He cut me off. A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes—maybe something else too, but I couldn't read it.

"Naomi, don't kid yourself with fantasies. You know better than I do why this marriage exists."

Yes. I knew.

Because of Old Mr. Gilbert's orders. Because of the Swanson family's financial ruin. The one reason it didn't exist was because Elijah Gilbert wanted to marry me.

The wedding was lavish. The whole city watched.

I held Elijah's arm, walked down the aisle, accepted congratulations, and smiled a smile so stiff it ached.

During the toasts, he leaned close. His warm breath grazed my ear.

"Make it convincing. Don't embarrass the Gilbert name."

That night, he slept in the guest room.

Every night after that was the same.

At first, I still tried. I clumsily taught myself to make soup, cooked meals tailored to his taste, and waited up past midnight.

He rarely came home to eat. On the rare occasions he did, he'd glance at the table of cold dishes and frown.

"Stop doing this. We have staff for a reason."

Then Cara Fox's name started coming up. Again and again.

She was Elijah's college sweetheart, the one seared into his heart like a scar that never faded. Her family had lost everything years ago, forcing them apart, and she'd gone overseas.

Now she was back.

Elijah got busier. Came home later. Sometimes carried the faint trace of an unfamiliar perfume.

I noticed. But I didn't dare ask.

All I did was leave the small wall sconce in the living room on every night he came home late.

On my birthday, I spent a long time working up the nerve. I sent him a message asking if he could have dinner with me that evening. For once, his reply came fast: "Sure."

I started preparing that afternoon, cooking dishes I thought he might like.

By nine, the food had gone cold. I reheated it. It went cold again.

At eleven, he called. The background was noisy. "Cara's stomach is acting up. I'm at the hospital. Just eat without me."

I sat down slowly, phone still in my hand, staring at the carefully plated dishes on the table. I picked up my chopsticks and ate every last bite.

I ate until my stomach turned.

The next day, he came home. He saw the spotless dining table and asked offhandedly, "How'd you spend your birthday?"

"Went out with friends." I kept my eyes down, adjusting the lilies in the vase. "Had a great time."

He gave a short "Mm," asked nothing more, and headed upstairs.

Right. He didn't even remember that I had no close friends to speak of.

The company's annual gala. As Mrs. Gilbert, my attendance was mandatory.

I wore a modest gown and sat beside him. He worked the room. I held my smile.

Then Cara arrived. She walked toward Elijah in a red dress, there as a representative of a partner firm.

"Elijah, aren't you going to introduce us?"

She was all smiles, her gaze settling on me with open appraisal.

Elijah paused for a beat. His tone was flat. "Naomi Swanson. My wife."

"So you're Mrs. Gilbert. I've heard so much about you."

Cara extended her hand. I reached out and shook it lightly. My fingertips were ice.

That night, Elijah danced the first dance with Cara.

I sat in the corner and watched the two of them glide across the floor, perfectly matched. Around me, glances drifted my way—some pitying, some amused, all accompanied by whispers just low enough to deny.

I watched in silence until the music ended, then stood and walked to the restroom.

The face in the mirror was pale. I took out my compact and touched up my makeup, carefully, precisely.

Late one night, my mother called. I was sorting documents Elijah needed for a business trip the next morning.

My hand jerked. Papers scattered across the floor.

I dialed his number with trembling fingers. The first call went unanswered.

The second was rejected.

He picked up on the third try. His voice was low, clipped with impatience. "I'm in a meeting. An important one. What is it?"

"My dad... my dad, he—"

My throat locked. Tears spilled before I could stop them, and the words fell apart in my mouth.

"Naomi, I don't have time to deal with your emotions right now. Call my assistant."

The line went dead.

I stood there listening to the dial tone, then sank to the floor, staring at the documents scattered around me. My whole body was cold.

In the end, it was his assistant who drove me to the hospital.

What I found was my father's body already covered by a white sheet, and my mother sobbing so hard she was on the verge of passing out.

Elijah didn't show up until the following evening.

He strode into the room, glanced at my mother, then turned to me with a slight frown. "Why didn't you tell me it was this serious?"

I lifted my head and looked at him. I hadn't slept all night. My eyes were so dry they had nothing left to give.

"I called you."

My voice was raw.

He faltered. Something flickered across his face—a flash of discomfort—but composure smoothed it over almost instantly. "That meeting was critical. A multibillion-dollar acquisition. I'm sorry for your loss. I'll have someone take care of the arrangements."

He'll have someone take care of it.

Like my father's death was a problem to be managed.

