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.

Jane's POV.

I opened my eyes slowly then shut them again immediately.

The light was too bright, too sharp, slicing through my skull like punishment. I lay still, breathing carefully, allowing the pounding in my head to settle before I tried again. When I finally lifted my eyelids, the world came into focus in fragments-white walls, the steady beep of a monitor, the faint scent of antiseptic. It was... a hospital ward?

My heart lurched. I tried to sit up, but a dull ache spread through my body, heavy and disorienting. Panic crept in as I scanned the room. A thin curtain, a metal stand with an IV drip, the unfamiliar stiffness of the bed beneath me.

What happened?

Memories rushed back all at once, cruel and vivid: Adrian's office, his hands on her, the courthouse, the pen in my hand, the way he signed the divorce papers without hesitation, the way he didn't stop me, didn't fight, didn't even pretend, the way my heart finally gave up. And then...darkness.

The sound of a door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I turned my head slowly, my chest tightening as I saw him.

Adrian stepped into the room from what I assumed was the restroom, sleeves rolled up, expression composed as always. He looked completely untouched by the chaos he had left in his wake, like this was just another inconvenience in his carefully controlled life.

"You're awake," he said, his tone neutral.

I stared at him, disbelief hardening into something colder. "What have you done to me?" My voice was steady, sharper than I felt. "Why am I here?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked past the bed and sat down on the couch, leaning back like he belonged there. Like this room, this moment, was under his authority too.

My fingers curled into the sheets. "Did you bring me here to finish what you started?" I demanded. "To silence me? To erase what I saw?"

He glanced at me then, a faint, dangerous curve to his lips. "I would," he said calmly.

Fear shot through me, instant and paralyzing.

"If I could," he added after a pause.

I realized then that I'd stopped breathing. My lungs burned as I exhaled, anger rushing in to replace the fear.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed despite the ache, my movements clumsy but determined. He watched without stopping me, without offering help.

Fine.

I reached for my shoes, slipping them on with shaking hands. I was done lying down for him, done being weak.

When I stood, the room tilted slightly, but I steadied myself and walked toward the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked finally.

"What I should have done a long time ago," I replied, not turning around. "Leaving you." My hand closed around the door handle.

"Not with my child."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I froze.

Slowly, too slowly, I turned back to face him. My heart was pounding now, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it. "What did you say?" I whispered.

He stood, his expression unreadable, eyes dark and assessing. "You collapsed at home," he said evenly. "The doctor ran tests."

My throat tightened. "What tests?"

His gaze didn't waver. "You're pregnant, Jane."

The room seemed to close in around me. "No," I said immediately, shaking my head. "That's not possible. But-"

"But nothing," he interrupted. "You're pregnant, and that's all that matters."

My mind spun violently, emotions crashing into each other: shock, disbelief, fear, something dangerously close to hope that I refused to acknowledge.

I pressed a hand to my stomach instinctively.

Pregnant? After three years of nothing? After everything?

"So now what?" I asked hoarsely. "You think this changes anything?"

His jaw tightened. "It changes everything."

I laughed then, a broken, incredulous sound. "You don't get to decide that. Not anymore."

He stepped closer. "You're carrying my child."

"And I'm still leaving you," I said, meeting his gaze with everything I had left. "A child doesn't erase betrayal. It doesn't excuse what you did."

Silence stretched between us, thick and volatile.

"This isn't over," he said finally.

I opened the door. "For me, it is." I gave my final verdict and walked out, walking out this time with the awareness that the war had just begun.

I made my way down the hospital's hallway, my eyes stinging with tears that I tried hard to conceal.

Yes, I'm leaving him, but the pain is just so much, and this child unfortunately had to come at the wrong timing.

Footsteps approached me directly from behind, fast and hasty. I didn't bother to look who it was, it'd definitely be a nurse or a doctor rushing to a ward. But then a warm strong hand grasped mine from behind, bringing me to a halt. I instinctively turned to find Adrian, and my foolish heart had to make my tears drop at that very moment.

His eyes locked to mine, emotionless, and expressionless. "Why leave if you regret it?" He asked.

"I don't regret it," I responded, yanking my hand off his.

"Then what's with the tears?" He asked next.

"Isn't it too late to care?" I shot.

"Care?" He scoffed, putting his hands in his pockets. "I wasn't doing that."

"Just don't draw unnecessary eyes towards me," he added, looking around like he was looking out for something.

I looked around and that was when I noticed the people sneak-peeking on us. I scoffed, realizing all again that he only cared about his reputation.

"Why? You don't want them to know how bad of a husband you've been?" I shot at him.

"Come with me quietly and stop trying to cause a scene here," he said, offering me his hand.

I looked down at his hand and scoffed. Without further words to him, I turned and began walking out of the hospital.

He followed me and grabbed my hand but I yanked it off him. "Let go of me!" I yelled, earning just the right size of attention from the people around. Watchful eyes were on us, waiting patiently for the next headlines that I plan to give to them.

"Stay away from me, you ly-" my words got stuck in my throat as he pressed his lips to mine, sealing me up with a kiss. My eyes widened in shock as I tried hard to push him away, but he was way too stronger. He drew me in, closer to him, sealing the distance between us.

I bit his lip hard, trying to force him away, but instead, he deepened the kiss, prying deeper into my mouth.

Cameras began flashing at us, muffled whispers began flying in the air as more people came to the scene. And then it clicked. This wasn't about me, it was about what the world would believe.

No...This isn't the headline I planned to give.