The next day, Mara came home and dropped three copies of a divorce agreement in front of me.

She'd already signed them.

I stared at the papers for a long time. When impatience crept onto her face, I picked up a pen and signed all three copies.

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, Mara sighed and, for once, offered an explanation. "We're not really getting divorced. I'm not abandoning you.

"I was going to visit Mom after the gathering last night, but Asher's depression flared up again.

"I only did all that to cheer him up. Once he's better, we'll get back together. And I hope you'll stop causing trouble for him. He got depressed because we got married. I can't just ignore him."

I looked at her.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

She'd probably spent the whole night with Asher again.

My gaze dropped to the divorce papers. Our names sat side by side, close enough to touch.

When I didn't respond, her patience ran out.

"Did you hear me?"

"Got it."

She clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

Pressing her lips together, she stood.

"Pack your things. Asher's still filming, and this place is close to the set. I'm letting him stay here for a while. You should move out first."

I nodded.

For some reason, my obedience only seemed to annoy her more.

"You'd better mean it. Don't act one way in front of me and another behind my back. Otherwise, I'll stop paying your mother's medical bills."

My breath caught.

The first time I learned about Asher was on a night Mara never came home.

I searched for her until dawn.

Eventually, I found her in an apartment near her company.

She and Asher were asleep in each other's arms.

His hand was under her shirt, wrapped around her waist.

Something inside me snapped.

I dragged him out of bed and punched him.

Mara didn't explain.

She didn't look guilty.

She just slapped me.

Then she told me to paint for Asher. He needed artwork for a competition the next month.

I refused.

So she broke my hand to make Asher feel better.

"Wilde, what's more important? A hand or a life? Do you even understand that Asher has depression?"

From then on, Asher became a permanent part of our lives.

Every holiday.

Every birthday.

Every anniversary.

Every Christmas.

He always had a reason to call her away.

Even on the anniversary of my father's death, one phone call from Asher was enough for Mara to leave without looking back.

I turned into the bitter husband who argued with her over everything.

But this time, I was done.

I finally understood.

Everything Mara and I had shared over the years meant less to her than the bond she had with her childhood friend.

Something flickered across her face as she looked at me.

Surprise.

Unease.

Then her phone rang.

Asher.

The unease disappeared instantly.

She headed for the door, then suddenly stopped.

"Where are you planning to go?"

I lowered my eyes for a moment.

"I'll probably leave Radenska. Stay far away from both of you."

Something seemed to click for her.

"So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you."

Then she rushed out the door.

I slipped off my wedding ring and looked at the jagged scar on my wrist.

Then I watched Mara leave and set the ring on the coffee table.

"No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."

My voice stayed steady.

Only my eyes burned.

This goodbye was a one-man show.

Mara never heard it.

And even if she had, I doubted she'd care.

Everyone who knew us knew one thing—

I loved her.

More than anything.

I would've given my life for her.

My phone buzzed.

[Are you really coming to Francia?]

I looked down at my crooked fingers before replying.

Bitterness settled in my chest.

I typed: [I've made up my mind. Once I finish things here, I'm leaving for Francia.]

On my way to file the divorce papers, I passed a giant digital billboard.

A wedding ad.

Asher stood in a tailored suit.

Mara stood beside him in a white gown, smiling up at him.

Six years ago, Mara and I got married at the County Clerk's Office.

She said she didn't want people claiming her success came from her husband's family. When she'd made a name for herself as a scientist, she'd announce our marriage.

I respected that.

So did my family.

Later, when my family's business collapsed and we lost everything, I handed her divorce papers.

Mara tore them up and wrapped her arms around me.

Back then, I thought we'd never break apart.

No matter what happened.

Then Asher showed up.

I tried everything to win her back.

Nothing worked.

After enough disappointment, I remembered something my father used to say.

"Wilde. I named you Wilde because I want you to be free. Untamed. Unbound."

The memory blended into the present.

I looked up at the billboard and watched their sweet little moment.

Relief washed over me.

When I got home to pack and leave, I ran into Mara and Asher.

