Divorce Me, I Will Think About It
The Fracture at Home
The Collins mansion, though bathed in warm lamplight, felt like a mausoleum.
Silence clung to its high ceilings and marble floors, a suffocating silence—not the comforting kind after a long day, but the brittle quiet of a battlefield where the smoke had settled, yet the corpses still lay unburied.
Emily sat rigid on the living room sofa, still wrapped in the tailored navy suit she had worn to the boardroom.
The collar pinched at her throat; her hair, perfectly coiled in the morning, was now a tired knot stabbing her scalp.
She had kicked off her heels hours ago, but her calves still ached from standing too long, smiling too long, pretending too long.
Her hand trembled faintly as she lifted a glass of red wine. She hadn't wanted wine tonight—it dulled her edge, and Emily Collins lived on edges.
But the bitterness on her tongue was better than the bitterness still lodged in her chest.
The door clicked open behind her.
Leon entered without fanfare, his movements quiet, fluid. He draped his jacket across the arm of the opposite sofa, then lingered, as though unsure whether to sit or stand.
His gaze swept the room once, pausing on her glass, on her rigid posture, before settling back into the calm neutrality that infuriated her more than outright arrogance ever could.
"You didn't have to come," Emily said sharply, still staring into her wine. Her voice was cool, but underneath lay exhaustion, frustration, and something else she refused to name.
"I was asked," Leon replied evenly, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You didn't want me there. But you didn't stop me either."
Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. "Don't twist this. You embarrassed me.
Sitting there like some… shadow, and then daring to speak." Her voice cracked, but hardened instantly. "How much did that cost me, do you know?
What do they whisper now?"
Leon studied her face, but offered nothing back.
His silence was deliberate, heavy.
Emily's laugh was sharp, humorless.
She tossed back the rest of her wine and slammed the glass down on the coffee table. "This marriage is a cage. I never wanted it, Leon. I've tried—God knows I've tried—to live with it. With you.
But I can't anymore."
Her eyes gleamed, cold and merciless, as she leaned forward.
"So I'll say it plainly: divorce me, Leon. Do that, and maybe—just maybe—I'll think about respecting you."
The words were knives, flung with precision. And Leon, as always, absorbed them without a flinch. But inside, something shifted—an old scar tugged open, not because he hadn't expected the blade, but because of how easily, how coldly, she had wielded it.
The Quiet Storm
Leon didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved toward the tall window, the city lights spilling across his features like fractured glass.
The skyline glittered, towers stabbing into the night, the empire he already commanded in silence—an empire Emily couldn't even fathom.
"Divorce you?" he repeated softly, almost as though testing the taste of the word on his tongue.
"Yes." Emily's voice had sharpened again, gaining confidence with every syllable.
"End this farce.
Sign the papers when I bring them. You'll finally be free of the shame of being Emily Collins's charity case. Isn't that what you've wanted all along?"
Leon turned, his face half-shadow, half-light. His eyes, though calm, carried weight. "Is that what you want, Emily?
Freedom? Or control?"
Her breath caught—just for a fraction of a second—before she smoothed her features back into icy disdain.
."Don't play word games with me."
He took a slow step forward. Then another.
The air thickened. His presence filled the room—not with noise or anger, but with the kind of gravity that pulled even her stubborn heart into its orbit.
Emily's fingers dug into the sofa cushions, resisting the urge to shrink back.
For years, she had dismissed him as furniture, as background noise. Tonight, he felt different. Sharper. More dangerous.
"You think divorce will humiliate me?" Leon's tone was quiet, almost gentle, and yet it landed with the weight of a gavel.
"But maybe it will free me. Maybe it will free you, too. Or…" His gaze held hers, steady, unyielding. "…When the man you threw away turns out to be the one you can't ignore, you might come to regret it."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Something unfamiliar stirred deep inside her chest—a mixture of unease and defiance, tangled in ways she couldn't unravel.
"You're delusional," she whispered finally, the words brittle. "You have nothing."
Leon leaned closer, close enough for her to feel the calm steadiness of his breath. His eyes never wavered.
."Then why," he murmured, "do my words shake you?"
Her pulse spiked. Her hand, resting on the glass table, trembled. She wanted to call it rage. She wanted to call it disgust. But her body betrayed her.
The Unspoken Shift
Emily stood abruptly, needing space, needing to reclaim control. She lifted her chin, her voice icy again. "Fine. If you won't give me an answer tonight, then wait. I'll prepare the divorce papers, and you'll sign them.
And when you do, Leon, you'll crawl back into the shadows where you belong."
Leon didn't argue. Didn't shout. Didn't plead.
Instead, he straightened his cufflinks with calm precision, then looked at her as though she were a chess piece moving exactly where he expected.
"You want a divorce?"
His voice was steady, certain. "Bring the papers. I'll sign if I must. But remember this, Emily—sometimes, the thing you throw away is the very thing that saves you."
For the first time, her composure cracked.
Her breath caught—too quick, too sharp. She masked it, but not fast enough. His words had struck, not like a slap, but like a truth she couldn't unhear.
Their eyes locked. His gaze didn't burn; it illuminated. And that frightened her more than any fury could.
Emily tore her eyes away, muttering something she didn't believe even as she said it. "You're nothing.
Always will be."
Leon gave her the faintest of smiles. Not mocking. Not wounded. Simply… knowing.
Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps unhurried, echoing through the vast mansion.
Emily collapsed back into the sofa, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly. She told herself it was anger. It had to be anger.
But deep down, where pride couldn't shield her, a seed of doubt had been planted.
For the first time since their marriage, Emily wondered—what if Leon Gray was never the man she thought he was?