Chapter 2

Julia took forty minutes to put together a divorce agreement. Every clause was bulletproof, no loopholes, cold, hard logic.

After three years with the legal team at Shinewin Group, she'd handled hundreds of mergers, stock transfers, and asset restructurings. Compared to all that, writing a divorce agreement was child's play.

For the property division, she wrote one line. [No division of marital property is required. Assets under each party's respective name shall belong solely to each party.]

She and Brandon had signed a prenup before they got married, so she knew she wasn't getting a dime out of this. Not that she ever cared about the money.

Back then, the 600 thousand dollars went to the orphanage director's surgery, and the rest she donated right back to the orphanage. Her salary these past three years had been enough to support herself. She didn't owe anyone anything.

She saved the document, printed it out, slipped it into a manila envelope, and sealed it shut.

Then she wrote on the envelope: [For Brandon's Eyes Only.]

By the time she finished, the rain outside had stopped. Dusk settled in, and the city lights flickered on one by one, like a galaxy hanging upside down.

Julia slipped on her coat, grabbed her bag, and got ready to head out. As she reached the elevator, her phone rang. It was not a text, but a call.

The caller ID flashed Mr. Stone.

She picked up.

"What did you want to talk about?" Brandon's voice came through the phone, low and a bit tired. The background was quiet. He sounded like he was somewhere private.

"Didn't you say you were busy tonight?" Julia asked.

"I wrapped up a meeting. I've got twenty minutes free. Where are you?" Brandon replied.

"I'm at the office, about to leave," Julia said.

"Wait for me. I'll come up," Brandon said.

The call ended. Julia stood by the elevator, phone in hand. After a brief pause, she turned on her heel and walked back to her office.

Three minutes later, the door opened.

Brandon walked in.

He was wearing a deep blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, accentuating the lean lines of his arms.

His tie hung loosely around his neck, as if he'd loosened it after a long day. His hair was a bit longer than last time, a few strands falling over his forehead, accentuating the sharp lines of his brow.

He was handsome with strong brows, deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. His lips naturally curved downward, giving him an innate sense of aloofness.

But his eyes were a paradox, bottomless, with a glimmer that hinted at something deeper. Sometimes, if one looked closely, one would catch a fleeting softness that could make one's heart skip a beat.

But that tenderness was never Julia's to claim.

"What did you want?" he said, lingering at the doorway, making no move to come in.

Julia sat behind her desk, looking up at him. Three years of marriage, and the desk between them was always their boundary, never too close, never too far, enough for two strangers to keep up the illusion of civility.

"Have a seat," she said.

Brandon frowned a little, picking up on the change in her tone. He walked in and sat down across from her, his eyes lingering on her face.

"You look a little pale," he said.

"It's too much overtime," Julia replied calmly. "I'll be direct. Claire's back, isn't she?"

Brandon's expression stayed the same, but his right hand, resting on the armrest, curled slightly.

"You saw the news," he said, his tone flat, like it was no big deal.

"Yeah," Julia nodded. "It's good she's back. I think it's time we call it quits."

There was silence. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the room.

Brandon looked at her, his expression going from blank to sharp, like he was trying to size her up. Was she serious? Or was there something else behind her sudden words?

"Is this all because of Claire?" Brandon asked.

"Not completely," Julia said. "This marriage was always for show. Three years ago, you needed a wife to appease your grandfather. Now he's been gone for two years, and Claire's back. There's no point in keeping up the act anymore."

"You really think I was acting?" Brandon shot back.

Julia didn't answer. She pulled the manila envelope from her drawer and slid it across the desk to him.

"This is the divorce agreement. Look it over. If there's anything you want changed, feel free to amend it," she said.

Brandon looked down at the envelope but didn't reach for it.

"Julia," he said, his voice lower than before, "you're really asking me for a divorce?"

"Yes," Julia replied.

"Why today?" Brandon asked.

Julia thought for a moment, then said, "Honestly, today feels right. Claire's back, and you finally have the woman you want. And I..."

She stopped, words hanging in the air.

"What is it?" Brandon's gaze suddenly sharpened.

Julia sighed inwardly. She'd wanted to say she had a life she wanted to live, but when she saw the way he was looking at her, like she was on trial, she realized there was no point in explaining.

"Nothing," she said, standing up and grabbing her bag. "Take a look at the agreement. Let me know when you're done. I'm leaving now."

