Pablo and Sloane were waiting for a scene. It never came.

I just stood there, my expression unreadable.

For three years, they'd all assumed I was wrapped around Pablo's little finger—the dutiful wife, content to support him from the shadows.

And it was true, at first. I did love him. I poured every ounce of my passion into my work, and into him. But now? Nothing. The only reason I stayed was my passion for the craft itself.

My parents had nurtured my creative talents since I was a child. Those who saw my work called me a natural artist.

They hoped I would protect my own creative spark and use it to build a better life for the people I loved.

So when I learned I was to be Pablo's partner, I was overjoyed. I gave him everything—my love, my creativity, my time.

I worked tirelessly, diving into the complex worlds of finance and operations that were foreign to me. There were countless times I wanted to quit. But the thought that my work could bring the company success always spurred me on.

And, just as I’d hoped, I watched the company stabilize and flourish.

But as the company grew stronger, Pablo grew more distant. I told myself he was just busy. That is, until I saw a photo of him and Sloane on vacation in Italy, splashed across a gossip magazine.

I knew our marriage was a contract, but the betrayal was a physical ache in my chest.

That night, I tormented myself, asking why it wasn't me by his side. I was his wife. Why couldn't he just love me?

Back then, I fought back. I threw tantrums and caused scenes.

I couldn’t understand why all my efforts earned me nothing, not even a glance. But now I understood. Love couldn't be earned, only given.

...

My placid reaction was not what Pablo expected. The old Cora would have exploded.

He stared at me, dumbfounded, and took a step closer. "What did you just say?"

I met his gaze evenly. "I said, it's my fault. My fault for thinking that if I just worked hard enough, you'd choose to stay. My fault for believing that if I gave you my all, one day you would finally see me."

His brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I opened my mouth to tell him about the contract, but I stopped myself.

He'd never cared. What was the point? In three days, our legal ties would simply cease to exist.

Sloane watched from the side, the feigned concern on her face melting away, replaced by a flicker of pure triumph.

Seeing the smug smile she couldn't quite suppress, I half-expected her to burst out laughing.

Pablo frowned, his annoyance clear. "What's the big deal about making Sloane the muse? Do you have to be so dramatic?"

I offered him a thin smile. "I'm not angry."

"Is this some new trick to get my attention?" he sneered. "Fine. You can spend the night in the guest room. Maybe it will help you remember your place."

It was his standard punishment.

I didn't argue. I just turned and walked away. I spent the night in the cold, sterile guest room, the distant sound of his and Sloane's laughter drifting from the master bedroom.

At dawn, I received an unexpected call from my father.

"The Global Pioneer Design Competition is today," he said, his voice urgent. "What are you still doing there? You worked too hard to get selected just to miss it."

The design competition.

Right. I’d almost forgotten. A month ago, I had poured everything into my application, hoping that a strong showing might finally earn me a sliver of Pablo's respect.

I didn't need his validation anymore, but I wasn't about to let my hard work go to waste. I nodded, my resolve firm, and headed to the competition venue.