The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the glass walls of the penthouse, a glittering kingdom of neon and steel. From above, the world seemed quiet, almost peaceful—yet within these walls, the silence was a blade waiting to cut.
Sophia Mae stood stiffly by the window, her reflection faint against the night sky. The satin of her dress shimmered faintly in the dim glow of the room, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as though shielding herself from a storm that hadn't yet broken.
Aiden Nocturne, her husband, stood only a few steps away, leaning with casual arrogance against the marble counter. His presence filled the space—broad-shouldered, tall, impeccably dressed. He looked every part the man who owned the world and everyone in it. Yet for Sophia, he had become a ghost in her own life, drifting past her without warmth, without regard.
Earlier that evening, her heart had cracked.
She had seen him, seated in a restaurant lit by amber chandeliers, the sort of place where wine glasses sparkled and conversations were hushed like secrets. Aiden hadn't been alone. He sat across from a woman—elegant, beautiful, rich. Their laughter had carried across the polished floor, soft but sharp enough to pierce through Sophia's soul.
He had chosen to spend his time with her, while Sophia waited at home like an ornament gathering dust.
That image stayed burned in her mind, fueling the cold resolve now anchoring her. Tonight, she would end this. Tonight, she would free herself from the man who had chained her heart only to let it wither.
The clock ticked past midnight when Aiden finally arrived. The door clicked open, heavy footsteps echoing in the grand hall of their penthouse. He moved with the same calm authority as always, as if nothing in the world could touch him.
But Sophia was waiting.
She didn't sit in their bedroom as he expected, nor did she pretend to sleep. Instead, she stood in the living room, waiting for him to face her. When he stepped into the room, she did not flinch. Her voice cut through the silence like ice.
"You, let's have a divorce."
The words hung between them, heavy and irreversible.
Aiden paused mid-step, his gaze flickering toward her with cool indifference. Slowly, deliberately, he crossed his arms over his chest, his composure unshaken. "Why should I?"
That calm tone—that arrogant certainty—ignited the fury buried in Sophia's chest. He knew she depended on him. He knew the life she lived, the glittering penthouse, the luxury, the very roof above her, all carried his name. And he wielded that power like a weapon.
Her hands trembled, but her voice was sharp. "Well… Because I saw you with someone, earlier in a restaurant."
She straightened, her chin raised as she locked eyes with him, defiance burning where hurt had been.
His lips curved into something between a smirk and dismissal. "Just because I 'talked' to someone, we could have a divorce? Maybe it's someone like a coworker?" His tone was smooth, too smooth, as though this entire confrontation was beneath him.
Anger surged through her veins like fire. "I saw it clearly. She was a girl—and a rich one at that. You…" her voice cracked, but she steadied it with force, "you never even looked at me. And you dare look at another girl?"
Her voice rose, echoing off the penthouse walls. For once, she let her emotions spill free.
But Aiden's reply was not remorse. It was command. "Don't raise your voice at me." The words came not as a warning, but an order, sharp and uncompromising.
Sophia's heart pounded. Her throat tightened as she demanded, "You… am I like a trophy wife to you?"
His reply was colder than ice. "What about it?"
The world seemed to still. She stared at him, the tears gathering, blurring the sharp angles of his face. For a long moment, neither moved. Her breath came shallow, shaky.
Finally, she whispered, weary and broken. "Just sign the divorce papers… I don't want to argue anymore." Her gaze faltered, falling away from him as if the strength she had clung to was slipping through her fingers.
That was when he moved.
In a sudden, decisive motion, Aiden reached out and seized her chin, forcing her face back toward him. His grip was strong, almost bruising, and her gasp filled the air like a fragile note struck too hard.
Her eyes widened, caught in his, and for a moment her body betrayed her. She wanted to push him away, to fight his control, but her limbs felt frozen, her will crumbling beneath the weight of his dominance.
"Judging by your looks," he murmured, his voice low, almost mocking, "you miss my attention, don't you?"
His gaze bore into hers, stripping her defenses, and Sophia's breath faltered.
"I…" she gasped, struggling against the betrayal of her own body, "stop… I don't miss you."
But her voice trembled, and her heart whispered a different truth.