No Longer Mrs Vance

The morning sun cast long, sharp shadows over the pristine streets of Aldenor as Aria stepped out of her cab. She arrived at the lawyer's office at precisely ten minutes to nine, a habit of punctuality she had honed over two years of marriage. She pushed through the heavy glass doors and took a seat in the sterile waiting room. Her posture was impeccably straight. The familiar, suffocating anxiety that usually gripped her chest whenever she had to face her husband was gone. Her mind was a calm, clear lake. She simply waited.

The antique wall clock ticked away the seconds in the quiet reception area. Nine o'clock came and went. The seat beside her remained glaringly empty. A receptionist offered her a cup of water, casting sympathetic glances her way, but Aria paid no mind. Nine-thirty passed. Ten o'clock struck.

For two years, divorce was the single outcome Nathaniel had relentlessly demanded. He had made his disdain for their union known at every turn. Yet now, when she was finally handing him his freedom on a silver platter, he was the one stalling. He was a man who commanded billion-dollar boardrooms and kept to a punishingly strict schedule. He was never late unless he wanted to make a point.

By eleven o'clock, the last remnants of her patience evaporated.

Aria pulled out her phone and forcefully dialed his number, tapping her manicured fingernail against the leather armrest of her chair.

"Didn't we agree to meet at nine? I'd think you still have feelings for me if you don't appear. Get here quickly. The legal staff will be leaving for lunch soon."

The line was silent for a beat before Nathaniel’s voice echoed through the receiver. It was a wall of cold, unyielding ice.

"I'm in Portston. Something happened to the project. I'll inform you when I have the time."

He abruptly hung up before she could utter another syllable. The line went dead.

Aria stared at the darkened screen of her phone. Getting stood up on the very day of her divorce was utterly ridiculous, a final slap in the face from a man who had never respected her time or her heart. But she refused to dwell on his selfish, arrogant behavior. She slipped the phone into her purse and stood up, leaving the untouched cup of water on the side table. If he wanted to delay the inevitable, that was his problem. She still had to pack her life away.

She hailed a cab outside the firm and directed the driver to the sprawling Vance mansion. The imposing iron gates swung open, granting her entry into the gilded cage she had called home. As she stepped through the grand foyer, the sheer scale of the opulent estate felt foreign to her.

The elderly butler, Giles Higgins, rushed over from the dining hall. He gave a polite bow.

"Good day, Mrs. Vance!"

Aria paused in the center of the marble floor. Her expression was serene but firm. She looked at the man who had overseen this household with meticulous care.

"There's no Mrs. Vance here, just Ms. Caldwell."

Giles blinked, his face blank with confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aria did not offer any explanations. She bypassed him and walked up the sweeping grand staircase.

She entered the vast, luxurious master bedroom. It was a cold, immaculate space she had shared with a ghost of a husband. She pulled a modest, scuffed suitcase from the back of the walk-in closet and laid it open on the king-sized bed. She bypassed the endless rows of designer clothes, the extravagant handbags lining the illuminated shelves, and the velvet trays brimming with diamond jewelry. Nathaniel had casually thrown those items her way over the years as meaningless compensation for his absence and his coldness. She wanted none of it. She meticulously packed only her personal, pre-marital belongings. A few simple dresses, her worn journals, and her everyday toiletries went into the suitcase.

Opening her bedside drawer for a final check, her fingers brushed against a small, velvet box tucked away in the corner. She pulled it out and flipped the lid open. Inside lay a handmade stamp, meticulously carved from a block of premium wood. It was a deeply personal birthday gift she had painstakingly crafted for him months ago. She remembered the late nights spent hunched over her desk, the sharp carving tools slipping and slicing into her own fingers. She had bled to carve his initials into the base, pouring her devotion into a gift that had never been given, never been used. He had not come home for his birthday.

Staring at the jagged initials she had carved with her bleeding hands, she felt a profound sense of closure wash over her. The love she once held for him was as lifeless as the wood in her palm.

Without a single second thought, she tossed the velvet box directly into the trash can beside the desk.

Aria zipped her lightweight luggage closed and dragged it out of the room. The house was unnervingly quiet as she descended the stairs. Only the sound of the suitcase wheels rolling over the polished floors echoed through the hall. She walked out the front doors without looking back.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce waited idling by the fountain. In the driver's seat sat Declan, a man exuding a sharp, dangerous competence behind his dark sunglasses. He stepped out, smoothly took her luggage, and loaded it into the trunk in one swift motion.

Aria slipped into the backseat, savoring the cool leather against her skin.

Declan got back behind the wheel. He shifted the gears and glanced at her through the rearview mirror with a smirk.

"Congratulations on becoming single again."

He pressed the accelerator, and the heavy luxury car glided forward, rapidly whisking her away from the gilded cage that had brought her nothing but soul-crushing sorrow. As the towering mansion faded in the rearview mirror, Aria closed her eyes and made a silent vow. She was done.

She would never return to the Caldwell family. Desmond Caldwell and his second wife had treated her with cruel indifference her entire life. They were a group of parasites who had merely used her loveless marriage to relentlessly siphon corporate benefits from the mighty Vances. For two years, the Caldwells had propped up their failing enterprises using her title as Mrs. Vance. If she returned to them now, a divorced woman, they would only try to sell her off to another rich tycoon in Aldenor just to keep the money flowing. They valued her spoiled half-sister, Brielle, a thousand times more than they ever valued her.

