The divorce papers sat on the mahogany desk.
"You just need to sign here," Marcus said, sliding the pen toward me. His voice was gentle, almost apologetic, but his eyes kept drifting to his phone. Probably texting her. Vanessa. His first love, recently returned from Paris.
I picked up the pen, and I saw something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe? Had he expected me to cry? To beg?
Three years. Three years of being
the perfect wife to Marcus Chen, of attending his business dinners, of making our penthouse apartment a home he barely noticed. Three years of competing with a memory.
"Olivia," he started, and I heard the pity in his voice. That was somehow worse than everything else.
"It's fine, Marcus." I signed my name in steady strokes. Olivia Hart. Not Olivia Chen. I'd never legally taken his name, though he'd never noticed that either.
He blinked. "That's it?""What did you expect?" I slid the papers back across the desk. "We both know your heart was never in this marriage. Vanessa's back now. You can finally have what you really wanted."
"I'll make sure you're taken care of," he said quickly. "The settlement is generous. The apartment in Brooklyn, the car, and—"
"I don't want it."
"Olivia, be reasonable. You'll need—"
"I said I don't want it." I stood,
smoothing down my simple black dress. "Keep everything. Consider it a wedding gift for you and Vanessa."
For the first time in three years, I saw Marcus Chen truly look at me. Really look at me. His brow furrowed in confusion.
"What will you do?"
I picked up my purse, containing only my phone, wallet, and passport. Everything I actually needed.
"Live my life," I said simply. "Goodbye, Marcus."
the lobby of Chen Industries, and into the Manhattan afternoon. My phone buzzed immediately.
The car is waiting on Fifth Avenue, Miss Sinclair.
I smiled for the first time in months. Miss Sinclair. My real name. The name I'd buried for three years to play at being normal, to see if someone could love me for myself rather than my family's wealth.
Well. That experiment had conclusively failed.
The black Rolls-Royce was idling exactly where it should be. James,
I walked out of his office, through my family's head of
security, opened the door.
"Welcome back, Miss Sinclair," he said warmly.
"Thank you, James. It's good to be back." I slid into the leather interior. "Take me to the estate. I need to see my father."
As we pulled away from the curb, I took one last look at Chen Industries' gleaming tower. Marcus was up there somewhere, probably already on the phone with Vanessa, relieved that his obligation to me was finished.He had no idea what he'd just let go.
But he would.
They all would.