Adrian's POV.

Halfway through the board meeting, my phone vibrated against the polished surface of the conference table. I didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was, but still I glanced down.

Jane.

My jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. I let the phone vibrate once, twice, three times, until twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on me from across the table-executives, shareholders, men who measured worth in numbers and projections. The kind of men who didn't tolerate distractions.

I turned the phone face down. "Continue," I said calmly, gesturing for the CFO to proceed.

The presentation resumed, graphs flashing across the screen, figures climbing and falling with mechanical precision. I listened, asked the right questions, corrected assumptions. Business was simple, clean, predictable. Unlike marriage.

The phone vibrated again, and I ignored it. Jane knew better than to call me during meetings. She always did. That was one of the reasons I chose her. She understood boundaries, or at least, she used to.

I told myself she probably wanted something trivial. Breakfast. A driver. A reminder about some social obligation I had no intention of attending. I just knew it was nothing urgent, nothing that couldn't wait.

By the time the meeting adjourned, my phone had gone silent.

Good.

I stood, straightening my suit jacket as the room buzzed with quiet conversations. Another successful quarter. Another step closer to securing the expansion overseas. Another day handled efficiently.

"Excellent presentation," I said to the board as I left the room. "I'll review the final documents this afternoon."

In my office, I loosened my tie and moved straight to my desk. Habit made me glance at my phone. There were three missed calls, no messages. Jane rarely left messages.

I exhaled slowly and set the phone aside. Emotions complicated things. I had learned that early in life. My father had built Blackwood Holdings with discipline and sacrifice, not sentiment. Feelings didn't grow companies, they didn't secure legacies, heirship did. That was the agreement, the foundation of our marriage, and Jane knew that.

I walked to the glass wall overlooking the city, hands clasped behind my back. From this height, everything looked small, and manageable, but reality was that they weren't.

A knock sounded on my door. "Come in." I said.

The door opened slowly, and Lydia stepped in like she owned the room. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, deliberate, and unhurried. She wore a fitted dress in a deep shade of wine, professional enough to pass unnoticed, but tailored in a way that demanded attention if you were looking closely. And she was looking directly at me.

"You're done early," she said, her voice smooth.

"I cleared my schedule," I replied.

She smiled at that, not the polite one she wore in front of others, but the one meant only for me. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality.

"You didn't answer your phone," she said, walking closer.

"You called?" I asked, surprised because I didn't get any other calls aside from Jane's.

She simply shrugged, pouting her lips. That prompted me to check my phone. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I checked my call history, and I discovered that amongst the calls that came into my phone, hers was among.

"I was in a meeting," I said, justifying why I hadn't taken her call.

"So was I," she replied lightly. "I still would have answered if it were you."

I studied her as she stopped a few feet away. Lydia always knew how to toe the line, how to blur it without crossing outright. Her eyes flicked briefly to my hand, to my phone that still had the screen lit.

"Jane?" she asked softly.

"Yes," I answered.

"And you didn't answer," she said but it felt more like a question that needed a confirmation.

"No," I replied.

She stepped closer, close enough now that I could smell her perfume that was subtle, and intentional. "Does she know she interrupts important meetings?"

"She forgets sometimes." I replied.

Lydia hummed. "That must be exhausting. Being married to someone who forgets your priorities."

I didn't correct her.

She reached out, adjusting my tie with a familiarity that would have shocked anyone else. Her fingers lingered longer than necessary.

"You look tense," she murmured. "Long day?"

"Productive," I said.

She smiled again. "I like you better when you're tired. You're less guarded."

Her hand slid from my tie to my chest, resting flat against my suit jacket. I should have stepped back, instead, I stayed still.

"Lydia," I said quietly.

"Yes?" she replied, eyes bright, hopeful.

"We've discussed boundaries." I reminded her.

She tilted her head. "Have we? Or have we discussed excuses?"

Before I could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of my mouth. Not a kiss, just a suggestion, just enough to test.

"You always stop me," she whispered. "But you never push me away."

Her fingers curled slightly in my jacket, grounding herself. "Tell me to leave," she said, but I didn't.

That was all the permission she needed.

She kissed me then, slow at first, exploratory, not desperate, but confident. She tasted like wine and intent. I responded without thinking, my hand coming up to her waist, steadying her, and the kiss deepened.

Lydia pressed closer, her body fitting against mine like she had practiced this moment a thousand times. She smiled against my lips, encouraged by my lack of resistance.

"You don't kiss your wife like this," she murmured.

I didn't answer, and she took my silence as confirmation.

"I could make you happy," she said softly. "You know that."

Happiness was irrelevant, but comfort wasn't.

Her hands slid up my shoulders, her fingers threading briefly into my hair. I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly, encouraged by my response to her touch.