At the funeral, he took a phone call. He stayed less than thirty minutes before he left.

I knew who had called. I saw the name on his screen.

Cara Fox.

After the funeral, I went back to the place Elijah and I shared. Calling it a home was generous. It was just the apartment closest to his office among the many properties under his name.

Spacious. Luxurious. Cold.

I sat alone in the empty living room, and a memory surfaced from years ago—me, tucked into a corner of the school library, secretly writing on the flyleaf of a magazine.

The man on the cover had been Elijah Gilbert, just beginning to make a name for himself.

Elijah Gilbert—may your life be brilliant. May you have mountains to lean on and trees to shelter under. And if it's not too much to ask, may we share a small home together, through every meal and every season.

That magazine was long gone. I had no idea where it ended up. Just like the pitiful hopes of my seventeen-year-old self—ground to dust by reality a long time ago.

From that day on, the ache in my chest didn't hurt quite as much.

I still left the light on for him. Still set out whatever he might need. Still smiled on cue at every event that required Mrs. Gilbert's attendance.

But somewhere inside me, something had gone completely quiet.

He began to sense a difference.

He probably couldn't have pinpointed what it was.

Except one night he came home late and found me on the living room sofa, reading. I didn't get up the way I always had, didn't ask if he wanted a late-night snack.

He took off his coat, studied me for a few seconds, and said, "Naomi, what's going on with you lately?"

I looked up, my gaze level and still. "What do you mean?"

His frown deepened. Something like irritation passed through his expression. "Nothing."

He turned and went upstairs. His footsteps were heavier than usual.

A month later, Cara was in a car accident. Nothing serious, but she needed to stay in the hospital for observation.

Elijah rushed to her side immediately, then called me and told me to bring a change of clothes and toiletries to the hospital.

"I don't know what Miss Fox prefers. Have your assistant pick something up. Or come back and get it yourself."

I stood on the balcony with the phone pressed to my ear, watching the sky darken before the rain.

Silence on the other end. Then his voice dropped, cold and hard. "Naomi, you can't even be bothered to do this one small thing?"

"It's not that I can't be bothered."

My voice was very quiet.

"You're right, it isn't appropriate. Elijah, I'm your wife, not your personal assistant, and I'm certainly not a go-between for you and Miss Fox."

"You—"

He seemed to choke on my words. When he recovered, his voice dropped into a warning.

"Don't forget who you are. And don't forget why we got married in the first place."

"I haven't forgotten."

I hung up.

It was the first time I had ever hung up on him.

In the end, I still had the family driver deliver the things to the hospital.

But Elijah didn't come home for three days straight.

On the fourth day, he walked through the door. Cara must have been discharged.

He tossed a folder onto the coffee table—a development proposal for some resort.

"Look it over. Next weekend, you're coming with me for a site visit."

Not a request. An order.

I picked up the folder and flipped through it. The scenery was stunning, the investment potential high.

More importantly, the small town where the resort sat was my mother's hometown—the place I'd loved spending every school break as a child.

I looked up at him.

He sat on the opposite sofa, a faint tension in his eyes that most people would have missed.

Was this supposed to be an olive branch? Or just another whim—like tossing a treat to a pet that needed soothing every now and then?

"I have a doctor's appointment next weekend. A full physical."

I set the folder back on the coffee table.

"Cancel it."

"It was scheduled well in advance. I can't reschedule."

"Naomi!"

His voice shot up, threaded with barely restrained anger.

"Do you have to talk to me like this?"

"How should I talk to you?"

I met his eyes. For the first time, I held them—steady, unflinching.

"Elijah, what exactly do you want from me? To go back to pretending nothing happened? To keep being your puppet, available whenever you snap your fingers and invisible the rest of the time?"

He surged to his feet, his chest rising and falling.

"What do you want?"

What did I want?

I looked at his face—still devastatingly handsome, even twisted with anger.

That face had been untouchable through my entire youth.

Then it became my lawful husband's. And the source of every ounce of pain I'd ever known.

"I don't want anything."

I rose slowly, tilting my chin to meet his gaze. My spine stayed perfectly straight.

"Elijah, the three-year agreement expired a long time ago."

His pupils contracted.

"When we signed it, you said that after three years, we'd be even."

I drew a long, measured breath.

"It's been five years. The Swanson family's debt to the Gilberts is all but repaid. My father's company has been absorbed into Gilbert Group—it doesn't carry the Swanson name anymore, but at least it survived. And my mother's future is secure."

"So."

My voice was quiet, but every syllable was clear.

"Let's get a divorce."