Divorce Countdown lia

When Damian Voss lets his wife walk in on him kissing his first love against their kitchen island, he believes he's finally free — done with the quiet woman he married in secret, ready to claim the powerful public life he always wanted. What he doesn't know: the woman he just handed divorce papers to carries his child, his most dangerous competitor's personal vendetta, and a surname worth ten billion dollars that was stolen from her before she could walk. For three years, Lila loved him in secret — no announcements, no red carpets, no credit. She covered for his late nights, ignored the suspicious texts, and carried champagne and silk to a penthouse where she planned to give him everything. That moment arrived on their anniversary. He was already kissing someone else when she walked through the door. She signed. She slid the papers across the marble. She walked out without a single tear — and picked up a phone call that changed the shape of the world. Some men confuse silence for weakness. Some women are only quiet because they haven't yet decided what to burn. And some divorces don't end a story — they start one, with a crown, a rival, and an empire rebuilt on the ashes of everything he thought he owned.

“Calder wanted to divorce. But I got him to agree to something crazy first.” My friend Lena's brows lift. “What is it?” “One last month,” I say. “I am going to really have him… as his real wife.” Her eyes widen and she grins. “He agreed to be your husband… in every way?” Three years ago, my husband Calder was supposed to marry my sister. On the wedding week, she vanished. So, I became the replacement bride. But Calder never saw me as a woman, just Yara’s little sister. We live like roommates while I pine for him. “Mia, you do know what you’re doing? Yes? I’m worried you’re going to get hurt,” Lena says plainly. “I’m not a child anymore, this is my choice.” She searches my face. “And after the month?” “I’ll move forward,” I say. “With or without him.”

My husband, Lawrence Schwartz, and I were both liars. He lied to me, saying he would forget his first love, yet his phone is filled with photos of her. I lied to him, saying I would never leave, while secretly planning a future without him. A month ago, I tricked Lawrence into signing the divorce papers. Today was the final day to complete the entire divorce process.. Three hours left. I packed all my luggage and bought a plane ticket for the next day. Two hours left. I cut up every photo of us together, leaving only myself in the album. Last hour. I thought about leaving a message, then decided against it. Today marked the tenth year I had loved him and the first day I left him.

I could see the countdown above a person’s head when they had already decided to leave their partner. The day my father’s countdown hit zero, he slapped a lawyer’s letter on the breakfast table and walked out on my mother and me. The day my best friend’s countdown hit zero, she finally threw her parasite of a boyfriend out of her apartment and changed the locks before sunset. That was why I’d always been terrified of seeing a countdown above my fiancé, Lucian Bellandi. Luckily, for seven years by his side, the space above his head had stayed clean. Lucian was the youngest Don the Bellandi family had ever seen. He owned the docks, the casinos, and half the South Side’s dirty money, yet he saved every soft part of himself for me. Until last month, when he picked me up after a family auction. I looked up and saw blood-red numbers stabbing into my eyes. [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.] Less than two years. My heart tightened like a cold hand had closed around it. I started searching for an answer like a woman losing her mind. Had I done something wrong? Then, during a blizzard by the lake, we ran into Mia Crane at the back entrance of the Bellandi Hotel. Lucian had just brought her into his charity foundation as a new assistant. Snow clung to her hair and lashes. She was shivering from head to toe, but her smile was bright and painfully innocent. Lucian pulled a black silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. His face was calm. There was nothing openly improper in the gesture. But in that exact second, the countdown above his head jumped. [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.] More than three hundred days, gone. And I knew I had found the reason.

My wife and I were both liars. She lied to me 99 times. "I'll forget all about him, I swear." That man was her first love. She never did forget about him. I only lied to her one time. To get her to sign the divorce papers. Time came to the final day of the cooling-off period. Three hours before it was up, I packed up all my stuff and bought a flight ticket to another country. Two hours before it was up, I cut up all my photos that had her in it, leaving only myself. One hour before it was up, I placed the divorce papers on the table. When she saw the papers, they drove her mad.

My wife, Rosalind Judd, has been tearing up our marriage certificate 99 times in the past ten years of our marriage. This is her usual tactic to make me apologize and make amends. The first time, I transfer 100 thousand dollars for Rosalind to come back from her travel abroad with her childhood friend, Jackson Lane. The tenth time, she ruins the anniversary I have prepared meticulously and forces me to immediately help him get back to work. The 50th time, she humiliates me in front of my client during the day and forces me to sign over the transfer agreement to a villa at night, while she has a candlelit dinner with Jackson. ... Now, for the 100th time, she forces me to transfer my company shares. Staring at the love bites on Rosalind's collarbone, I suddenly chuckle. Then, I board the plane decisively. This time, I no longer want her.