Dominic's POV
Something inside me dies when I see the look on Mira's face.
Not anger. Not tears. Nothing at all. Not full. Like I'm someone she has never met before.
"Mira, wait—" I grab my pants and pull them on. My hands shake. What's making my hands shake? "This isn't what you think—"
"Really?" Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it. "Because I think my husband is in bed with my stepsister. Am I wrong?"
I open my mouth. Close it. What can I possibly say?
Elise stretches behind me like a cat, totally unbothered. She's loving this. That realization hits me like ice water. She WANTED Mira to find us.
"How long?" Mira asks.
Two words. That's all. But they're loaded with every lie I've told for six months. Every late night at the office that wasn't really work. Every time I came home and barely looked at her.
"Mira, let me—"
"HOW LONG?"
I've never heard her yell before. In five years of marriage, Mira never raised her voice. She was always quiet. Always agreeable. Always... there, in the background of my life, like furniture I stopped noticing.
"Six months," Elise answers for me, stepping into her dress. "Since I started working at Kane Enterprises. Honestly, Mira, did you really think you were enough for him?"
Mira flinches. Actually flinches, like Elise hit her.
And I hate myself.
"Get out," Mira says. Not to me. To both of us. "Get out of my bedroom."
"Actually," Mother's voice cuts through the room like a knife, "this is still the Kane family bedroom."
I spin around. Mother stands in the hallway, perfectly put together as always. And she's holding papers.
No. No, no, no.
"Mother, what are you doing here?" My voice comes out wrong. Guilty.
She ignores me, walking past Mira like she's invisible. "I'm fixing your mistake, Dominic. As usual." She holds up the papers. "Custody petition for Lily. Everything's in order."
The blood drains from Mira's face.
"You had no right—" I start, but Mother cuts me off.
"I have EVERY right. This girl has been a burden on this family since you married her. Now she'll drag us through a messy split, embarrass the Kane name, and fight for money she doesn't deserve." Mother's eyes are cold. "Unless she signs these papers and leaves quietly."
"I won't sign anything." Mira's voice shakes, but she stands straighter. "Lily is my daughter."
"Lily is a KANE," Mother snaps. "And you are completely unfit. We have proof. Doctor's reports about your headaches and stress. Teacher comments about missing parent conferences—"
"I never missed a conference!" Mira's hands clench into fists.
"—and worries about your mental stability. The court will agree that Lily belongs with her father and grandma."
I watch Mira's face crumble. This strong woman who just stood tall against my mother, who demanded I get out of her bedroom—she breaks right in front of me.
And I say nothing.
I should defend her. I should tell Mother this is crazy. I should grab those papers and rip them up.
But I don't.
Because part of me—the worst, weakest part—thinks maybe Mother's right. Maybe Lily would be better off without the stress of a divorce. Maybe it would be easier if Mira just... left.
God, I'm a wimp.
"I want to read the papers first," Mira says quietly.
Mother's smile is evil. "You'll sign them NOW—"
"I'll read every word. Then I'll decide what to do."
Something changes in Mira's voice. Something that makes even Mother stop. It's not loud. It's not angry. It's just... certain. Like she knows something we don't.
Mira takes the papers from Mother's hand and walks past all of us toward the stairs. Her back is straight. Her head is high.
She doesn't look broken anymore.
She looks scary.
"Oh, Mira?" Elise calls out, laughing. "You dropped your cupcakes."
Mira doesn't turn around. She just keeps walking down the stairs, clutching those custody papers.
The front door closes a moment later. Not slammed. Just... closed. Final.
Mother turns to me, pleased. "Good. She'll sign them and leave. Problem solved."
But I'm looking at the spot where Mira stood, and something feels terribly wrong.
"She didn't cry," I say quietly.
"What?" Mother frowns.
"She didn't cry. Not once." I run my hand through my hair. " Mira cries at sad ads. She cried when Lily's goldfish died. But she just found me in bed with her stepsister, and she didn't shed a single tear."
