The Divorce Agreement

"No, ma'am. Mr. Whitmore's lawyer is here to see you." The butler's muffled voice filtered through the heavy bathroom door, breaking the tense silence.

A lawyer?

Valerie let out a slow breath, stepping out of the cooling bathwater. She quickly dried off, pulled on a simple beige sweater and jeans, and made her way downstairs. Her bare feet made no sound against the hardwood steps as she approached the living room.

Dominic Delgado sat stiffly on the leather couch. Two crisp document folders and a heavy fountain pen rested on the glass coffee table between them. He did not offer a smile as she approached.

Valerie took a seat on the opposite sofa. "What brings you here all of a sudden, Mr. Delgado?"

Dominic wasted no time with pleasantries. He picked up one of the folders and slid it across the glass. "Mr. Whitmore requested I deliver these documents to you immediately."

A faint knot formed in Valerie's stomach as she flipped open the thick cover. The bold, capitalized heading caught her eye before she could even process the legal jargon below it. A divorce agreement.

"A divorce agreement? He wants to divorce me?" Valerie stared at the paperwork, her voice laced with genuine confusion.

"That is correct. Upon the finalization of this divorce, the Vance family will be permitted to retain the fifty million dollars as compensation. You will not owe Mr. Whitmore a single cent." Dominic folded his hands in his lap, maintaining a neutral expression.

Valerie blinked hard, reading over the compensation clause. Three years ago, her father's company had been hemorrhaging money, standing on the absolute brink of bankruptcy. Her ruthless stepmother, Cordelia Maddox, alongside her own father, had essentially sold her to the Whitmore family to save their crumbling empire. She had braced herself for a five to eight-year sentence in this loveless, faceless marriage before they would even consider letting her go.

Getting out in under three years felt like an impossible stroke of luck.

"Is he serious about this?"

"Yes, he is. Mr. Whitmore has already signed his portion of the paperwork." Dominic gestured to the stark black signature at the bottom of the last page.

"Why did he ask for a divorce today?"

"Mr. Whitmore did not state his reasons."

Valerie reached forward and grabbed the heavy pen. "All right, then."

She flipped straight to the final page. Without a second thought, she pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name right next to Donovan's bold strokes. She did not care why her ghost of a husband wanted out the very moment he returned from overseas. He was handing her the exact key to her cage. Her toxic family had their money, meaning they had no grounds to drag her back into their schemes. She was finally free.

Dominic packed up his briefcase, gave a curt nod, and let himself out the front door.

Valerie turned toward the grand staircase, her mind already organizing her packing list. She just needed a suitcase for her clothes. Everything else in this house belonged to the Whitmores.

"Mrs. Whitmore is here to see you." A housekeeper stepped into the hallway.

Valerie paused. She glanced toward the front entrance just as Miriam Yates strode through the double doors. Despite being in her late fifties, Miriam maintained a sharp, intimidating elegance. She demanded to be called 'Mrs. Whitmore' by Valerie, a constant, daily reminder that Valerie's modest background made her unworthy of the family name.

Miriam took a seat on the couch Dominic had just vacated. Her sharp gaze swept over Valerie, zeroing in on the undeniable lightness in her posture and the lack of a proper greeting. Miriam's brows snapped together in deep displeasure.

"What are you so happy about?"

"I am happy because I am getting divorced from Donovan. Starting today, I will no longer be staying in this house." Valerie rested her hand on the banister.

Miriam froze. Her manicured fingers gripped the edge of her designer handbag so hard her knuckles turned white. Donovan divorced her? Before Miriam could even lay the groundwork to kick this parasite out herself? A dark flush crept up Miriam's neck. If Donovan initiated this out of nowhere, something had gone wrong. Since she was already here, she had to do whatever it took to protect the Whitmore family's pristine reputation.

"Hold it right there!" Miriam stood up, her voice cracking like a whip through the quiet living room. "I came here today to ask you a very specific question. Have you been cheating on my son?"

Valerie turned around slowly. She looked at her mother-in-law, a faint, dry smile touching her lips. "No, I have not."

She had never even laid eyes on Donovan. There was no actual marriage to betray. As for last night, she was the victim of a calculated drugging, not a willing participant in a dirty affair.

Miriam scoffed loudly. "You expect me to believe that? You will not admit it. Fine. Go search her bedroom right now!"

The housekeepers standing near the foyer did not hesitate. They scurried past Valerie and rushed up the stairs.

Valerie stood her ground, glaring at her mother-in-law in tense silence. Minutes dragged by, filled only by the sound of opening drawers and shifting furniture from the floor above. Footsteps soon echoed from the second-floor landing. The head housekeeper hurried down the stairs, clutching a bundle of white fabric.

Valerie's stomach dropped. It was the oversized men's dress shirt she had worn home from the hotel. She had tossed it carelessly onto the bed in her rush to get into the hot bath.

"What is this?" Miriam snatched the garment from the housekeeper's hands.

Valerie kept her expression perfectly blank, burying her rising panic. "It is a shirtdress. I just bought it this morning."

She could not let the Whitmore family find out about the hotel incident. If Miriam caught wind of the truth, she would use the scandal to destroy the Vance family. Valerie despised her father and stepmother, but she refused to let her innocent mother suffer the crushing fallout.

Miriam stared at Valerie's steady, unapologetic gaze. For a split second, doubt flickered in the older woman's eyes.

Then, Miriam flipped the collar of the shirt.

The fabric was thick, undeniably tailored for a broad-shouldered man. Stitched into the crisp white cotton of the inner collar was a single, gleaming letter embroidered in pure gold thread. An elegant, undeniable 'D'.