"Attorney Whitlock, I just sent you a copy of the divorce agreement. My husband and I signed it on our the first day of marriage. Could you review it for any issues?"
Nova Sterling stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of her phone.
"Ms. Sterling, I've reviewed the agreement. Everything appears to be in order," the lawyer said professionally over the line. "There's one month left until the three-year term expires. Once it does, the agreement automatically takes effect. You can simply go to the civil affairs bureau to get the divorce certificate."
"Alright. Thank you."
Hanging up, Nova lifted her gaze to the wedding photo on the wall.
In the picture, she wore pure white satin, her smile so bright it crinkled her eyes into crescents.
Beside her, Zane Blackthorn stood impeccably tailored in his suit, features strikingly handsome—yet devoid of even a hint of warmth.
Love and its absence are equally visible
"The day is almost here. You must be thrilled." Her fingertip lightly brushed the cold, chiseled line of his jaw in the photograph.
The front door lock clicked. Nova withdrew her hand and turned.
"Welcome home." She took the suit jacket Zane shrugged off and knelt to switch his shoes for slippers—the motions fluid from countless repetitions.
Zane loosened his tie, expression cool. "The Blackthorn Group anniversary gala is next month. Your presence is required."
Nova paused while straightening his jacket. "I won't be there."
"Why not?" He frowned.
She just opened her mouth, but Zane grasped her meaning instantly. His eyes frosted over. "Because I've been with Ivy? I told you on our wedding day, Nova. I loved someone else. And you promised not to interfere."
Nova's heart clenched as if brutally ripped open.
Exactly. Whose husband announces on his wedding night that he loves another woman and presents a divorce agreement set for three years later?
All she meant was that she wouldn't even be there next month—a cold contractual obligation ending, not a marital refusal.
Three years earlier, the Sterling-Blackthorn marriage alliance had sent shockwaves through their circles.
Nova—who'd secretly loved Zane since childhood—was overjoyed.
But on their wedding night, he'd handed her divorce papers.
"I love someone else," he'd stated, tone arcti,. "Her background's ordinary. The Blackthorns won't accept her." His gaze never wavered, "I need three years to secure control of the Group. Once I'm head, no one will oppose us. Until then, we play the perfect couple. When the term ends, we divorce."
Nova signed that night as he wished. Then wept in the bathroom until dawn.
Yet within three months, Ivy Callahan vanished without a trace after throwing a fit over Zane..
He searched frantically, using every resource. But nothing.
Night after night, he never came home. When he did stumble back, whiskey clung to him like a curse, his eyes darker than a grave.
Then one midnight, drunk beyond reason, he'd pinned her to the bed.
His whiskey-laced kiss descended, but the name on his lips—
"Ivy… why leave? Why be with him? Don't you trust me?"
Nova froze. Her heart felt crushed.
He'd found her.
And she'd chosen another.
That night was Nova's first. Zane held her close, whispering another woman's name until dawn.
When he saw the bloodstain next morning, something flickered in his eyes. He said nothing.
Nova pretended nothing happened. She laid out his clothes, softly reminding him of his morning meeting—playing the perfect wife while shattered inside.
After that, she redoubled her care:
She simmered gut-healing bone broth at dawn for his gastritis. Mastered massage for his stress. Moved in library-quiet steps for his peace—silencing her own needs..
Slowly, Zane seemed to accept her as his wife:
Bringing small gifts from trips.
Brewing medicine when she was ill.
Holding her some nights, palm warm on her waist.
He never mentioned the divorce again.
Nova dared hope he might love her.
That fragile hope died three months ago when Ivy returned single.
Zane went back to her instantly:
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