"Let’s get divorced."
Two thin sheets of paper, that was all it took to hand down a death sentence to a four-year marriage.
Elara Quincy’s pale fingers pressed against the man’s bold, sweeping signature on the agreement. When she looked up at Roland Caldwell, there was a glimmer of moisture in her eyes she couldn’t quite hide.
"Is there really no room to change this?"
Her voice came out rough and low. She had just finished doing the housework, and the sweat by her temples hadn’t even dried yet, sticking to the heavy black frames on her face, making her look clumsy, plain, almost dull.
Because he had said he would come back tonight.
Because he had said he wanted to talk to her.
She had gotten up early, full of hope, bought groceries herself, cooked dinner, cleaned the whole house until it looked brand-new. She hadn’t even had time to sit down and catch her breath for a single minute before this suffocating news landed in front of her.
"It was a deal from the start." Roland impatiently flicked ash from his cigarette. "Besides, Sophia’s coming back soon."
So that was it.
Sophia Sinclair.
Roland Caldwell’s one true obsession, the woman he had never let go of, the white moonlight in his heart.
Elara pressed the tip of her tongue lightly against her upper palate. That crushing sense of defeat hit her all over again, exactly like it had four years ago. She lowered her head, dazed for a second. The moment Sophia showed up, Roland would throw away anything for her—benefits, principles, all of it.
Back then, he had been forced into marrying Elara.
And for the past four years, he had kept himself untouched, almost absurdly loyal, all for Sophia’s sake.
When no answer came for a long while, Roland frowned and studied the woman sitting across from him with her eyes lowered, quiet and obedient.
There was nothing wrong with Elara’s looks, honestly. Her skin was white as polished jade, her nose delicate and refined, her lips soft like rose petals, even finished with that tiny bead at the center. And those eyes behind the black-framed glasses—every now and then, when the light hit just right, they flashed with startling brightness.
But she was too boring. So boring it bordered on numb.
The same gentle tone every day.
The same perfect wife act year after year.
Flat and bland, like plain boiled water you could see straight through at a glance.
She was fit to be Mrs. Caldwell.
Just not fit to be his woman.
Holding the cigarette between his fingers, Roland crushed it out in the ashtray and spoke in an offhand tone. "About your situation before..."
He paused, then glanced at Elara’s expression almost instinctively. She still had her head lowered. For some reason, that made him pick up on a trace of grievance from her, mixed with something almost like restrained pleading.
So he changed how he said it. His voice stayed cool, detached, with a faint note of boredom. "Considering your personal history, finding work later probably won’t be easy. On top of the notarized shared assets, I’ll give you three extra villas. That limited-edition Ferrari is yours too. And I’ll transfer fifty million in cash to your account under my personal name as compensation."
Back when Sophia Sinclair left the country, Roland Caldwell had chased after love like a man possessed, flying across the world for her. Old Mr. Caldwell was so furious he nearly kicked him out of the family for good. If Roland’s mother hadn’t stepped in with her usual hardball tactics, even threatening her own life to force him back, the eldest grandson of the Caldwell family would’ve ended up losing both the girl and his place in the family.
To get back into the core of the Caldwell power circle, Roland had no choice but to accept Old Mr. Caldwell’s arrangement, even if he hated every second of it, and marry Elara Quincy, the woman people said had just gotten out of prison back then.
He had never had feelings for her. Still, seeing as she had worked hard for four years, stayed in line, never caused the Caldwell family a single headache, and taken care of him well enough to make life comfortable, Roland didn’t mind throwing her a little extra money as compensation.
Kind of like keeping a horse for fun. If it pleased him, paying for it was only fair.
The man tapped the contract lightly with his long index finger. The ring on that finger, the one with its own special meaning, the one he had never taken off in four years, stabbed straight into Elara Quincy’s eyes like a needle.
“I can give you three days to think about it, but don’t drag this out. My patience isn’t unlimited…”
“No need.”
Elara grabbed the black pen beside her and signed her name in one clean, bold stroke.
“I know where I stand. I’ll move out today. I won’t get in your way.”