Elise rolls her eyes. "So? Maybe she's in shock."
"Or maybe," a voice says from the hallway, "she's done being your victim."
We all turn. A woman I don't recognize stands there—tall, sharp-eyed, wearing an expensive suit. She looks at me like I'm dirt on her shoe.
"Who are you?" Mother wants.
"Sophia Park. Mira's attorney." The woman smiles, but it's not nice. "I've been her lawyer for about thirty minutes now. She called me from the car before she came inside. Apparently, she had a feeling she might need legal protection today. "
My heart stops. "She knew?"
"She suspected. Your secretary isn't as covert as you think." Sophia pulls out her phone. "Mira's been documenting everything. Late night phone calls. Credit card charges at hotels. And thanks to your mother's helpful custody petition, we now have proof of conspiracy to commit parental kidnapping."
Mother goes pale. "That's absurd—"
"Is it? You made false claims about her mental state. You planned with Dominic's affair to make her seem unstable. A judge might find that very interesting." Sophia's smile grows. "Especially when Mira's father's company—Chen Tech—just signed a major deal with the judge overseeing family court cases. Small world, isn't it?" I can't breathe. " Where is she?"
"Gone. And you won't find her." Sophia tucks her phone away. "Mira asked me to give you a message, Mr. Kane. She says thank you."
"Thank you for what?"
"For showing her exactly who you are. She spent five years trying to be good enough for you. Now she sees the problem was never her." Sophia heads for the door, then stops. "Oh, and one more thing. She's not signing your forms. If you want a divorce, YOU'LL be the one filing. And she'll fight you for everything—especially Lily. See you in court."
The door closes behind her.
Silence fills the room. Heavy and oppressive.
Mother sinks into a chair. "This can't be happening."
But it is. And it's my fault.
I grab my phone, calling Mira's number. It goes straight to voicemail. I try again. And again. Nothing.
"Dominic," Elise says uncomfortably, "she's bluffing. She has nothing—"
"She has everything," I say quietly. "She's been married to me for five years. She knows all my secrets. My work deals. My passwords." A horrible thought hits me. "Oh God."
"What?" Mother stands up.
"Mira has computer science degree. I never let her use it. I told her to focus on being a wife and mother." I'm pacing now, fear rising in my chest. "But what if she's been using it? What if she's been in our systems this whole time?"
Mother's face goes white. "The company files—"
"Everything. Bank accounts. Private emails. Client lists." I pull at my hair. "If she wanted to destroy Kane Enterprises, she could do it with a few keystrokes."
"Then FIND her!" Mother screams. "Hire detectives! Offer her money! Whatever it takes!"
But I'm not thinking about the company anymore.
I'm thinking about Mira's face when she asked how long. I'm thinking about five years of barely looking at my wife. I'm thinking about a woman who made herself unnoticeable because I told her that's what I wanted.
And I'm thinking about what she might become now that I can't see her at all.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. I answer it quickly.
"Mira?"
"No," an artificial voice says. Disguised. Digitally changed. "But she wanted you to know something."
My blood runs cold. "Know what?"
"She's not the woman you married anymore. That woman died today in your bedroom. What's left is someone you'll never recognize." The voice stops. "And she's coming for everything you love. Starting with your company."
The line goes dead.
I try calling back. The number's disconnected.
Behind me, Elise is crying now—real tears, not crocodile ones. Mother is making phone calls, barking orders at lawyers.
But I'm standing in my bedroom, looking at crushed cupcakes on the floor.
Red velvet. Lily's best.
Mira bought them for our daughter even though her head hurt. Even though she was unhappy. Because that's who she is—who she WAS.
And I destroyed her.
The worst part? I don't even know if I loved her. I'm not sure I ever really looked at her long enough to find out.
But I'm looking now.
And she's gone.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it's an email. No sender name. Just five words in the subject line: "You should have chosen better."
I open it. Inside is a single image—a chess board. All the white pieces are knocked over.
Only one black queen left standing.