"You deserve more than obligation," she said. "More than a marriage built on debt and duty."

Lydia knew things about me no one else did. Not even the board, the press, or even Jane.

She kissed along my jaw, slow and deliberate, every movement calculated to draw a response. I let her, let the distraction take over.

"Adrian," she whispered, her forehead resting against mine. "I want a future with you," she said, and that stopped me.

I pulled back slightly, enough to look at her. Her eyes were shining now, not with lust, but with belief.

"You know what this is," I said evenly.

"Yes," she replied quickly. "It's the beginning."

I didn't correct her, because Jane could no longer give me what I needed, and maybe Lydia might.

She smiled, emboldened, and kissed me again, harder this time, more urgent. Her hands slid down my back, pulling me closer, as if closing the distance would close the gap between what she wanted and what I intended.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, but neither of us moved.

She laughed softly against my mouth. "Ignore it," she said and I did.

She kissed me again, pushing me back until my hips brushed the edge of the desk. I braced myself against it, steady, letting her guide the moment.

"You need an heir," she said quietly. "And you don't have time to wait forever."

The words were deliberate, and strategic. They should have repulsed me, but they didn't. Instead, they grounded the situation in reality.

She kissed me again, sealing her promise into the moment, her hands gripping my jacket like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.

Then the office door opened, and Lydia froze.

I turned to find Jane standing in the doorway. Her hand was still on the handle, her eyes wide-not screaming, not crying, just staring at us. Staring at Lydia pressed against me, staring at my hands still on Lydia's waist.

The silence stretched, until Jane took a step forward, and that was when everything stopped.

Jane's POV.

I didn't scream, neither did I cry. I just stood there, frozen in the doorway, my fingers numb around the handle, my breath lodged somewhere in my chest like it had forgotten how to move.

His hands were on her, not hovering, not pulling away. He was holding her firmly, intentionally, with a sense of familiarity.

The world tilted, but I stayed upright, because if I moved even an inch, I was afraid I would shatter completely.

Lydia.

I recognized her instantly, not from photographs or introductions or polite society dinners. I recognized her from the way she fit against him, like she belonged there. Like she had been there before. Her body was pressed to his. His mouth was still so close to hers that the intimacy hadn't even begun to fade. The air between them felt charged, alive with something I had spent three years begging for and never received.

For a moment, no one spoke. Lydia's face drained of color first, her confidence that she wears so effortlessly cracked just slightly. But she didn't move away, neither did she apologize, nor did she look ashamed. She just...looked at me like I was an interruption.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable, calm, and composed. As if I had walked in on a business discussion instead of a betrayal.

"Jane," he said just my name. No shock, no guilt, no scramble to explain.

Something inside me broke quietly. I felt foolish suddenly. Foolish for coming here unannounced. Foolish for thinking just for one irrational moment that maybe today would be different. Foolish for believing that three years of loyalty meant something.

My eyes drifted back to his hands. They were still on her waist, still holding her.

I swallowed, my throat burning. "I..." My voice cracked, and I hated that it did. I cleared my throat, trying again. "I tried calling you."

"I was busy," he replied evenly, and I almost scoffed.

Busy, the word echoed, hollow and cruel.

Lydia finally stepped back then, smoothing her dress as if this were nothing more than an awkward misunderstanding. She glanced at him, then at me, her lips pressing together in something that looked almost like pity. "I should go," she said softly. No apology, no explanation, and he didn't stop her.

She walked past me, her perfume lingering in the air long after the door closed behind her. The sound of her heels faded, each step hammering into my skull.

The office felt too big suddenly, too empty, too crushing. I laughed, a small, broken sound I didn't recognize as my own. "So this is what 'late meetings' look like."

"Why did you come in without knowing?" He asked bluntly.

The words hit me like a blow, and I scoffed. "Why did I come in without knocking? Do I need to knock before coming into my husband's office?!" I yelled, my eyes simmering with tears.

"Why did you come here?" He asked coldly. No apologies, nothing.

"I came here to give you this," I answered, showing him the file I came with. "I thought you needed it, but I guess I was wrong...you already have what you need."

With that I let the file drop to the floor and I stormed out of the office, half-expecting him to call me back, but he didn't.

The scene kept playing in my head even as I got into the car. His hands on her waist, her body against his, the proximity, the intimacy, something I never got in our three years of marriage. It was then I realized that I have been wasting my time on something that can never be.

"John," I called my chauffeur.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"Take me to the state court," I said.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, and took a turn.

I didn't even realize when we arrived at the court, all that sounded me out was John's voice, "ma'am, we're here."

The courthouse loomed ahead of us, tall and indifferent, its stone steps worn down by years of broken promises and endings people never planned for.

