Jonah’s POV

I’m standing in the walk-in closet, surrounded by an endless display of pristine ties hanging in neat rows. Though I try to block it out, each tie reminds me of her—as does everything else in this house. My mind keeps replaying the silence of the last week, the absence of any call or text from Sienna. My chest tightens at the thought.

When I slide open the cufflink drawer, my hand trembles slightly, but cufflinks aren’t what greet me. Instead, I find a collection of small, almost-forgotten trinkets that tug painfully at my memory.

The first thing I pick up is the faded ticket stub from our first official date. It was that romantic comedy Sienna had been dying to see. I spent the whole movie watching her laugh; I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Next comes the tiny ceramic elephant from a street vendor in Thailand, something I gave her during our honeymoon. My fingers brush over a pressed flower, the last piece of the bouquet I sent her after we fought—our first big fight. I can still recall how my pride made me send flowers instead of apologizing in person.

Every one of these artifacts carries me back to moments when Sienna’s joy was my compass, illuminating everything in its glow. She used to light up when I walked through the door, nestling against me on Sunday mornings, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm as she planned our life together.

When did it change? When did everything turn into something so distant, so routine? The question sits heavily in my chest. I hold the little elephant, feeling its cool weight against my palm, recalling the way her laughter bubbled over when I handed it to her. The memory crashes into the present as I hear Vivienne’s footsteps approach.

She appears in the doorway, an envelope pinched between her immaculately manicured fingers.

“Jonah?” she calls softly. Her voice holds a note of smugness I don’t want to decode.

Setting the elephant down on the edge of the drawer, I straighten up. “What is it?” My words come out sharper than I intend.

Unperturbed, Vivienne steps closer, holding the envelope out toward me. “This came for you.”

I grab it from her, not bothering to look at the front right away. My mind remains tangled in the past, drawn back to Sienna’s smile—the real one, the one that belonged only to her. But when my eyes finally land on the return address, the blood in my veins seems to freeze solid.

Divorce lawyers.

The words blur together before I rip the envelope open, my mind racing too fast to think clearly. The letter inside almost tears in my hands as I unfold it violently. Bold print screams at me: Petition for Divorce, Irreconcilable Differences, Division of Assets.

And there, at the bottom, is her signature. Her name. Cold and final.

A heavy silence swallows me, followed by a rush of fury too wild to contain. Rage churns inside, drowning out everything else. This is how she decides to leave me? By slapping me with legal documents like I’m nothing but a business deal to finalize? After enduring her father’s impossible expectations, after dedicating three years to a marriage that required sacrifice at every step? This is how she repays me for everything I’ve provided, everything I’ve given her?

“Fuck this,” I spit, my voice barely recognizable. The paper crumples in my fist before I hurl it with all my strength. It collides with the wall, pages scattering onto the cold marble floor. My hand aches to smash through something—mirrors, walls, anything to match the chaos inside.

Instead, I remain still, my restraint an iron cage. I’ve perfected the art of control; years of being Sienna’s husband required it. I won’t lose control now.

“Jonah.” Vivienne’s voice cuts through the tense air gently, as if she doesn’t notice my clenched fists or the tremor in my shoulders. She steps closer, placing her hand on my arm. “Maybe this is for the best. You two were never a good match. Maybe it’s time to let her go.”

Let her go? Let go of the woman I built my future with? Let go of the one who carried my child, who promised forever? No. Just… no.

Shaking off her hand, I storm out of the room, needing distance from everything, and yet I can’t escape her. Every corner of this house carries traces of Sienna. The kitchen echoes with the memory of her humming over a stove, casually flipping pancakes. The living room still holds her laughter as she propped her feet on my lap, painting her nails while we watched movies. Then, the bedroom—where plans for a life together once took shape—is now a graveyard of what could have been.

She’s only been gone for a week, but for the first time, the emptiness of this house seems unbearable.

Vivienne’s POV

She actually did it? She sent him divorce papers? For a moment, all I can do is stare at the strewn documents, unsure if the thrill coursing through my chest is from disbelief or anticipation.

Once Jonah’s thundering footsteps vanish, I gather the papers scattered across the floor, carefully smoothing their creases. My breathing quickens with excitement as my fingertips trace over Sienna’s neatly penned signature. She’s finally stepping aside, handing me the opportunity I’ve waited for.

Three years. Three excruciating years of watching him belong to someone else. Three nights far too long spent awake, imagining him whispering words meant only for me to her instead. Three years of pretending to stand by as the dutiful employee, yearning to reclaim what was always meant to be mine.

The way I envisioned their marriage crumbling would’ve been different. Jonah should have been the one to throw her out, to pack her things and cut her out of his life as easily as one cuts a threadbare string. But it doesn’t matter now. She’s done the work for me, and soon, Jonah will understand that I’m exactly who he needs.

With deliberate care, I flatten the final page onto the floor and reach into my purse for a pen. The most important signature is the one that’s still missing: Jonah’s. I’ve spent years observing every detail of his penmanship—memorizing the impatient flick of his wrist, the flourish at the end of his curved letters. I’ve practiced so much that even I sometimes forget which signatures are his and which are my forgeries.

I let the first signature flow from the pen, but it’s far too clean, too perfect. Jonah’s real signature exudes subtle aggression, the kind that comes only from hurriedly signing document after document. My hand moves quicker the second time, more naturally. When I lift the pen, what remains is nearly flawless: a signature even Jonah himself wouldn’t question.

Satisfied, I fold the papers and slide them back into the envelope. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my assistant send it straight to Merrick & Associates. With Sienna out of the way, her "freedom" granted, and the divorce finalized, Jonah will see clearly what he’s been overlooking.

I’ve been patient for so long. Jonah will be mine—not just legally, but wholly, obsessively. Unlike her, I’ll never let him look at me with indifference. Unlike her, I’ll be exactly what he needs.

Finally, the life she stole from me will be restored, piece by piece, until everything fits exactly the way it was always meant to.