Chapter 8

He could not bring himself to meet my eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the paper between us as he continued spilling out his sickeningly virtuous excuses, chipping away at my spirit.

"I know how unfair this is to you," he said with a sigh, his voice steeped in a guilt that felt anything but genuine. "And I know I've let you down.

"But you have to understand. Princess Aurora is nobility. She can help me rise above my station, shake off the bastard label, and finally find my footing at court."

"Is this really working for either of us?" He finally looked up, though his gaze flickered and slid away almost at once.

"Lying in the same bed, leading completely separate lives, and making each other miserable. What's the point? I can't keep living like this. Charlotte, please. Let me go."

That last line of his was painfully familiar.

Years ago, when he had knelt on the steps of Hughes Manor and begged my father for his blessing, when he had pleaded with me to grant him a lifetime by my side, those were the exact same words he had used.

Back then, his eyes had been bright with conviction, his voice fervent and full of sincerity.

He had told me I was the woman of his heart, that meeting me was the greatest fortune of his life, and that he could not bear to let a single day pass without me.

And now, with the very same tone and the very same phrasing, he was begging me to step aside for another woman.

How utterly absurd.

I thought back to the promises he had made, the sweetness of our wedding day, and all the kindness he had once shown me.

Those memories drifted through my mind like scenes from a life that no longer belonged to me. The sweeter they were, the more deeply they now cut.

My chest felt as though it had been pierced by a thousand needles, then crushed beneath a stone so heavy that I could barely draw a breath. A bitter ache rose behind my eyes.

Still, I didn't cry or make a scene.

What was the point? Tears and outbursts would only give him something to laugh at and leave me with nothing but shame.

I am the only daughter of the Hughes family, and I have my pride. Abandoned or wronged as I might be, I would not let him see me break. I would never give him the satisfaction of thinking I couldn't go on without him.

I slowly lifted my head and studied his evasive gaze, that mask of hypocrisy he wore so poorly, and then I let out a cold laugh.

That laugh carried mockery, a strange sense of release, and beneath it all, a quiet finality.

Edward flinched at the sound. He finally managed to look at me, and I could see the flicker of surprise and alarm in his eyes.

I didn't say a word. I simply reached out, picked up the quill pen, dipped it into the ink, and signed my name at the bottom of the divorce papers.

The pen landed cleanly, without the slightest hesitation or regret.

The moment I put my signature down, something that had been weighing on my chest for so long finally began to lift.

All those years of love, the heartbreak, and the quiet sacrifices disappeared like smoke in the wind.

Edward and I were done for good.

I placed the pen back on the table and looked up to meet his eyes. My gaze was cold and distant, stripped of any last trace of warmth.

"Edward," I said slowly, each word deliberate and clear, "after today, there is no 'us' anymore. I hope you get the future you've always wanted."

My voice was so steady and utterly calm, as if I was talking about a stranger.