The Divorce Papers
"Let’s get a divorce, Vivienne."
The sharp sizzling of prime steaks searing in the hot pan filled the Blackwood villa’s kitchen, but that single, ruthless sentence shattered the domestic tranquility in an instant. Vivienne Ashcroft froze in place. A sudden pop of searing hot oil splattered directly against her pale cheek, yet she became completely numb to the burning sting.
Dominic Blackwood, her husband of four years, stood right behind her. His voice was distant and freezing, entirely devoid of any warmth or affection. "We are only husband and wife on paper," he stated explicitly, his tone slicing through the warm air of the kitchen. "Now that the agreed-upon four years have passed, it is time to end our transaction."
Vivienne gripped the edge of the marble counter, her knuckles turning white. Her mind instantly plunged into the dark depths of her tragic past. Four years ago, her family had suffered a catastrophic bankruptcy. The overwhelming, suffocating pressure of financial ruin had driven her beloved parents to tragic suicides, leaving young Vivienne entirely alone to shoulder the horrifying mess. With no money and nowhere to turn, she had been forced into this marriage of convenience.
It was a union arranged solely to honor a life debt to her late grandfather. The esteemed general had once saved Dominic’s grandfather on a bloody battlefield decades ago. Despite the purely transactional foundation of their marriage, Vivienne had committed the most foolish mistake possible—she had fallen deeply in love with the drop-dead gorgeous man standing before her. She had clung to the desperate, naive hope that her quiet devotion and her flawless performance as a good wife would eventually thaw his icy heart.
But reality proved to be incredibly cruel.
Dominic stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He unceremoniously slid a thick stack of pristine divorce papers across the kitchen island toward her. His stern, unyielding expression made it perfectly clear that he treated the termination of their marriage as nothing more than a mundane business deal.
"I will give you a settlement of forty million dollars and a luxurious penthouse at Veridian Heights," Dominic instructed coldly. "Sign the papers if you have no objections."
Vivienne slowly lowered her gaze to skim the long string of zeroes printed on the page. Her heart stung with a profound, agonizing sense of grief and humiliation. She calculated the brutal math in her head. Forty million dollars for four years of unrequited love and silent, daily suffering. It was her absolute limit.
Looking up at the striking, handsome face of the man she had loved for years, she asked softly, "Do we really have to do this?"
"Yes," Dominic replied with a decisive clip, showing absolutely no hint of hesitation.
Knowing that any further begging or emotional objections would only fall on deaf ears, Vivienne decided right then and there not to drag out her lost dignity. She internally resolved that forty million was more than worth the pain she had endured. She picked up a sleek pen from the counter and decisively scribbled her signature onto the documents.
This uncharacteristic resoluteness deeply took Dominic aback. He stared at the signed papers, his brow furrowing slightly. He had only ever known Vivienne to be a fragile, agreeable, and terribly indecisive woman. Witnessing this new, unwavering side of her left an inexplicable, sour taste in his mouth. He hastily brushed off the unpleasant feeling brewing tight in his chest.
"I will let you know when the paperwork is processed," he commanded, his voice hardening once more. "Move out by tonight."
He turned and strode out of the kitchen, leaving without waiting for any further discussion.
That very night, the hostile atmosphere of the Blackwood villa climaxed. The heavy front doors were yanked open, and the housekeeper violently threw Vivienne’s personal belongings out into the cold night breeze. Suitcases tumbled down the stone steps, bursting open.
"Serves you right, you gold-digging leech!" the servant cruelly cursed, her face twisted in a nasty sneer as she cheered from the porch. "It's about time you were finally kicked out!"
Vivienne crouched on the freezing pavement in silence, her hands trembling slightly as she gathered her scattered clothing. Just then, the crunch of tires on gravel echoed through the estate. A luxury car rolled to a stop right behind her.
A tall, slender woman stepped out of the vehicle. It was Isolde Beaumont.
The exact same housekeeper who had just been yelling foul profanities at Vivienne immediately switched to a sycophantic, eager tone. She rushed down the steps, hurrying over to welcome the new guest with absolute delight. "Ms. Beaumont! You're here! Welcome, welcome!"
Without even sparing the groveling servant a single glance, Isolde coldly commanded, "Be careful with my belongings. If a single thing is broken, you wouldn't be able to pay it back within a lifetime."
Crouched on the icy ground with her clothes clutched in her hands, Vivienne’s entire body stiffened up. As she overheard the exchange, in mere seconds, all the agonizing pieces fell into place in her mind, leaving her in a state of chilling realization.