Aria gently rubbed her flat belly. A fierce protective instinct flared within her chest. She had a new priority now. She knew she had to finalize the legal divorce procedures swiftly to keep her pregnancy an absolute secret from Nathaniel. If that man found out she was carrying his heir, he would trap her in a custody battle that would destroy her remaining sanity. He would use the child as another pawn in his empire. She would never let that happen.

It was finally time to shed her pathetic disguise as the unwanted Caldwell daughter. One year ago, the truth of her bloodline had been revealed to her, but her foolish heart had kept her anchored to Nathaniel. Now, she was ready to reclaim her true, terrifying identity as the long-lost eldest daughter of Fairhaven's prestigious Prescott family. The Prescott empire awaited its rightful successor.

Aria leaned her head against the window, watching the city skyline blur past. A faint, genuine smile graced her lips for the first time in years.

"Let's go back to Fairhaven now. Sweetheart, I'm going to give you a new life."

Miles away, the atmosphere in a high-rise boardroom in Portston was thick with tension. Nathaniel sat at the head of a massive glass conference table, his sharp gaze cutting through the panicked executives presenting the project crisis. The upcoming acquisitions depended on the success of this development. Mistakes were not an option.

His private phone vibrated on the table. He checked the caller ID and held up a hand, silencing the room. He stepped out into the quiet corridor overlooking the bustling port city.

Giles Higgins spoke on the other end, his voice hesitant. "Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance came back to the mansion. She packed her luggage and left again."

Nathaniel rubbed his temples. "Did she take the jewelry from the safe?"

"No, sir. She left empty-handed. She only took a small, old suitcase."

Nathaniel gripped the phone tighter. Hearing that she had left so thoroughly, taking absolutely nothing of his vast wealth, sent a sudden, sharp pang of inexplicable unease striking through his chest. He had expected her to clean out the closets, to demand a payout, to throw a tantrum. Leaving with nothing meant she no longer wanted anything from him.

He shoved the unfamiliar feeling down and forced his mind back to reality. "Keep an eye on the house. I'll deal with her later."

He brushed off the conversation and returned to the boardroom, rigidly focusing on the corporate fire he had to put out.

It was past ten o'clock that night when Nathaniel finally drove his car up the winding driveway of the Vance mansion. The house felt unnervingly silent. Usually, Aria would be waiting in the living room with a warm cup of tea, a soft smile on her face regardless of how late he arrived or how cold he acted. Tonight, the grand rooms were dark and hollow.

He dropped his keys on the entryway table and slowly stepped upstairs, walking directly into Aria's former room.

The lingering, delicate scent of her favorite roses still haunted the air. The fragrance wrapped around him, mocking his sudden solitude. He turned on the lights and scanned the space. He walked into the expansive walk-in closet. Row upon row of designer dresses, pristine heels, and untouched luxury handbags stared back at him. She hadn't taken a single item he had bought her. The realization twisted something deep in his gut.

He backed out of the closet and walked toward the bedside table. His sharp gaze landed on the trash can beside the desk. Sitting atop a few discarded papers was a velvet gift box.

Nathaniel knelt down and reached in. He retrieved the box and opened it. Inside sat a unique, handmade wooden stamp. He picked it up, feeling the uneven weight of the wood. Turning it over, he saw his own initials intricately engraved into the base. The lines were jagged, carved with amateur hands but undeniable care. He ran his thumb over the carvings, feeling the slight indentations where the carving tool had slipped.

He stared at the small object. Did she get this for me?

An unfamiliar, twisting frustration tightly gripped his chest. He had a million-dollar watch on his wrist, tailored suits imported from Italy, and a fleet of luxury cars. Yet, this simple piece of carved wood felt heavier than all of it. Why would she throw it away? Why did she leave the diamonds but toss the one thing she made with her own hands?

Before he could process the heavy, suffocating emotion rising in his throat, his phone rang, sharply breaking the silence of the empty bedroom.

He answered the call.

Sienna’s voice poured through the speaker, thick with manufactured tears and trembling breath.

"Nathaniel, I won't try to threaten you with the child. I know you're busy, and I know I'm a burden. I'll go to the hospital and get an abortion tomorrow."

The mention of the child snapped Nathaniel out of his turbulent thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to ignore the pitiful facade of the woman he believed held his affection. Sienna had always been kind and understanding. She had stayed by his side when he needed a companion, never demanding more than he could give.

He slipped the wooden stamp into his pocket, grabbed his keys from the dresser, and rushed out of the room. He drove straight through the night, pushing the speed limit until he reached her luxury condominium in the heart of the city.

The moment he unlocked the door and walked in, Sienna threw herself into his arms. She buried her face against his chest, weeping uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel! But I don't want the child to be born as an illegitimate child! It's not fair to the baby, and it's not fair to you. I should just get rid of it."

Nathaniel patted her back stiffly. He guided her away from the door and settled heavily onto her plush velvet couch. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared blankly at the wall. The scent of her expensive perfume was sharp and cloying, a harsh contrast to the soft rose scent he had just left behind.

He turned his head to look at her. His voice was flat, devoid of any romantic warmth.

"Who said I don't want the child? Aria and I are already divorced. I'll discuss with Grandpa tomorrow about marrying you."

Sienna's breath hitched. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with carefully practiced shock and relief. She had won. The Vance empire, the status, the ring—it was all hers now.

Overjoyed by her ultimate triumph, she buried her face back into his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. Hidden from his view, she meticulously masked a vicious, victorious smirk.

Aria, I've told you before that we've yet to find out who's the winner, and it looks like you just lost!