Chapter 2

Audrey's POV

Something soft brushed against my cheek. Snow. My vision slowly cleared, the ceiling of my bathroom coming back into focus. The tiles were bitingly cold against my skin, a stark reminder of the weakness that had claimed me after I returned from the clinic.

Through the window, the afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the floor. I must have been out for over an hour. Snow, my cat, meowed softly, headbutting my hand with frantic concern. I tried to push myself up, but my strength hadn't fully returned.

The sharp, rhythmic click of leather shoes echoed from the hallway. Then, a voice—cold, cutting, and entirely devoid of empathy.

"Still trying to elicit sympathy, Audrey?"

I didn't need to look up to know Blake was standing in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, radiating the icy contempt he reserved solely for me.

"I don't have time for these theatrics," he said, walking into the living room and settling onto the sofa with studied grace. "Laurel’s return to the States is a major media event. If rumors about her visit to the clinic start circulating because of you..."

"Is that why you’re here?" I forced myself to stand, clinging to the doorframe for support. A bitter laugh escaped me. "You’ve left your 'precious' friend behind because you’re worried I might tarnish her pristine image?"

"Watch your tone," Blake snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You know exactly what Laurel means to this family’s legacy. Your jealousy is becoming a liability."

I stared at him, my voice steady despite my internal trembling. "If she’s so concerned about her image, perhaps she shouldn't be photographed in places that invite speculation. I am your legal wife, Blake. Yet here you are, demanding I protect the woman who wants my place."

"You used my grandfather's influence to secure this marriage while I was in no position to argue," he spat, his fury dropping the room temperature. "Don't talk to me about legalities when you started this with a manipulation."

A tired smile touched my lips. "You’re right. I was wrong to hold on so tightly back then. I thought devotion mattered. I was mistaken."

I met his gaze, my heart feeling strangely light as the final thread of hope snapped. "Let’s end it. Let’s get a divorce."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise? Or perhaps just irritation at losing control of the narrative. "What is this? Another tactic to get me to stay?"

"No more tactics," I whispered. "I’m just... tired."

"First the medical procedure without consulting me, now this." He sneered. "Are you going to run to my grandfather next?"

"I’ve never used him as a shield against you," I said firmly. "And I won't start now. Three years of this silence is enough, don't you think?"

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed. The transformation was instantaneous. The iron mask softened into genuine worry as he checked the message.

"She’s not feeling well," he muttered, already heading for the door.

"Of course," I replied quietly.

He paused, glancing at the coffee table where the divorce papers lay. "We’ll discuss this when you’re thinking more clearly."

"There’s nothing left to clarify, Blake."

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty mansion. I sank onto the sofa, Snow jumping onto my lap as I picked up a pen. With a hand that only shook slightly, I signed my name. Each stroke was a final goodbye to five years of unrequited love.

I dialed a familiar number. "Astrid? It’s me. I’ve signed them."

"Audrey..." Astrid’s voice was soft with concern. "Come to my place. You shouldn't be alone tonight."

"I'm coming. And I'm bringing Snow."

Blake's POV One Week Later, Los Angeles

The Four Seasons ballroom was a sea of glittering jewelry and elite conversation. From the VIP balcony, I watched the crowd, though my mind was miles away. Michael Chen, my assistant, was droning on about third-quarter projections.

"Mr. Parker? Should I continue?" Michael asked, noticing my distraction.

I waved him off, my fingers instinctively scrolling through my messages with Audrey. The last one was from a week ago: Try to drink less coffee today.

Usually, she flooded my phone with updates—reminders to eat, photos of that cat, unnecessary check-ins. It used to irritate me. Now, the silence was deafening. No explanation for the clinic visit, no follow-up on the divorce papers. Just... nothing.

"Any word from the house?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Mrs. Rebecca says Audrey is resting. Everything is quiet," Michael reported.

"Quiet," I repeated. Was this another game? A dramatic disappearing act to make me feel guilty? My cynical mind wanted to believe it, but a small, persistent voice reminded me that in five years, she had never been a liar.

I stood up to overlook the dance floor. The music had shifted to a rhythmic, elegant beat.

"Mr. Parker..." Michael gasped, pointing toward the center of the ballroom. "Is that... is that Mrs. Parker?"

I followed his gaze. In the center of the floor, a woman in a stunning, midnight-blue gown was moving with a grace I hadn't seen in years. She looked vibrant, radiant—and she was dancing with another man.