SAM’S POV

I stared at the divorce papers in front of me, the black ink practically screaming off the page. Final Decree of Divorce. My heart pounded in my chest, but I didn’t let it show. Lily stood by my desk, shifting her weight nervously as if she didn’t want to be the one delivering the news.

“Mr. Bennett,” she said gently. “Your wife... um, Ms. Bennett, had these sent over this morning.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a nod. “Thanks, Lily.”

She hovered by the door, uncertain, like she wanted to say more.

“If there’s anything I can—”

“There’s nothing,” I cut her off, harsher than I intended. Lily flinched, and I immediately regretted it.

She gave me a tight smile. “Understood. Just let me know if you need anything.”

I nodded again, already tuning her out. Once she left the room, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long, shaky breath. The papers were still there—staring back at me, cold and final. This is what she wanted, I reminded myself. She had made up her mind, and I… I just let her.

I picked up the pen, gripping it so hard my knuckles turned white, and signed the papers without hesitation. Maybe if I did it quickly, the pain would follow just as fast. But it didn’t. All I felt was emptiness.

I left the office and went home and parked the car in front of my building and sat there, gripping the steering wheel. My chest felt tight, and it was getting harder to breathe. I hadn’t fought for us. I had let her go without even trying. What kind of man does that? Was what Isabella had told me enough to shut her out so cruelly? Why did I even believe Isabella? But I knew why. I swallowed.

What kind of husband lets his wife walk away?

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the ache in my chest. But the silence only made it worse.

Later that evening, I dropped onto the couch and grabbed my phone. I needed to get out of my own head, so I mindlessly scrolled through Pictory. That’s when I saw it—the post that made my blood run cold.

Isabella.

She was smiling, her arm looped through mine in the photo from the gala, leaning into me like we were a couple. The caption read:

“New chapter ahead! So excited for what’s next! #togetheragain #partnership #grateful”

My jaw clenched. The comments were worse—people congratulating us, some even speculating that I’d proposed to her.

My chest tightened with frustration. Why would she post something like this?

I hit call before I could stop myself. Isabella answered on the second ring, her voice smooth and warm, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Sam! I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight,” she said, sounding far too pleased.

“What the hell was that post about?” I snapped. “You made it look like we’re… together.”

She let out a soft, condescending laugh. “Oh, come on, Sam. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a post. We looked good together, and people love a happy story.”

“This isn’t a story, Isabella,” I bit out. “People are congratulating us—like we’re engaged or something.”

“So what if they are?” she said breezily. “Let them think what they want. It’s good for your image, Sam. You know how people are—they love to speculate. This keeps things... tidy.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “You don’t get it. This isn’t what I want.”

Her voice shifted—softer now, almost sad. “What do you want, Sam? Because it sure as hell isn’t Nora. She’s the one who left you, remember?”

I flinched at her words, guilt twisting in my gut.

“She didn’t leave me,” I muttered, more to myself than to Isabella. “I let her go.”

Isabella went quiet for a moment, then her voice softened again, slipping into that soothing tone she always used when she wanted to get close. “Sam, you’ve done everything you could. Some things just aren’t meant to be, and it’s time to accept that. You have to move forward.”

Her words slithered through the cracks in my resolve, wrapping around me like a lifeline. She always knew exactly what to say to make me doubt myself—doubt Nora. That was why I kept her close. She made things... easier.

But easy wasn’t what I wanted anymore.

I sighed heavily. “I have to go.”

“Sam—”

I ended the call before she could say anything else, tossing the phone onto the couch like it burned my hand. My mind was spinning, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Why wasn't she home yet? I walked into the bedroom and observed her closet; she had dressed up before leaving. I pondered on this and went back downstairs. In the kitchen, there were two mugs in the sink. Someone had been here with Nora. I lifted one of the mugs. On the rim was the imprint of a bright red lipstick. Gen.

I walked to the basement and saw several boxes scattered on the floor. Nora was packing and Gen had been here to help her. I wanted to be furious at her but I remembered that Gen and Nora were more like siblings than friends. Nora had always been family.

It was then the thought hit me suddenly, sharp and clear—I couldn’t let this be the end. Not without trying. Not without telling her how I felt, even if it was too late.

I grabbed my phone again, my hands trembling slightly.

I didn’t know what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something.

Before I could lose my nerve, I hit call.

The line rang once. Twice. My heart raced with every second that passed.

And then—

“Nora?”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Nora… I—”

Before I could get the words out, I heard it—another voice in the background. A man’s voice.

“Everything okay, Nora?”

My chest tightened as jealousy flared, sharp and unforgiving.

“Nora, who’s with you?” I demanded, my voice low and rough.

She hesitated for a moment, and that hesitation felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

“It’s not important, Sam,” she said quietly, and then—

The line went dead.