The question was asked twice.
"Mr. Calderic, do you accept this woman as your legal wife?"
The room held its breath for the first time.
The silence was even louder the second time.
I stood where they told me to, two steps from the witness table and a little off-center, so the cameras could see my profile without making me look important. The room for the ethics hearing was meant to scare people. Walls made of glass. White lights. There were many stockholders, legal observers, and media people in the rows of seats, but they all pretended they weren't waiting for blood.
Ruvan Calderic changed his cufflinks across the room.
He didn't look at me.
"No," he said.
One word. Under control. Exactly.
The reaction was fast and out of control. The chairs moved. Whispers spread out. Someone behind me took a sharp breath, as if they had expected a different answer and didn't know how to show their anger.
"No?" The chairperson said it again, this time with raised eyebrows. "Just to be clear, Mr. Calderic, are you saying that you are not married to Ms. Ilyra Noem?"
"Yes."
Finally, he looked up, his eyes steady and his face calm. Not cold. Not mean.
Of course.
After he said no, my name came up as an afterthought.
Ilyra Noem.
Ilyra Noem is not my wife.
not the woman I said "I do" to.
A name for a problem.
There was a faint electronic sound coming from my right. My access badge, which was still neatly attached to my blazer, blinked red once and then went dark.
Canceled.
The timing was planned. The machine worked faster than I could.
One of the panelists picked up a piece of paper. "Then maybe you can explain this."
There was a glass wall behind them that showed the paper. Our signatures were blown up to giant sizes. A seal from a notary. Three years ago.
My stomach tightened, but not because I was surprised.
Ruvan didn't flinch.
He calmly explained, "That document was part of a preliminary legal framework that was made during the negotiation phase." Before it was signed, it was not valid.
The chair frowned. "Are you saying that the marriage contract was never real?"
Ruvan said, "What I'm saying is that Ms. Noem didn't understand what it was for."
Got it.
The word landed exactly right.
I didn't get anything wrong. I had learned each clause by heart. I signed knowing that I was giving up my identity, privacy, and visibility in exchange for stability. This was done for validity, even if it remained hidden.
For him.
A movement behind Ruvan drew everyone's attention. Elowen Virelle stood up from her seat with ease, her face calm, sad, and almost kind.
She said, "My family's lawyer looked into this issue months ago." "There was no wedding." There was only an internal arrangement that extended beyond professional boundaries.
Professional boundaries.
She looked at me for a second, but it was more dismissive than angry or joyful. It was as if she were discussing a minor error that occurred in the office.
She said, "I'm sorry this misunderstanding has gotten worse." "But it would not be right to call Ms. Noem anything other than an employee."
The word "employee" came into the room and changed it.
People's eyes turned to me, no longer curious but critical. Figuring out.
An eager helper.
Opportunist.
Mistake fixed.
The chair slowly nodded. "Ms. Noem, do you have a lawyer with you?"
Yes, I did.
I didn't answer.
After living with Ruvan Calderic for three years, I learned that silence lasted longer than fighting back. People used words against you. People were confused by restraint.
The chair took my quiet as a capitulation. "You are free to go. Counsel can give you any other information you need.
Not accepted.
The word was louder than his denial.
I picked up my bag. I put the leather strap over my shoulder, and it creaked softly. I didn't look at Ruvan. I didn't look at Elowen.
As fluorescent lights and cameras recorded my marriage falling apart, I walked away.
There was a lot going on in the hallway outside the room. Reporters rushed forward, holding up microphones and talking over each other.
"Ms. Noem, did you make up the marriage?"
"Did they pay you to keep quiet?"
"Did you get him to sleep with you?"
I kept walking.
Each step I took was a rebellious act that no one could see. My heels hit the marble floor in a steady pattern. With a quiet thud, the doors slammed shut behind me, locking away the part of me that thought being discreet could protect love.
The city went on outside. Cars moved. Everyone laughed. I was the only thing that had changed.
My phone vibrated.
One message.
Legal Counsel: Please go home. We are getting the paperwork ready.
I understood what it meant.
The envelope was already there when I got to my flat. A pen was placed next to it, and it was carefully set on the kitchen counter.
Even now, efficiency is the most important thing.
I didn't open it right away. I put my bag down. I took off my shoes. I cleaned my hands.
I sat down only then.
The divorce agreement was very formal. Kind. Quiet.
I received a payment that was sufficient to cover my absence. An agreement to keep things private that is strong enough to erase the past. The agreement stated that I could never disclose in speech or writing that there was a married relationship.
For all time.
My phone rang.
The lawyer said, "You should sign tonight." "More and more people are interested in the media." This process will take care of things.
Contain.
"And what if I don't?" I asked.
A break. "It gets... complicated."
I hung up the phone and stood up. Suddenly, I felt sick. Pointy. Deep. No.
The light in the bathroom was too bright. I held on to the sink as the room tilted, and my breathing was shallow and uneven.
It wasn't stress.
I knew this before the test proved it.
Yes.
The word looked at me with a harsh silence.
I put my hand over my lips, not because I was shocked, but because I was thinking. The change in me happened right away and couldn't be undone.
Someone knocked on the door.
Elowen didn't wait for permission.
She walked in like she was going to win. For a moment, she looked at the test on the counter.
She said, "You should be thankful." "He's being nice."
I didn't answer.
"You won't talk about this," she said in a calm voice. "If you do, the clause will kick in." And the laws about custody are not always clear.
Custody.
She smiled softly and with confidence. "Ms. Noem, think carefully." "You're by yourself now."
I signed after she left.
The pen kept going. It was easy to read my name. End.
I closed the envelope.
I went into that hearing as a wife who wasn't recognized.
I left as a woman who knew something much more dangerous.
If he could kill me while swearing, there was nothing he wouldn't do to stay safe.
And if I stay in sight—
I'd lose it all.
I'd be gone by morning.