Chapter 1
The night before the wedding, rain poured in torrents.
I slammed the signed divorce papers onto Hugo Kennedy's desk.
He rubbed his sleepy eyes, sharpness flashing in his gaze. "Natalia was upset. I stayed with her half the night, and you're filing for divorce now?" Hugo said.
My fingers were ice-cold as I lowered my gaze to the storm outside.
For three years, I writhed in stomach pain while he bought birthday gifts for his sweetheart, Natalia Doyle. I broke down in tears under a client's cruel demands while he celebrated with her for her birthday.
Even tonight, on our wedding day, he was wearing the sapphire on his lapel Natalia had abandoned last year.
I had loved him for seven years—from school uniforms to wedding gowns—lying to myself all that time.
He tore up the papers with a casual shrug and said, "She's in the past. We're getting married tomorrow. Stop making a scene."
I lifted my eyes, showing not a trace of tears. "One copy torn, I'll sign ten more."
Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, voice tight with emotion. "Seven years, can you really throw it all away?"
I pulled gently, revealing the red marks on my skin, lips curling into a cold, bitter smile.
I said nothing because earlier, in the pouring rain, I had seen the ring he ordered for Natalia—crafted overnight, a size smaller than mine.
*****
The rain hammered the floor-to-ceiling windows, sounding like it might break the glass.
I stood at the entrance to Hugo Kennedy's study, clutching the signed divorce papers. The rain-soaked edges were starting to curl.
The living room clock showed 2:17 AM—less than ten hours until our wedding.
The study door was left slightly open, warm yellow light spilling through the gap.
When I walked in, Hugo was slouched in his leather chair, eyes closed, trying to catch some rest. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the faint scent of alcohol mixed with a hint of gardenia—the perfume Natalia loved most.
"You're awake?" I slapped the papers down on the mahogany desk, my voice so steady it even caught me off guard.
Hugo opened his eyes—those eyes I'd been hooked on for seven years—now clouded with irritation from being disturbed.
He glanced at the papers, his gaze pausing on the words "Divorce Agreement" for a couple of seconds before letting out a sarcastic laugh.
"What's with the drama, Elodie?" he scoffed.
"Sign it," I said, pushing the pen toward him.
He sat up straight, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. "Is this all because I went to see Natalia tonight? She was upset, standing out in the rain by herself. I couldn't just leave her there."
"Natalia was upset," I echoed, tracing my fingers over the cold surface of the desk. "So on the night before our wedding, you ditched your fiancée to spend half the night with your ex."
"Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this?" Hugo frowned, his tone as dismissive as ever. "Natalia and I are over. We're getting married tomorrow. Is this really the time to bring up divorce?"
I looked down at the lightning outside, a streak of white splitting the night and illuminating my pale fingers.
The past three years flickered through my mind like a silent film.
Curled up in agony from acute gastritis, I was rolling on the ER floor, dialing him seventeen times. He was off choosing Natalia's twenty-fifth birthday gift, his phone set to silent.
At work, a client tormented me, forcing me to revise my proposal twenty-three times before finally tossing it in my face in front of everyone.
I hid in the stairwell, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. Meanwhile, he was out celebrating Natalia's birthday, posting on Instagram a photo of the ninety-nine roses he'd given her, captioned: [Wishing my little princess eternal happiness.]
Even the sapphire on his lapel for tomorrow's wedding was the one Natalia passed up at an auction last year. He paid triple the price to buy it privately, had it made into a brooch, and smiled at me, saying, "This color suits you."
Suited me? What a joke.
It was really for his first love, wasn't it?
"Hugo," I said, for the first time in seven years looking at him with absolute calm. "I'm not here to negotiate."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed the papers.
The sound of paper ripping was especially sharp in the stormy night.
The shreds fluttered down like snow onto the plush carpet.
"Finished tearing?" I asked quietly.
Hugo dropped the last scrap to the floor, speaking with the arrogance of a winner. "Elodie, stop the drama. Go get some sleep. You've got to be up early for makeup tomorrow."
I turned and walked to the other side of the desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a thick stack of blank paper, along with a fresh pen.
Right in front of Hugo, I wrote "Divorce Agreement" at the top of the first page.
Hugo's smile froze on his face.