Calista POV:

The morning sun was a blade against my tired eyes. I hadn't slept. Driving through the waking streets of Chicago, my mind was a calm, cold lake.

My phone rang. A number I didn't recognize. I answered.

It was Barrett's agent, his voice tight with anxiety. "Calista? Barrett's been trying to reach you. Why aren't you answering his calls?"

"Tell him to have his lawyer contact my lawyer," I said, my voice a monotone, and hung up.

The car radio was on, a sports talk show. The hosts were dissecting Barrett's "god-like performance" from last night's game, calling him the "King on Ice."

I switched it off. The praise was a grating noise.

At a red light, another call came through. Eleanor Sterling. Barrett's grandmother. I hesitated, then answered. She was the only Sterling who had ever shown me genuine kindness.

"Calista, dear," her voice was warm, as always. "Did that blockhead Barrett upset you again? He's all muscle and no sense. When are you two going to give me a great-grandchild to spoil?"

The word "grandchild" was a needle to my heart. I swallowed the pain. "Mrs. Sterling," I said, my voice miraculously steady, "perhaps that's a question you should ask Barrett himself."

I made a quick excuse and ended the call. She would know the truth soon enough.

I pulled up to a glass-and-steel skyscraper downtown. My lawyer was waiting for me on the curb.

In the sterile conference room, he placed a fresh stack of papers in front of me. "Are you sure about this, Calista? Leaving with nothing? You're entitled to half of his assets. We're talking about a fortune."

I looked at the new agreement. It stated, in clear, unequivocal terms, that I voluntarily waived all rights to marital property.

"I'm sure." I took the pen and signed my name at the bottom. "My only condition is that this is fast."

I didn't want his money. I just wanted out of the nightmare that was his life.

At ten o'clock sharp, Barrett strode into the law office. He wore expensive casual clothes, looking tired but still impossibly handsome.

He saw me and a look of relief crossed his face. He walked straight toward me. "Finally. I've been calling. Did you sign the—"

My lawyer cut him off, handing him the document I had just signed. "Mr. Sterling, this is the divorce agreement Ms. Johnston has prepared. Please review it."

Barrett froze. He glanced down at the title, his brow furrowing. "What is this? Where's the one I gave her?"

"The document you provided was a 'separation agreement,' Mr. Sterling," my lawyer explained calmly. "This is a legally binding 'irrevocable dissolution of marriage.'"

Barrett's head snapped up. His face, moments ago relieved, was now a mask of disbelief. He stared at me, his gray eyes blazing. "Calista, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching for the first time in years. "It's what you wanted. A divorce. I'm agreeing."

"That's not what I meant! I meant temporary!" he hissed, his voice a low growl as he fought to control his temper.

"But what I want," I said, each word a carefully placed stone, "is permanent."

He stared at me, searching my face for a tell. He thought this was a negotiation. He thought I was bluffing for more money.

"What do you want?" he said, taking a deep breath, his voice softening into the tone he used to placate sponsors. "More money? A different property? Name it. It's yours."

The condescension was so thick I could taste it. I almost laughed.

I shook my head. "I don't want anything."

I pointed to the papers in his hand. "Barrett, you wanted a 'clean slate' for Felicia, right? This gives you the cleanest slate possible. You'll be single. Unmarried. Free to be with her, openly and honestly. The media will praise your devotion."

My words were a soft, sharp poison, dismantling his entire, carefully constructed plan.

He was utterly stunned. He had never considered this possibility. In his world, I was a satellite, orbiting his sun. He never imagined I would choose to break orbit and fly into the void.

"Calista..." He started, but the words died on his lips.

I didn't give him a chance to recover. I stood up. "The terms are simple. I'm sure Mr. Sterling will have no objections. I have another appointment."

I turned and walked out of the conference room. I did not look back.

As the door closed behind me, I heard his voice, tight with a rage he could no longer contain, questioning his lawyer.

Stepping out of the building and into the sunlight, I took a deep, clean breath. For the first time in three years, I felt like I was breathing my own air. I had made a choice for me. The shock and chaos I left behind in that room were his to deal with.