Alyssa Taylor stared at the divorce papers on the table, her fingers trembling as she traced the bold signature at the bottom. Zachary Blackwood had already signed them without hesitation.
She lifted her gaze to the window, where his tall, imposing figure stood silhouetted against the golden afternoon light. Even from behind, he exuded an aura of cold authority, his broad shoulders rigid with indifference.
“I’ve signed,” he said, his voice clipped. “Hurry up and do the same. I want this finalized before Vanessa returns.” His hands remained clasped behind his back, refusing to turn and face her.
“We’ve already settled the prenuptial agreement, so there won’t be any disputes. But as a courtesy, I’ll compensate you with twenty million and the Crestwood estate. It’s only fair, considering you’ll walk away with nothing else. Grandfather would question me otherwise.”
Alyssa’s breath hitched. “Does… does Grandfather know about this?”
Zachary scoffed. “Would it change anything if he did?”
Her vision blurred. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. “Zachary,” she whispered, voice breaking, “can we… not do this?”
Finally, he turned. His sharp features—the chiseled jaw, the piercing eyes—made her heart stutter even now.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” Tears spilled over, staining the papers beneath her. “I still want to be your wife. Even if you don’t love me back.”
“Alyssa Taylor!” His voice cracked like a whip. “Enough. Every second in this farce of a marriage is torture.”
He waved a dismissive hand, cutting her off. “You knew what this was. A contract. A bargaining chip in my fight with Grandfather. You knew I loved someone else. Now that Vanessa is coming back from Eldermere, it’s time you step aside.”
Alyssa bowed her head, tears splashing onto his name. She wiped them away quickly, but he saw. His expression darkened.
His phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, his entire demeanor softened.
“Vanessa, are you on the plane?” His voice was tender, unrecognizable from the ice-cold tone he’d used with her.
“Zachary, I’m already at Faircrest Airport!” Vanessa’s excited voice carried through the speaker.
“What? You said your flight was tonight.”
“I wanted to surprise you!”
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.” Without another glance at Alyssa, he strode out.
The door clicked shut, leaving suffocating silence in its wake. Ten years of loving him. Three years of marriage. She had given everything—her heart, her loyalty—only for him to call it torture.
And now, he was free. Racing to reclaim his first love while she stood discarded, her love worthless in his eyes.
Alyssa inhaled sharply, shaking her head as another tear fell onto the papers.
That evening, Zachary returned to Seaview Manor with Vanessa Delacroix in his arms. The delicate beauty clung to him, drawing envious glances from the gathered Blackwood family.
“Zachary,” Vanessa murmured, pressing a hand to his chest, “you haven’t even divorced Alyssa yet. Should we really be like this? She’ll hate me.”
“She won’t.” His reply was immediate. “This marriage meant nothing. She knows her place.”
The family fawned over Vanessa, their voices a cacophony of welcomes. Only Alyssa remained unseen in the dining room, arranging the final touches for dinner.
Zachary caught sight of her solitary figure and smirked. Still playing the dutiful wife? Pathetic.
“Mr. Blackwood!” The butler rushed in, panic-stricken. “Madam Alyssa—she’s gone!”
“Gone? When?”
“Just now! She took nothing—just removed her apron and left through the back. A black car picked her up.”
Zachary stormed to their bedroom. It was pristine. Only the signed divorce papers remained on the bed, tearstains still damp.
Frowning, he yanked open the curtains. A Rolls-Royce sped down the driveway, vanishing into the night.
She refused to leave this afternoon. Now she flees without a word?
He dialed his secretary. “Find out who owns the car with plate A9999.”
Five minutes later, the answer came: “It’s registered to the CEO of Whitmore Holdings.”
Whitmore Holdings?
Alyssa came from nothing. No connections, no fortune. She had no friends in three years of marriage. How did she know the CEO of Whitmore Holdings? Had she already moved on?
“Sir,” the secretary hesitated, “did you really file for divorce today?”
Zachary’s temper flared. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s… her birthday.”
The words struck him like a slap.
In the backseat of the Rolls-Royce, Nathan Whitmore squeezed his sister’s hand.
“Sebastian arranged fireworks to welcome you home.”
“I don’t care about fireworks.”
Alyssa—no, Evelyn Whitmore—leaned against her brother’s shoulder, exhaustion weighing her down. Her phone buzzed. Not from Zachary. From Vanessa.
“Didn’t I tell you? You stole my place, but I always take back what’s mine. Zachary belongs to me. Give up.”
A bitter laugh escaped her. One final tear fell before she wiped her eyes dry.
“Nathan,” she whispered, “today, Zachary didn’t just divorce me.”
Her brother’s grip tightened. “That bastard deserves worse than lightning.”
“He killed Evelyn Whitmore.”
When she lifted her head again, the love she’d once carried for Zachary Blackwood was gone.
