My husband Julian Caldwell's mistress, Hailey, was making demands again.

He slammed a separation agreement in front of me. "Sign it. This is just a formality, to appease her family for now."

I clutched the hem of my dress, gave a slight nod, and signed. No resistance, no questions.

As I turned to leave, one of his men sneered, "Aria is way too compliant. I bet if you asked her to attend the family meeting to announce the separation, she'd go."

Julian lit a cigar, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Wanna bet?"

To them, I was nothing more than a silent accessory. The girl who would tremble her way through a family meeting but still do exactly as she was told.

Trading one piece of paper for another—a marriage contract for a separation agreement.

I stared at my phone.

The encrypted message I had received earlier: Why don't you just marry me?

I replied: Okay.

————————

1

A reply appeared almost instantly: ?

I turned off my phone.

The laughter in the room droned on.

"It's a deal then! If Aria is really that obedient, next month's arms shipment is on me!"

"Count me in. Three months of intel," Julian said.

"Done and done!"

Another round of boisterous laughter echoed behind me.

I bolted out the door.

The moment I burst into the sunlight, the tears broke free.

Julian was head over heels for Hailey—a Principessa from a rival family. He'd bought her a lavish mansion in Veridia City, showered her with jewelry from every designer imaginable, and spoiled her rotten.

Yet, she wouldn't even grant him the slightest touch—no intimate hugs, no lingering kisses.

She paraded around like a queen in haute couture gowns, chin held high, as if to declare, "I am not some mistress to be hidden in the shadows."

And Julian? He ate it right up.

This was the third act of his pathetic little drama.

Act One? I was his captive painter. Back then, I didn't even know Hailey existed. I was clinging to him like a devoted, blissful fool, constantly showing him my new sketches.

He posted a social media update. I was glued to my phone screen—waiting, refreshing.

Nothing.

The catch? He’d set the post’s visibility to "Hailey only."

Act Two? Out of nowhere, he destroyed my paintings. Locked me alone in my studio right before my most important gallery preview, leaving me to sob my heart out.

He sent her a photo: See? It's no use. She just can't live without me.

And now? The final act—separation.

My phone buzzed.

Seriously?

Are you serious, Aria Corbin?

I wiped my face, managed a smile, and typed: Yes.

That afternoon, Julian actually drove me to the family lawyer.

He was in an unusually good mood the entire way. "Where should we go for our anniversary trip?"

Three years of marriage. We had grown up together.

"How about Sorafino? Haven't you wanted to paint the sunrise from the sea cliffs there since you were, what, seven?"

He hopped out first, opened the car door for me, and even unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Tsk. Were you crying?" He frowned, wiping under my eye. "I told you, it's just an act. That little wildcat—I'm just waiting for her to lose her patience."

Then something slipped out of his pocket.

A key card to a luxury hotel.

He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose, not even bothering to invent a plausible lie.

He led me inside as if nothing had happened.

It was over quickly.

My selective mutism makes speaking to strangers impossible, but a simple nod was all the confirmation they needed.

The lawyer asked, "Do both parties consent to this separation agreement?"

Julian: "Yes."

Me: Nod.

The lawyer confirmed again.

Julian: "That's right."

Me: Nod.

Signatures.

Stamps.

"The agreement has been filed," the lawyer said. "If there are no objections after one month, the family's marriage alliance will be officially dissolved."

Julian snatched the copy of the document like a trophy.

He didn't even wait until we were out of the building to snap a picture and send it.

Ding.

I received a notification. Of course—it was from Hailey.

A screenshot: the separation agreement. His message: Happy now? Get yourself clean and wait for me tonight.

I clicked on her profile.

Block.

Immediately after, another notification—a flight confirmation for a private jet.

At the same time, a message popped up on my phone:

Flight's booked. See you on the Sorala Coast in a month.

That night, Julian appeared in my dreams.

Not the arrogant bastard he'd become—but the Julian from our childhood.

"Aria, your eyes are so pretty. Can I look at them when I talk to you?"

"Aria, your paintings are amazing. Can I come see them every day?"

"Aria, I like you more than anyone! When we grow up, I'm going to marry you!"

I liked him, too.

We grew up together on the family estate, playing after school.

Even on the day my family was wiped out, I was in his family's car, playing with him.

We were playing rock, paper, scissors when the truck packed with explosives came out of nowhere.

BOOM—

My parents. My brother. Even my dog. All gone.

The two cars were so close—I watched helplessly as my entire family was consumed by flames.

After that, I couldn't speak.

I couldn't sleep unless Julian was near.

He wasn't always like this. He used to be gentle, patient.

He helped me learn to speak again, told me stories when I had nightmares.

He would beat up anyone who called me a "mute." Without hesitation.

Marrying him? At the time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The day after my college graduation, he leaned over me at dawn.

"Aria, let's get married."

So, we married. An alliance, just like that.

In my dream, there were roses everywhere—blood-red, drowning the large bed we once shared.

He was on his knees on the bed, kissing me.

"Aria, we'll be this happy forever."

