Adrian stared at me as though I had just committed an unforgivable crime.
"A divorce?" he repeated slowly, his voice low and sharp. "You think you can just walk away from me?"
I held the folded contract tightly in my hands, even though my palms were damp with sweat. "The contract allows it. Three years are over."
His eyes flicked briefly to the document, then back to my face. Something dark crossed his expression.
"You knew exactly when to bring this up," he said coldly.
"Yes," I replied. "Because today is the first day I'm finally choosing myself."
For a moment, the room was silent. The chandelier above us glowed softly, mocking the tension that filled the space between us. This mansion—his mansion—had always been too quiet, too empty, too cold. Just like our marriage.
Adrian took a step closer.
"You're forgetting something," he said. "Your life didn't exist before this marriage. Everything you have—this house, your status, your comfort—came from me."
"I know," I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "And I paid for it with my dignity."
His jaw clenched. "You were never mistreated."
I let out a bitter laugh before I could stop myself. "Ignoring someone for three years is mistreatment, Adrian. Loving another woman while married to me is mistreatment."
The air shifted.
His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"The hotel," I said quietly. "Room 809."
For the first time since I met him, Adrian looked stunned.
His lips parted slightly, then pressed together. "You followed me?"
"I didn't have to," I replied. "I heard enough."
His silence was confirmation.
I felt my heart crack open again, but this time, I refused to bleed for him.
"So yes," I continued, lifting my chin. "I want a divorce."
Adrian's expression hardened. "That woman means nothing."
"She means everything," I snapped. "You said you loved her."
The word hung between us, heavy and undeniable.
He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "This is not how it works, Lena. You don't get emotional and destroy my image."
"I'm not your image," I said. "I'm your wife. Or at least, I was supposed to be."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You knew what this marriage was."
"I knew it was a contract," I replied. "I didn't know I would be invisible."
Something flickered in his eyes then—regret, maybe. Or irritation. It was hard to tell.
"You're not leaving," he said suddenly.
I frowned. "You can't stop me."
"I can," he replied calmly. "And I will."
My heart skipped. "On what grounds?"
"On every ground," he said. "The press. Your family. Your future. You think they'll believe you married me for love? They'll paint you as a gold digger who couldn't keep her billionaire husband."
I stiffened. "You wouldn't."
"I would," he said without hesitation.
The words hurt more than I expected.
"I gave you three years of my life," I whispered. "Is that not enough?"
He looked at me then, really looked at me. And for a split second, his confidence wavered.
"You're still my wife," he said quietly. "And until I decide otherwise, you stay."
Anger surged through me. "You don't get to decide everything anymore."
Adrian stepped closer again, his presence overwhelming. "I get to decide this."
I backed away instinctively, my pulse racing.
"I won't share a house with a man who loves another woman," I said. "I'm moving out."
His eyes darkened dangerously.
"No," he said.
"Yes."
Before I could take another step, he spoke again.
"You're staying in this house," he said. "And starting tonight, I'll be sleeping in the master bedroom."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Because I won't have my wife filing for divorce while living like a stranger," he replied. "And because I don't lose what belongs to me."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"This marriage isn't over," Adrian said firmly. "Not yet."
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
Leaving Adrian Blackwood was going to be far more difficult than marrying him.