A Clean Break

The resolute words hung in the tense air of the master bedroom, heavy and irrevocable. Before the suffocating silence could even stretch into a response, a shrill ringtone shattered the quiet. Declan’s phone lit up on the dark mahogany nightstand. His furious glare snapped away from Kendall, his dark eyes dropping to the glowing screen. A deep furrow etched into his brow at the caller ID, and the volatile anger rolling off him evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp urgency. He grabbed the device and pressed it to his ear.

"What happened?" His voice dipped low, laced with a raw, protective concern he had never afforded his wife. A brief pause followed as he listened to the voice on the other end. "I'll be right there."

He dropped the phone into his pocket. He didn't spare Kendall a single glance. He offered no explanation, no counter-argument to her demand for a divorce, and not a fraction of a second in hesitation. He just turned his back and strode out. The bedroom door clicked shut, leaving her standing alone in the deafening silence of the sprawling, cold estate.

A quiet snort escaped her lips. The sound was dry, stripped of any lingering heartbreak. Watching the empty doorway, the last frayed string tying her to this marriage finally snapped.

Sleep was out of the question. The very thought of lying down in that massive bed made her skin crawl. Instead, Kendall moved to her expansive walk-in closet. She bypassed the rows of extravagant silk evening gowns, the designer handbags, and the brilliant diamond jewelry Declan had purchased to dress her up for his public appearances. She wanted none of the heavy armor associated with her role as Mrs. Vance. She reached for a solitary, compact travel bag from the top shelf and packed only the bare necessities: a few changes of comfortable clothes, her basic toiletries, and her worn sketchbook. She zipped the tiny bag shut.

Carrying the bag downstairs, she walked into the dimly lit living room and flipped her laptop open. The bright screen illuminated her detached expression. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing up a formal divorce agreement. She hit print, the machine whirring to life in the quiet house. Once the pages slid into the tray, she grabbed a pen and pressed the tip to the paper. She signed her name at the bottom, the strokes sharp and definitive.

Kendall placed the document in the center of the glass coffee table. From her wallet, she retrieved the black premium credit cards and the access keycards to the estate, stacking them beside the printed pages. She picked up her small bag, turned the heavy brass door handle, and walked out into the cool night air. She didn't look back.

Downstairs, beyond the wrought-iron gates, a sleek car idled by the curb. Tessa leaned against the passenger door, tapping her designer heel on the pavement. When she spotted Kendall emerging from the shadows, her eyes immediately dropped to the pitifully small piece of luggage in her friend's hand. Tessa’s jaw went slack in sheer disbelief.

"Are you serious?" Tessa demanded, pushing herself off the car. "That's all of your belongings? Three years in that golden cage, and you're walking out with a carry-on?"

Kendall popped the trunk, lifting the bag inside and shutting it. The metallic thud echoed in the quiet street. "All those are unnecessary things," she said, her voice calm, devoid of the agonizing attachment that used to weigh her down. She walked around to the passenger seat and slid in. "At least, I'm free now. I'm done with love and finally going to live my own life."

Tessa climbed into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tight. "I still can't believe it. Damn it, Kendall! Declan Vance is loaded. You suffered through three years of a secret marriage. You should at least demand a few hundred million in the marital settlement! You earned every penny of that."

Kendall stared out the windshield, watching the opulent gates of the estate fade into the distance as Tessa pulled away from the curb. She pursed her lips, her expression indifferent. "Those are his pre-marital assets. I have zero interest in coveting his money."

Declan was never stingy when it came to finances. If she fought for a legal division of property, she could have walked away unimaginably wealthy. But the money meant nothing. It was never his bank account she had sought.

Sensing her friend's unbreakable resolve, Tessa exhaled a sharp breath. The anger melted away, replaced by a protective gleam in her eyes. "Fine. Let him keep his dirty money. Honestly? I'm just relieved to have my business partner back full-time. We have a massive backlog at the studio. I’ve been bowing and scraping, apologizing to our VIPs for delayed deliveries. You picked the perfect time to drop the dead weight. People were starting to think I was running K.Moon by myself!"

Kendall let a faint, genuine warmth touch her chest. Right after graduation, the two women had combined their talents to launch K.Moon—a blend of Kendall’s initial and 'Moon'. Tessa was the marketing mastermind, while Kendall operated under the heavily guarded, renowned alias 'Celine', serving as the brilliant ace designer. The studio had exploded in popularity among high society. But for the past three years, Kendall had sidelined her creative genius, reducing her output to a trickle as she struggled to maintain her loveless marriage. She had left Tessa to shoulder the operational burdens of the booming brand alone.