I stepped out of the car before John could open the door fully. The air felt heavier here, like it carried the weight of every marriage that had collapsed within those walls. For a brief second, my chest tightened, not from fear, but from finality.

This was it.

Inside, the building was quieter than I expected. Muted voices echoed softly, shoes tapping against polished floors. People sat on long benches, some whispering urgently, others staring ahead with hollow eyes. I clutched my purse tighter against my side, grounding myself.

The receptionist looked up as I approached. "How can I help you?"

"I want to file for a divorce," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

She paused, then nodded, reaching for a form. "Have a seat. Someone will assist you shortly."

I took the papers and sat where she pointed. My fingers trembled as I scanned the document-names, dates, reasons. Irreconcilable differences. The words felt small compared to the devastation they represented.

A woman in her late forties approached me moments later, her expression professional but kind. "Mrs. Blackwood?"

"Yes," I confirmed. A name that will no longer be mine soon.

"I'm Counselor Harris," she said, taking the seat across from me. "Before we proceed, it's standard for us to ask a few questions. How long have you been married?"

"Three years," I answered.

"Children?" She asked next.

"No," I replied.

She nodded slowly, jotting something down. "May I ask the reason for the divorce?"

I hesitated, the image flashing vividly in my mind-hands, lips, betrayal. "Infidelity," I said quietly.

Her pen paused. She looked up at me then, really looked. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

I didn't answer immediately.

Was I certain?

I thought of the couch, the silence, the nights spent waiting for footsteps that never came, the way he touched another woman without hesitation while I begged for scraps of affection.

"Yes," I said. "I'm certain."

She leaned back slightly. "Given your husband's status and assets, divorces like this can become... complicated. Often, couples benefit from counseling or mediation before taking such a permanent step."

"I've already spent three years mediating by myself," I replied, my voice calm but firm. "I don't want counseling... I don't want explanations...I want out."

She studied me for a long moment, then sighed softly. "Sometimes emotions are high immediately after discovering an affair. People regret rushing decisions."

I met her gaze. "What I regret is staying." I said and that seemed to settle it.

She slid the papers toward me. "All right. If you're determined, we'll proceed. Sign here."

My hand hovered over the pen. This signature would end everything I had endured. It would also mean walking away from the only security I had known since my father's death. From wealth. From status. From the illusion of a marriage. But also from humiliation.

I finally moved the pen and signed. I signed once, twice, then again, each stroke feeling lighter than the last.

Counselor Harris gathered the documents. "These will be filed today. Your husband will be notified."

A strange calm washed over me, no tears, no shaking, just a quiet, steady resolve. "Thank you," I said, standing.

As I walked out of the courthouse, the sun felt brighter, and warmer. I inhaled deeply, as though my lungs were finally expanding after years of shallow breaths.

John was waiting by the car. "Back home, ma'am?" He asked, as he opened the door for me.

I shook my head, entering the car, "No."

Entering the driver's side, he looked at me through the rearview mirror, confused. "Where to, ma'am?" He asked.

I stared out the window, my reflection faint but clearer than it had ever been. "Anywhere but there."

The car pulled away, and for the first time in three years, I wasn't waiting for Adrian Blackwood to decide my fate. I had decided it myself, and this time, I wasn't turning back.

Adrian's POV.

The house was quiet when I arrived. It always is, thanks to no kids running around.

I loosened my tie as I walked in, dropping my briefcase by the console table without glancing toward the stairs.

The familiar scent of leather and polished wood grounded me as I shut the door behind me. This room was ordered, and predictable. Nothing here demanded emotion, explanations, or apologies. I turned on the desk lamp, the warm glow spilling over neatly stacked files and my open laptop.

Work waited, it always did.

I reviewed documents, signed off approvals, responded to emails with practiced efficiency. Numbers made sense. Contracts obeyed logic. People, on the other hand, had a habit of complicating things unnecessarily.

Jane's face crossed my mind briefly, her expression in my office earlier today bugged me. It wasn't anger, nor was it hysteria. It was something colder, and controlled. I dismissed it just as quickly as the thought crossed my mind.

She had walked in without warning, at an inconvenient moment. Emotions had escalated, as they often did with her, and that was all. Tomorrow, things would settle. They always did.

My phone buzzed on the desk, and I glanced at the screen, expecting a business alert. Instead, I saw an unfamiliar number flagged with a formal header. "State Court Notification."

My fingers stilled, and for a moment, I simply stared at the screen, irritation flickering beneath my calm exterior. This was excessive. Dramatics never suited Jane. She would cool down, she always did.

I opened the message, and then, for the first time, the silence in the house felt different, it felt heavier.

A knock came on the door and I raised my head. "Who's there?"

