Chapter 2

I didn’t return home until eleven that night.

The moment I opened the door, stale smoke and alcohol hit me.

The living room was a mess.

Empty glasses covered the coffee table. Ash had been ground into the carpet. Dirty plates filled the kitchen sink.

Ronan sat on the couch, his expression dark.

“Where’s dinner?”

I remained by the door without taking off my shoes.

“I didn’t make any.”

The remote struck the table with a sharp crack.

“I told you to be home by six.”

“Your clients already left?”

“You still have the nerve to ask?”

He rose, anger tightening every line of his face.

“I told them my wife would cook. Instead, you ignored my calls and never showed up. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

I looked at the bottles scattered across the floor.

“You could have ordered dinner.”

“That isn’t the point.”

He gestured toward the wrecked room.

“Clean this up. I need my white shirts tomorrow, so wash them by hand tonight. There’s also a contract in my study. Take it to the office when you’re done.”

Then he sat back down and returned to his phone.

As though I had no job.

As though I never got tired.

As though my entire purpose was to wait for his next instruction.

I stayed where I was.

Several seconds passed before he glanced up again.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I worked sixteen hours today.”

Ronan let out a contemptuous laugh.

“You call drawing a few plans on a computer work?”

He leaned back against the couch.

“I’m the one who earns the money. The least you can do is take care of this house.”

His voice hardened.

“Stop wasting time on those useless design jobs. This home is your real responsibility.”

The room fell silent.

Seven years earlier, he used to wait outside my studio with coffee when I worked late.

He once told me I was most beautiful when I was focused on a design.

Now my career was a meaningless hobby.

My time had no value.

Everything I did for him was expected.

And somewhere along the way, I had stopped being Sabine.

I had become nothing more than his wife.

“Don’t give me that look,” Ronan snapped. “You have no family. No connections. The little money you make wouldn’t even cover your own expenses.”

He stared directly at me.

“Without me, you’re nothing.”

A quiet laugh escaped me.

“You’re right.”

His brows drew together.

I walked to the dining table, took a document from my bag, and placed it in front of him.

“So I’d like to find out.”

His gaze dropped to the first page.

Divorce Agreement.

For two seconds, he said nothing.

Then he laughed.

“All this because I asked you to cook dinner?”

“No.”

I removed my wedding ring and set it on top of the papers.

“It’s because after seven years, you’ve never once believed I deserved to sit down and share that dinner with you.”

The amusement faded from his face.

“Sabine, stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not. I’ve already signed it.”

He flipped to the final page.

Surprise flashed in his eyes when he saw my signature, but it quickly hardened into mockery.

“You think threatening me with divorce will make me beg?”

He tossed the agreement back onto the table.

“Where will you live? How will you support yourself?”

His mouth curved coldly.

“One month. Give it a month, and you’ll come crawling back.”

I didn’t argue.

I went into the kitchen and untied the pale blue apron.

After washing it, I folded it neatly and placed it over the divorce papers.

Then I picked up the suitcase waiting outside the front door.

Ronan finally stood.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to the airport.”

Three months later, our divorce was finalized.

I never went back.

Three years passed.

When the conference room doors opened, Ronan was already seated at the long table.

He had been told headquarters was sending a new Project Director.

He simply hadn’t been told it was me.

The moment he saw me in the client’s chair, the color drained from his face.