"Speaking of work," Kendall began, tilting her head to look at her friend. "Didn't I pass a lot of designs to you before this? The studio should have been running smoothly."

Tessa bit her lip. She took one hand off the steering wheel and pinched her index finger and thumb together in a sheepish, guilty gesture. "Well... you know how it is with upper-class socialites and celebrities. They all want something exclusive. Different cuts, different colors. The designs you gave me were great, but they barely covered the existing waitlist. So... I got a little greedy and accepted a few more orders."

Kendall narrowed her eyes, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. "How many is a few more?"

Tessa offered a weak, apologetic chuckle. "Only sixty-six orders more. Gowns."

The sheer volume of the commitment hit Kendall like a physical blow. Sixty-six custom high-fashion gowns. Even at a blistering pace of drafting one design per day, it would take months of relentless work just to finalize the concepts, let alone source the fabrics and oversee production. She realized she would practically be living and breathing her studio work until the end of the year. She slumped back into the leather passenger seat, letting out a long breath. The reality of her neglected career stared her in the face.

"Tessa, it's been hard on you for the past few years," Kendall said softly, realizing the immense pressure her friend had been under.

Tessa shook her head, her voice rising with defensive loyalty. "Don't even say that. My work would be all for naught without your designs. You are the soul of K.Moon. Let's just focus on making this brand the biggest name in the industry. And honestly? The fresh talent coming through our doors is way better looking than Declan Vance anyway." Her tone hardened, a fierce scowl crossing her face. "One day, I'll f*cking make that sc*mbag kneel in front of you and beg you to return to him!"

Hearing her friend's fierce loyalty, Kendall offered her first genuine, unforced smile since the paparazzi photos had dropped the previous day. Yet, unbidden, the hauntingly cold face of her soon-to-be ex-husband flashed in her mind. She saw the protective devotion in his eyes—not for her, but for Chloe. He couldn't wait to cast Kendall aside like a mere pebble in his shoe. He would never beg her to return.

"Why don't you look forward to something better for me?" Kendall replied gently, turning her gaze back to the passing streetlights.

Soon, the car navigated into the historic old streets of Bridgton. They pulled up in front of a sprawling, multi-story building that housed the K.Moon studio. What had started as a single modest shop had expanded across several connected storefronts, boasting massive square footage of premium retail and workspace, managed by a dedicated team of staff.

As soon as they walked through the glass doors, Tessa checked her phone and cursed under her breath. She rushed off toward the conference room.

"I have a crucial business meeting right now," Tessa called over her shoulder, teasing the news. "A major long-term celebrity client is coming in soon to discuss a custom wardrobe contract. I feel a million times more confident knowing you're actually here in the building. Get settled!"

"Stop worrying and just go. You can leave the design end to me," Kendall called back.

Needing to drown out the lingering echoes of her failed marriage, Kendall dragged her small bag up the winding staircase. She set up a makeshift workspace and sleeping area in the spacious second-floor lounge. There was no time to search for an apartment, and frankly, the work was the exact distraction she needed.

The moment the studio assistants brought up the towering stack of customer files and measurement charts, Kendall threw herself into her craft. She tuned out the world outside the studio walls. For three consecutive days, she didn't step a single foot outside the building. Her world shrank to the expanse of her drafting table, the scratch of her pencils, and the vibrant swatches of silk, chiffon, and lace. She worked relentlessly, fueled by strong black coffee and the raw need to reclaim her own identity. She sketched, erased, refined, and measured, transforming her pent-up frustration into sweeping necklines and intricate bodices.

Finally, on the late afternoon of the third day, she placed her pencil down. She had finished the most urgent batch of designs. She organized the detailed technical sheets and sent them down to the production team to be sampled.

Kendall pushed her chair back, rolling her shoulders. Her muscles ached with a dull, throbbing stiffness, and her eyes burned from lack of sleep. She stretched her arms above her head, letting out a long sigh of relief. She was ready to crash onto the lounge sofa and get some well-deserved rest.

Just as she closed her eyes, the sound of frantic footsteps thundered up the wooden stairs. The lounge door swung open with a bang.

A studio assistant burst into the room. The young woman's face was pale, her breathing ragged, and panic radiated from her wide eyes.

"Kendall!" the assistant cried out loudly, clutching a clipboard to her chest. "There's a customer downstairs that we can't handle!"