The Contract Wife Chapter 05
Surprise flashed across his face. But he nodded.
“Yes. I can have my lawyer redraft the asset division tonight.”
I looked at him.
And suddenly I remembered all those nights over the past three years.
The warmth of his chest when he held me as I slept.
The way, in winter, he would instinctively take my cold feet in his hands and warm them.
The time I fainted from low blood sugar and woke up to find him sitting by the hospital bed, gripping my hand, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night.
Those moments—I used to think they were love.
I lowered my head and smiled a little.
When I looked up again, my eyes were dry.
“All right. I agree. But I set the terms. The Northampton estate. Seventy percent of all marital assets acquired during the marriage. The entirety of my stake in the joint venture between Sinclair Capital and Ashford Holdings. And every car in the garage registered to my name.”
He seemed to exhale in relief.
I stood up. “My lawyer will draft the agreement and send it to yours. Nine a.m. tomorrow, my lawyer’s office. We’ll sign the separation papers.”
He rose too. Something complicated passed through his eyes. “Evelyn…”
I lifted a hand to cut him off and gave him a mocking smile. “Don’t look at me like that. As if you were going to miss me.”
He said nothing.
I turned and went back to the bedroom.
I leaned against the closed door and slowly slid down to the floor.
Deep breath.
My eyes burned, but no tears came.
I don’t know how long I sat there. Then my phone buzzed.
Nathan’s voice came muffled through the door: “Wait for me. I’ll be right over.”
I glanced down. A TMZ push notification.
Ruby Calloway mobbed at LAX.
The attached image was a GIF.
In a churning crowd and a flurry of flashing bulbs, Ruby was staggering, jostled by the throng. Then a figure pushed into frame.
Tall. Impeccably tailored custom suit. One hand shielding her from the crowd, the other arm around her, guiding her briskly toward a waiting SUV.
The comments were already exploding: “Oh my god! Nathan Ashford?! The legendary Mr. A?! Is this the K-drama reunion of the century?”
I stared at the GIF for a long time.
Seven years of unrequited love.
Three years of marriage.
In the end, nothing but a long, hopeless one-way road.
I stood up and walked to the very back of the closet, to the safe. I keyed in the code and opened it.
There was no jewelry inside. Only an old, worn notebook.
Page one. September 3rd, 2015.
“Saw an upperclassman in a white shirt today. He was standing in the shade of a tree, sunlight coming through the leaves and falling on his shoulders. I don’t know who he is, but I want to write it down.”
Last page. May 19th, 2022.
“Tomorrow I’m getting married. I know he doesn’t like me. But it’s okay. Three years is long enough for me to love him properly.”
I carried the notebook to the shredder in the kitchen.
My hand hovered above the slot for a few seconds.
Then I lowered it.
Seven years of diary entries. Seven years of quiet longing. Seven years of loving him.
Started alone. Ended alone.