"I've got a package for you, sir," a voice rang out from outside the door.

"Come in," I instructed.

The door opened, and a young man-one of my workers in the house, walked in with a large brown envelope. He walked over to my desk, and handed the envelope to me. "It arrived just now, sir," he said.

I raised a brow, wondering what it was about as I received the envelope from him.

Reading the address on the envelope, I discovered it was from the State Court. What was Jane up to?

I opened the envelope and my eyes widened as I pulled out its content.

Divorce papers?

I didn't wait to think about what was going on, I sprang to my feet, striding to the bedroom with full speed.

Storming into the bedroom, I called out her name but all I received was my voice echoing back to me.

"Jane!" I yelled as I searched through the bathroom and all the nooks of the room but it was void.

Just as I was bursting out of the room, I met her at the doorway. She wasn't home?

"Where are you coming from?" I asked and she ignored me and just walked pass me into the room.

"Jane, I'm talking to you!" I said but got silence again in return.

"Fine! You don't want to talk? Don't talk. But at least answer what the hell this means!" I yelled, showing her the divorce papers.

She looked up at the papers, her eyes duller than usual. "I see you've been served."

"What the hell is the meaning of this?!" I was so angry.

"It means I'm done," she responded. "I'm done with this shab we call a marriage."

Her words hit me, not from pain or guilt, but from surprise.

"So you want a divorce," I said.

A few seconds passed then she nodded, "yes."

"This has never been a real marriage after all. There's no child to bind us, no feelings to keep us together. My debt has been paid, and my service...has ended," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek, each word heavy with her emotions.

"Fine!" I nodded. "I'll give you the freedom you want," I said and the look in her eyes screamed that she was extremely disappointed in my response. But what the hell? She asked for it and she's no longer of use to me so she can be discarded.

I scanned through the papers to find her signatures already there, and I laughed curtly. "You even already signed."

"You got a pen there?" I asked.

She slowly walked to her bedside drawer and I think I saw her dwindle or probably she didn't.

She reached the drawer and pulled out a pen. She returned to me and gave me the pen with all colors drained from her face.

I took the pen from her and began signing the papers. As I looked downwards, I noticed her stagger a little. I wanted to ask her if she was alright but I discarded it anyway.

"Anything you'd like to demand?" I asked. It was common with women when they filed for divorce with their husbands.

"What I'd like to demand?" She asked.

"Money? Properties? Shares? Anything?" I gave her the options and she scoffed.

"What I'd like to demand is answers," she said, surprising me again.

"Answers?" I paused signing. "What answers?" I asked, raising a brow at her.

"Why did you cheat on me?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper.

I looked it her eyes that were reddened with tears. They should have pulled some strings at me, but they didn't. Nothing ever did. "You know the answer," I began, my voice grounded. "This marriage...is a sham," I said and her tears fell.

She scoffed, "why was I expecting a different answer?"

Tell her I did that because I wanted to get the child she couldn't give me? That was weakness.

"Here," I handed her the papers after signing. "In a few days, you'll no longer bear my name."

She scoffed again, rolling her eyes upward, trying to roll her tears back in. She took the papers from me, and nodded. "But until your name is off me completely, this should be off me too." She took off her wedding ring, raised it enough for me to see it, then dropped it on the floor, the crystal of the ring crashing as it hit the floor.

For the third time today, she surprised me again with such bold act.

"Goodbye, Mr Adrian Blackwood, it was nice doing business with you," she said.

"Yeah," I nodded, "and I with you."

With one last look at me, she walked out of the room, slamming the door so hard that it reverberated in my chest.

The door echoed long after she was gone. I stood there for several seconds, staring at the spot where she had been, my fingers still curled loosely at my side. The silence that followed wasn't dramatic. It didn't scream or accuse. It simply settled, thick and unmoving, like dust after a collapse.

I looked down, the ring lay on the floor between us, or rather, where we used to be. The crystal had chipped on impact, a thin fracture running through it. For a fleeting moment, I wondered how much it had cost. Then I dismissed the thought. Material things could always be replaced.

I bent down and picked it up, the metal cold against my palm. It felt lighter than it should have, insignificant for something that had once symbolized permanence. I placed it on the drawer without ceremony and straightened my cuffs.

This was for the best. That was the truth, or at least, the version of it I had lived by for years.

Jane had served her purpose. The debt was cleared, the scandal avoided, the company stabilized, the alliance fulfilled. There was no need to prolong a structure that no longer functioned efficiently. Emotions had no place in contracts, and marriage, especially ours, had always been one.

I still had much work to do so returning to my study was next. I made my way to the door, and upon opening it, I froze.

Jane was on the floor at the doorway, her hands empty, and the divorce papers scattered on the floor.

She had collapsed.