Then I woke up.

Pitch black.

I fumbled for my phone.

New message—from Hailey.

A photo.

She was wearing a ring.

The signet ring reserved for the wife of the Caldwell heir.

My stomach churned.

I ran to the bathroom and dry heaved into the sink.

Nothing came up—only tears.

I slid to the floor, hugging my knees on the cold tile.

My hand brushed against the screen, and then—

A low voice.

"Aria?"

My heart skipped a beat.

I snatched up my phone. "Ci-Cian?"

Cian Donovan was just another name on a support group list. One of us.

Three years of intensive therapy, and yes, the selective mutism still flared up, but I could speak again. Mostly.

Unless I was emotionally overwhelmed.

In the early days of my marriage, I was doing okay. Life felt… breathable. So I joined an anonymous online support group for victims of mob violence and was paired with a check-in partner.

That partner? Cian.

For the better part of two years, I thought he was a girl.

His profile picture was a simple line drawing of wings.

His username? "Angel."

At first, "she" barely responded.

But I understood.

We don't stay silent because we want to. Sometimes, life just beats the words right out of you.

We might not say much, but that doesn't mean we don't need company.

So I kept messaging.

Little bits and pieces of my life.

Voice memos, silly selfies, snapshots of my art.

Before I knew it, it felt like we were lifelong best friends.

Then we had our first call—and it turned out there’d been a mix-up.

He was a guy.

"S-sorry," I whispered, clutching the phone. "I… I didn't mean to bother you…"

"You didn't," he said. "It's nine p.m. here."

He was so fluent now.

And this was only our second time talking.

Ever since I found out he wasn't a girl, I'd kept my distance—hadn't messaged or called him in about a month.

This was a total accident.

Last time, Julian had handed me the separation papers.

Cian had happened to message, asking what I was up to.

My brain just short-circuited the moment I saw that agreement.

I'd just replied: Getting separated.

After signing the papers, I was huddled outside Julian's office, trembling.

Cian, I think I'm about to lose my home.

No father. No mother. No brother. Not even the dog I had loved more than most people.

And now? No Julian.

What did I have left?

I never expected his reply:

Why don't you just marry me?

Inside, the farce continued.

"Come on, as if Aria could actually leave. The second she's out of the Caldwell house, she'll forget how to talk again."

"If she makes a scene at the family meeting, she'll break down. A complete meltdown."

"Really?" Julian laughed.

He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. "Even if she cries her eyes out at the meeting, she'll still come crawling back and do as I say."

I peeked through the crack in the door, looking at the man who was once my entire world—now a complete stranger.

So I messaged Cian:

Okay.

Cian sent me a list.

Things to do within a month.

Visas? Yep. Legal documents? Of course.

But then came the real instructions: burn my old phone, wipe all my social media accounts, and convert the funds from our joint accounts into untraceable bearer bonds.

He texted: Veridia has eyes everywhere. Be careful.

I smiled, taking it all seriously.

I started ticking things off the list as if it were a new job.

Living alone suddenly wasn't so bad.

I painted, I shopped, I packed like an expert.

The day I finally moved out of Julian's place, he texted:

Not going to call me? You don't miss me?

Seriously? He was off on some grand vacation with Hailey, living out his “I’ll show you the world” fantasy.

Then another message: Bad girl.

And a photo:

This place is nice. Should I bring you here for our anniversary?

Block him? I thought. Just as I had blocked Hailey without a second thought.

But I still had to go to that family meeting, so I held back.

The next two weeks were a blur.

I sold my jewelry, a few paintings.

Went to the hospital for a full check-up—just in case. To make sure I wasn't pregnant.

Then I started sorting through all the assets Julian had left for me to manage over the years.

The night before the family meeting, he finally returned to Veridia City.

He called, acting like it was just a casual catch-up.

"Aria, you moved out?"

He was used to my silence on the phone.

He laughed to himself. "You're so cute. I told you, it's all an act."

Then, brightly, "Let's make it convincing. Tomorrow, come with me to announce our temporary separation."

I gripped my phone tightly.

He started, "Aria, relax, it's just—"

"Okay," I cut him off.

A loud cheer erupted from his end of the line.

I hung up.

And immediately texted him the appointment time.

The next morning, I was up early.

Julian, of course, was late.

And, yes, Hailey had left a faint hickey on his neck—which he pretended wasn't there.

So did I.

The whole thing took five minutes. Even faster than last time.

"Aria, I have a surprise for you tomorrow," he said, nudging me with his elbow.

I slid the documents into my bag.

"Julian, are you free tonight?" I asked. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

He froze.

I had only ever called him ‘honey’ since we were married.

Then he grinned, flicking his copy of the papers. "Of course."

Whatever Julian had become in the past year, I couldn't completely erase the man he was before.

I was still grateful—for the years of companionship, for the protection he once offered.

So, no, I wasn't planning on ghosting him.

But then, the storm hit.

Thunder. Lightning.

I hated nights like this.

The car bomb had happened on a night just like this one.