Chapter 8

I froze in place.

"You accepted the money," he said slowly, his calm somehow more dangerous than shouting. "But that slap hasn't been dealt with yet. Apologize to her."

My whole body went rigid. I spun back around, eyes stinging. "What did you just say?"

"I said apologize," he repeated, gaze icy. "Don't make me repeat it a third time."

"And if I refuse?" My voice trembled, but I asked anyway.

His face stayed unmoved. "Then maybe it's time to reconsider whether your family's arrangement with mine should keep going. You know exactly what that means."

My stomach dropped. So that was his angle now — using my own family against me. Everything they'd built, and he could crush it with a single sentence.

The room went dead quiet.

For a few seconds I couldn't hear anything at all.

Then, slowly, I dropped my head.

"...I'm sorry," I said, my voice scraped raw.

Charlotte pressed a hand to her cheek, watching me through tears. "Ms. Sterling... is that a real apology? Or is this just how your kind says sorry? It doesn't feel genuine at all..."

My hands balled into fists.

My nails bit into my palms.

Then I bent forward.

Low.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, voice cracking but audible. "I shouldn't have struck you. That was on me. Please forgive me."

Adrian said nothing.

Charlotte sniffled softly. "I still... don't feel like you mean it..."

"Mikayla," Adrian said, his tone gone even colder. "Don't even think about walking out until you apologize the right way."

My lips shook.

"I'm sorry," I said again, biting down hard to keep from breaking. "It won't happen again. I promise you that."

I straightened up slowly and met his eyes. "Is that sufficient now?"

For a moment he just looked at me.

Something passed briefly through his expression.

Like a memory surfacing.

Maybe something from before.

But it vanished just as quickly as it came.

"That'll do," he said coldly.

I gave one nod.

Then I turned and walked toward the door.

Didn't glance back once.

Behind me his voice picked up again — but it wasn't meant for me this time.

"Does it still sting?" he asked gently. "Come here, let me put something on it. Hold still."

Charlotte's voice drifted back, quiet and fragile. "It does... be careful, okay..."

I kept walking.

Tears slid down, but I brushed them away quickly.

Like they'd never fallen at all.

**

Over the next several days, he never came home. And I never once reached out to him.

The day everything became official, I went by myself. Signed the paperwork, took the finalized document, listened to the clerk confirm it was done. When they passed it over to me, I stared at it for a second, my fingers grazing the printed words.

Divorce.

That was that. No tears. No ache. Nothing at all.

It was still early when I left the office. I caught a cab back to the house, just to gather the last of my belongings. But the second I opened the door, I stopped cold.

He was there — standing in the living room like he owned the very air in it.

"Where the hell were you?" Adrian asked, voice low, eyes fixed on me the instant I stepped inside.

I opened my mouth. Should I tell him? Should I just say it right now?

Before I could get a word out, he exhaled shortly, like he'd already worked it out himself.

"You went out to pick something up, didn't you. For today."

I blinked. "Today...?"

His brow furrowed slightly. "Don't tell me you actually forgot. It's our anniversary."

My chest went tight.

Anniversary. Ha. Our actual anniversary had already passed a month back.

Five years earlier, same date — we'd stood before everyone, swapped rings, smiled like any of it carried real meaning.

That same night, he'd slid divorce papers into my hands. Told me not to take any of it too seriously.

Five years. And then it's finished.

And now — the very day I'd received my divorce certificate — turned out to be this day too.

Ironic.

"Yeah," I said quietly, tightening my grip on my bag. "I went out to get something ready."

I had, in fact.

A divorce certificate. That still counted, didn't it?

He nodded like it was nothing at all. "Good. At least you remembered this time."

This time.

Did he have any idea this was also the day it all ended?

My thoughts felt scattered, tangled together, but I kept them to myself.

"I'm flying out to Paris tomorrow," he went on, straightening his cuff like he was discussing a business trip. "Taking Charlotte along. She's been dying to go for a while now."

Of course she had.

"So I cleared my whole day today," he added, checking his watch. "Reserved a spot — rooftop, private, no interruptions from anybody. We'll actually celebrate properly this time."

Properly.

Now?

After all of this?

"I'll give you your gift later," he said, already reaching for his jacket. "Get yourself ready. We're heading out."

He started toward the door like the matter was already settled. Like of course I'd follow.

I didn't budge. Not a single step.

He paused when he noticed, turning back with his brows knitting together. "What's the holdup? Don't just stand there."

I looked at him.

This man.

The one I'd waited on, loved, endured for five entire years.

Should I tell him now?

Should I just say it — that it's over?

My lips parted. Nothing came out.

After a beat, I dropped my gaze. "I've... got something I need to finish up. Go ahead without me. I'll catch up later."

He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to read between the lines. Then gave a brief nod. "Fine. Don't take forever."

And with that, he left.

The door shut. His car started up outside.

I walked to the window and watched it pull away, slowly vanishing past the front gate.

For the first time in five years, he'd remembered our anniversary — just a month late.

And for the first time, it didn't matter to me at all.

I pulled the document out of my bag.

Brand new. Crisp. Final.

I set it down on the table.

Then I picked up my suitcase — everything I still had left.

I walked to the door, paused a moment, opened it, and stepped outside.

This time, I didn't look back.