I had always imagined this moment would feel louder.
A slammed door. A raised voice. Something dramatic enough to justify the way my chest felt like it was caving in.
Instead, Alexander didn't even look up from his tablet when I walked into the study.
"The lawyers finalized everything this morning," he said calmly, scrolling as though he were reviewing quarterly projections. "You'll get the New York penthouse and ten million. The transfer will be immediate once you sign."
I stood there for a second longer than necessary, my fingers tightening around the doorframe. Three years of marriage, reduced to a line item.
I crossed the room and looked down at the documents. The word DIVORCE stared back at me in bold black letters.
"So it's true," I said quietly. "She's back."
Alexander finally looked at me.
There was no guilt in his eyes. No hesitation. Just a familiar, distant resolve I had learned to read far too well.
"Elena is settled," he replied. "I won't keep her waiting in the shadows anymore. This marriage was always temporary, Seraphina. You knew that."
I nodded, because that was what I had always done, absorbed the blow without flinching. I had spent three years perfecting the art of composure.
"I suppose I did," I said.
What I didn't say was that knowing something logically didn't make it hurt less when it finally arrived.
I flipped through the pages slowly, buying myself time. The silence between us stretched, heavy and awkward, but Alexander didn't rush me. He never did. He had always been certain I would bend eventually.
"You should sign today," he added. "There's no reason to drag this out."
I laughed softly before I could stop myself.
"Isn't there?" I asked.
That made him frown.
I lifted my eyes to his, forcing myself not to look away. "After everything… after three years… you're really going to end it like this? With a signature and a wire transfer?"
His jaw tightened. "Don't do this."
"I'm not trying to," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "I just want… time."
His brows drew together. "Time for what?"
I hesitated. The truth pressed against my ribs, sharp and dangerous.
"To say goodbye," I said finally.
He scoffed. "Goodbyes are pointless."
"Not for me," I replied. "Thirty days, Alexander. That's all I'm asking."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me now as if I were a variable he hadn't accounted for. "Thirty days of what, exactly?"
I swallowed. My throat burned.
"Pretend," I said. "Pretend we're still married. Dinners. Appearances. No Elena. No lawyers. Just… us. The way it should have been."
His lips curved in a humorless smile. "You think you can make me fall in love with you in a month?"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "I think I can learn how to live without you."
That gave him pause.
I stepped closer, resting my hand lightly on the desk, not touching him, but close enough that I could feel the tension radiating off his body.
"Thirty days," I repeated. "After that, I'll sign everything. I won't ask for the penthouse. I won't ask for the money. I'll leave quietly."
His gaze flicked to my hand, then back to my face. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"And if I say no?"
I smiled faintly. "Then I'll sign today."
The silence stretched again. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and uneven. This wasn't a power play. It was a gamble, and I hated how much I needed it.
Finally, Alexander exhaled.
"You're unbelievable," he muttered. "Fine. Thirty days. But don't misunderstand me, this doesn't change anything."
I nodded. "I understand."
He picked up his pen and signed the addendum without looking at me. "After thirty days, you're gone. For good."
"I know," I said.
As he stood and walked past me, already pulling out his phone, I caught a glimpse of Elena's name lighting up the screen.
"I'll be late," he said absently. "Don't wait up."
The door closed behind him.
I remained standing there long after his footsteps faded, staring at the divorce papers still lying unsigned on the desk.
My hands were shaking now.
Not with anger.
With grief.
I pressed my palm flat against my chest, breathing through the ache, reminding myself of one simple truth:
Thirty days wasn't enough to save a marriage.
But it might be enough to save me.