Mara frowned the second she saw me. "Why are you still here?"

I didn't answer.

As we passed each other, Asher stuck out his foot. I tripped and hit the floor.

Mara just watched, expression cold.

I didn't want to stay another second. I grabbed my luggage and headed for the door.

Then Mara called after me.

"What's that painting you're holding?"

I froze.

She took it from my hands.

The painting showed a family of three from behind, standing in the glow of a sunset. Their shadows stretched across the ground.

After a few seconds, she said, "Give it to Asher for the competition."

"No."

She clearly hadn't expected that.

Surprise flashed across her face, then irritation.

"What do you need it for? Asher's competing for a painter role. This contest is important to him."

I shook my head.

My dad painted that before he died.

The three figures were our family.

It meant everything to me.

No matter how hard things got, I'd never even considered selling it.

"Wilde, can you be reasonable?"

I gritted my teeth.

"Why should I? Your relationship with Asher is all over the internet. Why am I the one who has to be mature? If you insist on taking that painting, I'll tell everyone how fake your so-called love story is. Asher's just the other guy in someone else's marriage."

The second the words left my mouth—

Mara let out an angry laugh.

"Are you threatening me?"

Mara ignored me completely.

She probably thought I'd do what I always did—lower my head, make peace, and hand over the painting while begging her to take it.

Instead, I moved my things out and checked into a hotel.

I booked two tickets to Francia.

As soon as the divorce was finalized, I'd take my mom and leave.

Then the hospital called.

The second I got there, my fantasy fell apart.

My mom was curled up in a corner wearing a thin hospital gown, shivering. Two tall bodyguards stood nearby, watching her without a trace of sympathy.

I rushed over, took off my coat, draped it over her shoulders, and helped her up.

When she saw me, tears flashed in her eyes. Still, she forced a smile.

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

Her lips were pale and bloodless.

Rage surged through me.

I turned to the bodyguards.

"Who told you to treat my mother like this? Was it—"

The name caught in my throat when I saw how weak she looked.

One of them spoke flatly.

"Since you're here, take her away. If you can't afford treatment, don't come to the hospital. She can wait to die. That's HER order."

My heart dropped.

Grinding my teeth, I helped my mom downstairs and went to find her attending physician.

They told me he was away for training.

I asked for another bed, even if it was only for one day.

The staff exchanged awkward looks before shaking their heads.

"Mr. Weinberg, we're sorry. We're fully booked."

I knew it was a lie.

But there was nothing I could do.

I took my mom back to the hotel, then spent the rest of the day running from hospital to hospital across the city.

Every answer was the same.

No beds available.

I called Mara.

She picked up almost immediately.

"What is it?"

I nearly broke down. "Mara, you know my mom is sick. How can you do this? You'll kill her. She treated you like family. How can you be this cruel? Is this because of the painting? I'll give it to you. I'm begging you. Take it out on me. My mom didn't do anything."

Silence.

After a long pause, her cold voice came through.

"I told you. If you pull something and hurt Asher, I'll stop paying your mother's medical bills. You went online, spread nonsense, and got everyone calling him a side piece. He's very upset. Consider this a lesson."

I froze.

"...Wasn't this because I wouldn't give you the painting? I didn't—"

The call ended.

I immediately opened social media.

A bright red headline sat at the top of the trending list.

The post named Asher directly and accused him of being a side piece.

The video had been recorded from a distance. Most of the audio was unclear.

Except for one sentence.

My sentence.

"...Asher's just the other guy in someone else's marriage!"

I sank beside the flower bed outside the hotel.

The winter wind cut through me like a blade.

My hands and feet had gone numb.

But I didn't dare go inside.

I didn't dare face my mom.

She was suffering because of me.

I kept calling Mara.

She never answered.

Just when despair was about to swallow me whole, she finally picked up.

In the silence, I asked urgently, "What do you want me to do?"

A soft laugh came through the phone.

"Go crazy. Post our marriage certificate. Tell everyone we're husband and wife. Call Asher the side piece."

I went completely still.

"What?"