The pen clicked once. Then again.

Aria Vale stared at the divorce papers spread across the marble table in the courthouse lounge. Her signature was already there—clean, sharp, final. All it needed was his.

Dominic Blackwood.

She could feel him behind her, standing perfectly still, like a statue cast in money and secrets. Even now, after two years of silence, he made the air shift when he entered a room.

“I expected a fight,” she said, without turning.

He stepped forward. “You look tired.”

“Don’t start.” Her tone was ice. “Just sign it.”

A pause.

Then she heard the pen slide across the paper. Once. Twice. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask why. Didn’t offer a word.

The final stroke echoed like a door slamming shut.

She turned to look at him, finally. Tall, immaculately dressed, unreadable. His face gave away nothing. No regret. No anger. No hint that they’d once stood barefoot on a beach and promised each other forever.

“That’s it, then,” she said.

Dominic looked down at the papers. “It is.”

No apology. No goodbye.

She left first, heels striking the floor with precise fury. She didn’t cry. Wouldn’t give him that.

By the time she reached the parking lot, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

She ignored it.

Buzz.

Again.

This time, a text.

BLACKWOOD TRUST: Your corporate account has been temporarily suspended. Please contact your portfolio manager.

Her breath caught.

What?

Buzz.

Another message.

DOMINIC BLACKWOOD: You’ll get everything back. On one condition.
Meet me tomorrow. 9AM. My office. Don’t be late.

Her grip tightened around the phone.

He’d signed the divorce without a word. But he wasn’t done with her.

Not by a long shot.