As she walked past him, he suddenly reached out and caught her wrist.

His hand was warm, his palm dry, his knuckles prominent. In three years, this was the most intimate physical contact they'd ever had, aside from that perfunctory kiss on the forehead every anniversary.

"Julia," he said, his voice low and rough, "are you angry?"

Julia glanced down at his hand. His fingers were long and strong, his knuckles turning pale from the force of his grip, as if he was struggling to keep his composure.

She was suddenly pulled back to that rainy night three years ago. He'd gripped her hand as tightly, knuckles white, but back then, he'd been murmuring "Claire" over and over.

Now, his fingers circled her wrist, and this time, he was saying her name. But honestly, she couldn't tell what difference it made.

"I'm not angry," Julia said softly, slipping her wrist from his grasp. "Brandon, I've never once been angry with you."

That was the truth. She never got angry, never asked questions, and never tried to hold on. She was like the ideal tenant. She always paid rent on time, stayed quiet, and never got in the landlord's way.

Because from the start, she knew this house was never hers to claim.

Julia walked out of her office and stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she caught a last glimpse of Brandon standing in the doorway, gripping the envelope, his face shadowed and impossible to read.

The elevator began its slow descent. Julia pressed herself against the wall and shut her eyes.

She remembered their wedding day three years ago. Brandon was waiting at the end of the aisle, sunlight catching his face as he reached out his hand to her. He gave her a small, perfect smile and said, "Julia, from now on, we're family."

He really did have a beautiful smile. Back then, she'd thought if only this could be real.

But she woke up fast. No one learned to stay clear-headed better than a kid who grew up in an orphanage.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors slid open. Julia stepped out and found herself face-to-face with a woman.

She wore a beige trench coat, her long hair cascading down like a waterfall, and her smile was gentle and elegant.

It was Claire.

For a moment, Julia saw a flicker of surprise in Claire's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a polished, graceful smile.

"Hi, are you Julia?" Claire's voice was gentle, like a spring breeze. "I've seen your pictures in the news, but you look prettier in real life."

"Thanks," Julia replied politely. "Right back at you."

Claire smiled, her eyes drifting past Julia to something behind her. Julia didn't need to look. She knew Claire was staring at the giant digital screen in the Shinewin Group lobby, where ads for all their brands played on a loop.

The Sinclair & Noble ad had switched on. The spokesperson hadn't been revealed yet, but now, right next to the logo, a new line had appeared: Creative Director, Claire Sinclair.

"Brandon didn't mention you were working late tonight," Claire said, her tone as casual as if they were talking about the weather. "I'm here to get his signature on a few documents. Want to head up together?"

"No, I'm off work now," Julia replied. "You two go ahead."

She stepped aside, and Claire walked past her. As they brushed shoulders, Julia caught a whiff of Claire's perfume. It was subtle, expensive, the kind of scent that one couldn't quite name.

But Julia used the kind you grab off the supermarket shelf, a bottle for 10 dollars.

Julia stepped out of the building, the night breeze hitting her face, carrying the damp, earthy scent left by the rain. She stood by the curb and hailed a cab.

Once inside, the driver asked, "Where to?"

She opened her mouth, but suddenly realized she had nowhere to go.

She'd grown up in an orphanage, with no family to call her own. Married for three years, she'd been living in Brandon's house. Everything she owned was in that place she was about to leave behind.

"Take me to the riverside in Riverdale," she said.

The cab slipped into traffic. Julia sank into the back seat, gazing at the city's neon lights streaming past the window.

Her phone buzzed.

Brandon: [I looked over the agreement. The property split isn't fair. You've been the legal director at Shinewin Group for three years and contributed a lot. You should get proper compensation.]

Julia: [I don't need it. I have enough money.]

Brandon: [This isn't about whether you need the money. It's a matter of principle.]

Julia stared at the words and felt like laughing.

Did he get to talk about principles? For three years, he had treated her like a decoration, like thin air, like a stranger bound only by a contract, and now he dared to lecture her on principles?

She typed out a reply, then deleted it. Finally, she sent: [Suit yourself.]

Brandon: [Come home for dinner tomorrow night. Let's talk in person.]

It was the first time in three years he'd ever asked her to come home for dinner.

Julia stared at the message, and suddenly her nose tingled with emotion. But she quickly brushed that feeling aside. [Okay.]