaned forward, my hands on his desk. “I have everything.”

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “You can’t do this.”

“I already did.”

“I’ll fight you. I’ll drag this through the courts for years…”

“Go ahead.” I straightened. “I have time. And I have a lawyer who’s very motivated to make sure you lose.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Who? Who’s your lawyer?”

“Marcus Mitchell. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“Mitchell won’t take a case against me. He’s too small, too…”

“He already took it. Signed the retainer this morning.” I smiled. It felt cold on my face. “Turns out, people are more willing to fight you than you think.”

Jason walked around the desk toward me. I held my ground.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice dropped, almost pleading. “We can work this out. We have eight months left, and then you’re free. Why blow everything up now?”

“Because you hit me.”

He flinched. “I was drunk. I didn’t mean…”

“You hit me. You threatened a children’s charity to keep me trapped. You spent two years making me feel like I was nothing.” My voice was steady, clear. “I’m done, Jason. Sign the papers.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then Marcus files them anyway, and this gets ugly. You’ll be served at your office in front of your entire staff. The press will have a field day…‘Billionaire CEO Served Divorce Papers for Abuse and Adultery.’ Is that how you want this to go?”

His jaw worked. I could see him calculating, trying to find an angle, a way to maintain control.

There wasn’t one.

“Fine.” He grabbed a pen from his desk. “But don’t think this is over. My lawyers will…”

“Your lawyers can talk to my lawyer.” I watched him sign his name in harsh, angry strokes. “That’s how divorce works.”

He signed the last page and shoved the papers at me. “There. Happy now?”

I picked them up carefully, making sure every signature was in place. Then I looked at him for what I knew would be one of the last times.

“No,” I said quietly. “I’m not happy. I wasted two years of my life on you. But at least now I can start getting them back.”

I turned to leave.

“Aria.”

I stopped at the door but didn’t turn around.

I walked back to him, and before he could react, my hand flew across his face.

The slap echoed in the quiet office.

Jason’s head snapped to the side, his hand going to his cheek. When he looked back at me, there was shock in his eyes.

“That’s for the last two years,” I said calmly. “And for every time you made me feel like I deserved this.”

I walked to the door, opened it, and paused.

“Goodbye, Jason.”

I didn’t wait for a response.

Patricia looked up as I walked past her desk, her eyes wide. She’d probably heard the slap.

I smiled at her. “He’s all yours.”

The elevator ride down felt different from the ride up. Lighter. Like I’d left something heavy on the forty-second floor.

When I reached the lobby, I pulled out my phone and texted Marcus: “He signed. It’s done.”

Then I texted Kyle: “Divorce papers are signed. Thank you for everything.”

His response came immediately: “Proud of you. Dinner tonight to celebrate?”

I stared at the message, then typed back: “Yes.”

I walked out of Hartley Industries into the bright November morning, the signed divorce papers in my bag, my hand still tingling from the slap.

For the first time in two years, I felt free.