Chapter 4

chapter4

Maya was secretly delighted, but she was a skilled actress. She maintained a mask of magnanimity, sighing softly. “I’ll forgive you, Mia—for Timothy’s sake.”

Mia straightened her back, refusing to look at Maya. She turned her gaze to Timothy, her eyes hollow. “Can I go now?”

She didn't want to spend another second in this room. She bent down, picked up the signed divorce agreement from the floor, and handed it to him. Her movements were stiff, her resolve firmer than it had ever been in their three years together.

Timothy looked at the papers and subconsciously frowned. He hadn't expected her to sign without a fight. In the past, whenever the topic of separation arose, Mia would run to his grandmother, Laura, for protection. He had already spent weeks preparing arguments to convince Laura to let this marriage go, but it seemed his efforts were unnecessary.

Instead of relief, a strange sense of discomfort settled in his chest. He caught sight of the lone suitcase near the door. Is she really leaving this quickly?

“Have you found a place to stay?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of an edge.

“No,” Mia answered reflexively. She looked at him in surprise, a spark of hope flickering in her heart. Was he actually concerned?

Timothy quickly averted his gaze, his tone returning to its usual frost. “Go downstairs and get some ice for Maya’s foot. She sprained it because of you. You aren’t leaving until you’ve made amends.”

A bitter, self-deprecating laugh bubbled in Mia’s throat. For a split second, she had been foolish enough to think he cared. It seemed three years of marriage weren't worth a single minute of his first love's comfort.

Mia left the bedroom, her legs feeling like lead. Her husband’s mistress had barged into their home, claimed their bed, and now she—the legal wife—was expected to serve her. Could you be any more pathetic, Mia Bowen?

As she descended the stairs, her mind was a whirlwind of grief. She missed a step, her foot slipping on the polished wood. Instinctively, she reached for a heavy decorative plant to steady herself, but it tipped, crashing down the stairs.

At that critical moment, a strong hand gripped her waist.

Mia turned, breathless, to find Timothy standing over her. He had followed her out. He pulled her toward him with such force that her head smacked against his chest. Pressed against him, she could hear the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart.

Panicked by the sudden intimacy, Mia tried to pull away, but Timothy didn't let go. Instead, he swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way down. Enveloped by his scent—a mix of expensive cologne and cold air—Mia felt her face begin to burn. They had been married for three years, yet they had never shared a moment this physical outside of that one "accident."

Timothy set her on her feet, his expression chillingly neutral. “Keep your eyes open when you’re walking. You don’t want to fall on your head and end up more of an idiot than you already are, do you?”

Mia pursed her lips, her pulse finally slowing. she looked at the shattered vase and the soil scattered across the floor. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Have the maids do it. Don't you have anything better to do?” Timothy’s brow furrowed. He hadn't hired a staff of twenty just to watch his wife scrub floors.

Only then did Mia remember her "task." Ice for Maya.

She looked up and noticed a smear of dark soil on Timothy’s white shirt—likely from when he had caught her. He was a notorious clean freak; normally, a single speck of dust would have him changing his entire wardrobe.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but he had already turned back toward the stairs. He was heading straight for the master bedroom.

Is he that worried about her? she wondered. He couldn't even be bothered to notice the dirt on his clothes if it meant getting back to Maya a few seconds sooner.

Mia let out a ragged breath and headed to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she walked back into the master bedroom with a pack of ice. Timothy wasn't in the room.

Maya leaned against the bedframe, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “You can just leave the ice there and get out—unless you want to stay and watch us be lovey-dovey. It has been three years since we've been together, after all. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

The words were calculated, meant to draw blood.

Only then did Mia hear it—the sound of running water coming from the en suite. Timothy was in the shower.

The blood drained from Mia's face. They had signed the divorce papers less than an hour ago, and he was already preparing to spend the night with his first love in the bed they had shared.