If calm had a face, it was his.
And if rage had a name, it was mine.
I stared across the glass desk at Xavier Bennett — my husband of two years, my father's "trusted right hand," and the bane of my existence.
Two years of this, of him, of his maddening, infuriating, flawless calm.
"Did you even hear what I just said?" I snapped, slamming the pen onto the desk so hard it left a dent in the wood.
He didn't flinch. Of course, he didn't. He never did. Xavier stood across from me, grey eyes fixed on me like I was just another quarterly report — intense, unreadable, and not worth reacting to.
"I heard you," he said quietly. "You want a divorce."
"Finally!" I threw my hands up. "You actually heard me this time!"
Xavier tilted his head slightly, that maddeningly subtle smirk tugging at his lips. "You've said it enough times. It's hard not to."
My glare could've burned holes through him. "Yes. This time. Considering it's the fifth time I've asked!"
The pen rolled off the desk and hit the floor. I didn't even bother picking it up.
He leaned back slightly, unbothered. "And for the fifth time, Samantha, I'm saying no." There it was. That calm, quiet, infuriating no.
I clenched my fists on the table, nails digging into my palm. "You can't just say no to a divorce, Xavier. That's not how this works! I'm tired of this—this arrangement!" I could feel my temper spiking, blood boiling in my veins.
"Maybe not for everyone." His voice dropped lower. "But for us, it does."
Us.
God, how I hated that word. There was no us. There never had been.
"I'm serious, Xavier," I said, rising from my chair, pacing like a caged cat. "This marriage — it's done. You've done your job, you've pleased my father, and I've endured enough. I want out."
Xavier stayed silent, he was all patient, detached, infuriatingly calm. That silence drove me insane.
"Say something!" I snapped, "You're my father's idea of stability," I said, pacing the room. "A glorified babysitter with a marriage certificate."
"Interesting," Xavier murmured.
"Oh, don't pretend to be hurt," I scoffed. "You never cared about this marriage anyway."
"Did you?"
That stopped me cold.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay sharp. "I want a divorce, Xavier. This time, I mean it."
He leaned forward, eyes darkening just slightly. "You've said that before."
"And I'll keep saying it until you sign those damn papers!"
His lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile. "You think I'll just let you walk away that easily?"
My heartbeat stuttered. "It's not up to you." I shoved the divorce papers toward him. "Sign them, and let's end this circus."
He stared at the papers, then at me. I crossed my arms, trying to look unaffected — but my pulse was a drumbeat under my skin.
Finally, he leaned casually against my desk, steel-gray eyes glinting with amusement, and with a deliberate calm that made my blood boil, he reached out… and tore the papers into pieces. Right down the middle. Just like that.
I froze. My brain registered the motion slower than it should have. Piece by piece, he shredded the document, his expression calm, almost lazy, as the fragments of my so-called freedom fluttered down like white ash onto the floor between us.
"W-What the—" My voice cracked somewhere between shock and fury. "You—You bastard!" I choked out.
Xavier looked at me, calm as a mountain stream. "No, I'm your husband." he said lightly, almost teasing.
Then, without another word, Xavier turned and walked out. Just like that. The click of his shoes on the marble floor was the final punctuation mark on my rage.
I lunged forward, smacking my desk with both fists. "You piece of—shit! XAVIER BENNETT!" I bellowed, my voice echoing in the office. "YOU—DON'T—JUST GET TO DO THAT!"
Daniel and other staffs peeked cautiously from the corner of the office, eyes wide, as if fearing the next eruption. I didn't care. He had just casually shredded my divorce papers.
I grabbed the nearest file and hurled it at the door. It hit the wall just beside his shoulder, papers spilling across the floor
For a moment, I sank into my chair, running a hand through my hair. Two years. Two damn years. And today, this man had the audacity to treat my carefully curated plan like a joke.
We had been married for two years — a flash wedding arranged by our families. I had barely known him for a week before we exchanged vows in an intimate, picture-perfect ceremony that had half the country swooning over our "fairy tale."
Fairy tale, my ass.
A week of whirlwind wedding and suddenly I was Samantha Kingsley Bennett married to Xavier Bennett, the perfect husband. Perfect. Too perfect. Too calm. Too… annoyingly unshakable.
That perfection had been the source of my fury from day one.
We weren't lovers. We weren't even friends. We were strangers playing house in a mansion big enough to ignore each other. We didn't share a room. We barely shared meals. At dinners, we sat far apart — two cold statues at a table meant for twelve.
And yet, somehow, Xavier was still everywhere. In my office, in board meetings, in every corner of my life, watching, managing, fixing — my father's silent insurance policy to make sure his fiery, reckless daughter didn't burn Kingsley Enterprises to the ground.
"Xavier will help you, Samantha," my father had said. "He'll watch over your work, your decisions. Trust me."
I nodded, thinking it was unnecessary. I didn't need him. I was Samantha Kingsley. I ran an empire. I was the CEO and Xavier Bennett was my invisible leash.
I hated him. I hated that I hated him.
I had asked him four times before for a divorce. FOUR TIMES. And each time, he looked me in the eye, that infuriatingly calm gaze, and said, "No." Not meanly, not aggressively. Just… firmly. "No."
And now… now, I had handed him the papers myself. My fifth attempt. My fifth chance to finally be free. And he had casually torn them apart like they were nothing.
I ran a hand down my face, muttering under my breath. "Piece of… shit… piece of… son of a—ugh!"
I leaned back in my chair, heels tapping again, staring at the shredded papers on the desk. My pulse raced, something burned inside me every time he refused me, every time he stood there so calm it made me want to throttle him.
And beneath all my fury, a tiny, unspoken part of me—my selfish, secret part—had wanted him to react. To grovel, to fight, to plead, to show some real emotion. Not just that teasing, calm, infuriating posture he had perfected over two years.