Chapter 4

I decided to leave Damian without telling him that I knew the truth about our marriage.

It was not because I was afraid of him. For the first time in six years, I simply understood that I did not need to explain myself to him anymore. If Damian believed I was still the woman who would cry, demand answers, and eventually forgive him, then I would let him keep believing it.

The photograph I had received three days earlier had changed everything. Damian had met the chief executive of Cross Medical before Gabriel was even admitted, and Vivian's father had been standing beside them. I didn't know what they had discussed, but I knew enough to understand that Gabriel's death deserved more than the convenient explanation everyone had given me.

I also knew I needed to protect myself before I started asking questions.

Clara had warned me that the Cross family would not simply allow me to walk away once they realized I knew about the forged certificate. Their lawyers were experienced, aggressive, and accustomed to making problems disappear through settlements and confidential agreements. If I wanted to leave without being dragged into years of litigation, I needed to make sure every document was prepared properly.

There were property waivers, confidentiality agreements, financial declarations, and several other documents that had to be signed. Among them was the document that mattered most.

The divorce agreement.

Technically, there was no marriage to dissolve, but Clara had advised me to prepare it anyway. If Damian signed it, it would serve as a formal acknowledgment of the relationship we had lived under for six years and could become useful evidence later.

I brought the documents home in a plain folder.

Damian was in the study when I found him that afternoon. He was sitting behind his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, looking exactly as he always did when business mattered more than anything happening around him.

He barely looked up when I entered.

"What are those?"

"Some documents from the hospital and my lawyer."

His attention returned to the screen.

"Do you need me to sign them?"

"Several of them."

"Leave them there."

I placed the folder on his desk.

He opened it without much interest, flipping through the pages as though he were signing routine paperwork from one of his assistants. I watched him carefully, but there was no suspicion in his expression.

He had always assumed I trusted him too much to question anything he did.

That assumption was about to become useful.

"Where do I sign?"

I pointed to the marked sections.

He signed the first document without reading it. Then the second. By the third, he had stopped looking at the pages altogether and was simply following the places where I indicated.

I watched the pen move across the paper.

For six years, that signature had represented power to me. Damian's name appeared on contracts worth millions, acquisition agreements, corporate appointments, and documents that could change people's lives with a single stroke of his pen.

Today, he used it to sign away the relationship he believed he controlled.

When he reached the final document, he paused.

"What is this?"

I looked at him.

"The separation agreement."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You actually hired a lawyer for this?"

"I thought it would be easier."

Damian leaned back in his chair.

"Elena, we're not getting divorced."

I almost smiled.

He still didn't know.

"I think we should."

"You've just lost Gabriel. You're not thinking clearly."

"I've had plenty of time to think."

He studied me for a moment before sighing.

"If this is about Vivian, you're being unreasonable."

I felt something inside me harden, but I kept my voice calm.

"This isn't about Vivian."

"Then what is it about?"

I looked at the man sitting across from me and wondered whether there had ever been a point when he truly understood me.

"It's about me."

He seemed almost confused by the answer.

"Elena, we've been together for six years. You don't throw that away because you're upset."

I lowered my gaze to the document.

"Sign it, Damian."

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then, perhaps because he still believed I would eventually come back, he picked up his pen.

"Fine."

He signed.

His signature dried on the page before he even realized what he had done.

When he pushed the document toward me, I placed it back inside the folder.

"Thank you."

Damian looked at me strangely.

"You really want to leave?"

"Yes."

He leaned back.

"Once you get over Gabriel's death, you'll think differently."

I said nothing.

He continued, almost casually, "We've spent enough time dealing with everything else. Maybe it's time we started thinking about having children."

For a moment, I couldn't believe what I had heard.

Children.

The same man who had ignored my calls while my brother was dying was now talking about starting a family with me as though the future were still something he could simply schedule.

I nearly laughed.

Instead, I looked at him and wondered whether he had any idea how completely he had misunderstood the woman sitting across from him.

"I don't think that's going to happen," I said.

His expression tightened.

"You're emotional."

"I'm leaving, Damian."

I stood and took the folder.

He didn't stop me.

That was the strangest part.

He still believed this was another disagreement that would eventually pass. He thought I was grieving, angry, and temporarily irrational. He had no idea that I had already decided where my life would go from here.

That evening, Damian gave me another reason to leave without looking back.

He called me into the dining room while I was sorting through Gabriel's belongings.

"Vivian will be staying here for a while."

I looked up.

"What?"

"She needs support."

I almost thought I had misunderstood him.

"She's moving into the guest wing."

Damian spoke as though he were informing me about an employee transferring offices.

"Her father's condition has left her under a lot of stress, and her family is dealing with several matters right now. She'll stay here until things settle down."

I stared at him.

"You're bringing Vivian into our house?"

"Our house?"

The question came out quietly.

Damian seemed to realize the mistake only after he said it.

"This is still your home too."

I looked around the dining room, at the paintings I had selected, the flowers I had arranged, and the furniture I had chosen during the first year of our marriage.

For six years, I had tried to make this place feel like a home.

Now I couldn't remember why.

"Fine," I said.

Damian looked surprised.

"That's it?"

"What else would you like me to do?"

He didn't answer.

I returned to Gabriel's belongings that night and began packing.

I didn't take clothes.

I didn't take jewelry.

I didn't take the expensive handbags Damian had bought me or the furniture I had helped choose.

I packed only three things.

The first was my mother's old sketchbook, its worn cover softened by years of use. It contained the drawings I had made before Damian entered my life, when designing had been something I did because I loved it rather than because someone else benefited from it.

The second was a small box containing Gabriel's belongings. His old watch, a photograph of the two of us, and the keychain he had carried since college were all I could bear to take.

The third was my portfolio.

Inside were the original designs I had created during Damian's early years at Cross Corporation. He had once laughed when I told him I wanted to pursue design seriously.

"It's just a hobby, Elena."

I had believed him.

Now I understood that the things he dismissed as a hobby had helped build the empire he was so proud of.

I closed the suitcase and looked around the room one final time.

I had spent six years making myself smaller so Damian could become larger.

Tomorrow, I would leave without him even understanding what he had lost.

My phone vibrated.

I expected a message from Clara.

Instead, an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.

You finally decided to leave him.

I stared at the words.

My fingers moved across the screen.

Who are you?

The reply came almost immediately.

Someone who has been waiting six years.

I read the message twice.

Then I looked at the suitcase beside me and felt a chill move down my spine.

Six years.

Exactly as long as I had been married to Damian.

Whoever had sent that message had not simply been watching me.

They had been waiting for me to leave him.