Four years of marriage—and Cassidy still didn't know her husband's favorite color.
She sat on the edge of their balcony, a cup of chamomile tea warming her hands as the city lights of New York glittered in the distance. The night breeze was gentle, but it couldn't quiet the growing storm inside her.
The bedroom behind her was silent. Too silent.
Zeke had just come home—at two in the morning. Again.
Cassidy didn't ask where he had been.
He didn't offer an explanation.
There was a faint trace of perfume on his shirt. Not hers.
She took a deep breath, steady and quiet, and walked back inside. Her steps were soft against the marble floor as she moved toward her vanity. She opened the small drawer she rarely touched, pulled out a brown envelope, and set it carefully on the nightstand.
The divorce papers were still as crisp as the day she printed them—four years ago.
That was the plan from the start. If love ever found its way into their hearts for someone else, they'd part ways. No questions asked.
And now she had seen it with her own eyes. Zeke's smile. His hand brushing back another woman's hair. Intimate. Familiar. Real.
Her heart didn't break. It didn't even crack.
It just… confirmed what she had known all along: there was nothing between them. And maybe there never had been.
She looked over at the tall man who had once been a stranger, then a husband, but never quite a partner. He was already asleep on the couch, still in his suit, one arm draped over his eyes like he couldn't bear to face the ceiling—or maybe, couldn't bear to face her.
Cassidy turned off the lights.
Tomorrow, she would hand him the envelope.
And this time, she wouldn't hesitate.
***
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the marble floors. Cassidy had been awake for hours. She didn't sleep much the night before—her mind too loud, her heart too quiet.
Zeke entered the kitchen without a word. Hair tousled, tie loose around his neck, shirt half-buttoned. He looked effortlessly perfect—like he always did.
The silence between them felt louder than any argument ever could. Cassidy pushed the envelope forward on the kitchen counter.
Zeke's eyes flickered toward it, then to her. "What's this?"
She met his gaze. Calm. Measured. "You know what it is."
He stared at her for a second longer, then reached for the envelope. His fingers hovered over the seal.
"You're serious," he said, voice low, unreadable.
She met his eyes. "I've never been more certain."
Zeke didn't touch the envelope yet. Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Because of what you saw last night?"
Cassidy's jaw tightened. "Let's not pretend it wasn't what it looked like."
Zeke didn't respond. He finally opened the envelope, glanced through the papers, and then set them back down.
"There's a clause," he said. "Only if one of us falls in love."
"I assumed you already did," she replied evenly. "I saw the way you looked at her."
He blinked. "And what exactly did it look like?"
"You with her," she said flatly. "In your car. Touching her hair. Smiling. Laughing. Like you actually felt something."
There was a brief pause.
Zeke let out a slow breath, not defensive, just… resigned. "So you think I've fallen for someone else?"
"Haven't you?" she asked, the question sharp but quiet.
He studied her face, searching for something—doubt, hesitation, regret—but there was none.
"No," he replied simply.
Cassidy's lips parted, surprised at how calmly he said it. "Then why didn't you fight this?"
Zeke looked down at the envelope. "Because I thought you already had someone else."
Cassidy blinked. "What?"
"I saw you," he said, not angry, not bitter—just tired. "With that man. The one at the hotel lobby. You were hugging him. You looked... happy."
Her mouth parted to respond, but the words stalled.
Zeke gave a short, hollow laugh. "Ironic, isn't it? We both assumed the other had fallen in love. And instead of talking, we just… gave up."
Cassidy slowly exhaled. "That man was my cousin. From my mother's side. He was visiting from Melbourne."
Zeke's eyes lifted, finally meeting hers. There was something in them—regret, confusion, something deeper he didn't want to name.
She could've asked him then. Could've demanded to know who the girl was. But she didn't.
And he didn't explain.
Because maybe, deep down, they were both too exhausted to untangle a mess built over four years of silence.
Zeke finally picked up the envelope. "I'll sign it."
Cassidy gave a small nod and turned away, unaware that the girl she'd seen—young, sweet, and laughing in Zeke's car—was his sixteen-year-old niece. The daughter of Nicole, his older sister, the one person who had truly raised him when no one else did.
And the only family Zeke had ever broken the rules for.
**
Zeke hadn't returned to the penthouse that night.
The streets of New York blurred past the windshield, neon signs flashing against the glass like memories he wasn't ready to face. He didn't feel heartbroken. Not exactly. It was more of a dull ache, like something important had gone missing—but he wasn't sure what.
The truth was… he never loved Cassidy.
But he did respect her.
She never complained, never demanded affection that didn't exist. She never tried to change him. In a world filled with manipulation and performance, Cassidy Calista had been terrifyingly real.
And that made things complicated.
Their marriage had always been transactional—an alliance between families, forged under corporate pressure and the illusion of prestige. Zeke had agreed because it kept the board happy. Cassidy, because she was tired of being paraded like a product in designer heels.
At first, they were strangers in a glass tower. Formal. Distant. Polite.
But time blurred the lines. They began sharing coffee on cold mornings. Casual exchanges in the elevator. Muted laughter when mocking the absurdities of the socialite world.
Still, they were never in love. Not even close.
Yet once every two weeks—like clockwork—the boundaries shifted. Skin met skin. Needs were met. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't passionate. It was… necessary. Human.
And strangely respectful.
Zeke had always admired how Cassidy never used those moments to claim more than what he could give. No tears. No expectations. Just silence, and then space. Like she understood him more than he understood himself.
Maybe that's what made it hurt a little now.
Because Cassidy—of all people—deserved the truth.
And yet he let her walk away believing he was cheating. He let her believe she was replaceable.
The divorce papers lay untouched in the glove compartment of his Aston Martin as he drove through the glowing chaos of Manhattan. He passed by Times Square, Fifth Avenue, even made a full loop around Central Park—yet nowhere felt like somewhere he could breathe.
Eventually, his car slowed in front of a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. A quiet street. Familiar porch. The kind of place that didn't belong in his world of sterile boardrooms and tailored suits.
He exhaled as he climbed the stone steps. Before he could knock, the door creaked open.
"Uncle Zeke!" Arielle grinned, already barefoot and in pajama pants, her curls bouncing as she rushed into his arms. "You said you weren't coming today!"
Zeke smiled despite himself, holding her tighter than usual. "Change of plans."
From the kitchen, Nicole's voice drifted out—steady, warm, sharp as ever. "You look like hell."
Zeke stepped inside, letting the warmth of the brownstone soak into his bones. "That's one way to say hello."
Nicole appeared with a spatula in hand and a knowing look in her eyes. "Cassidy?"
He nodded.
"She found out?"
"Worse," Zeke murmured. "She misunderstood."
Nicole raised a brow. "You didn't explain?"
Zeke shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. "She handed me the divorce papers like she'd been waiting for the chance. She saw me with Arielle. Thought I was seeing someone else."
Nicole snorted. "My daughter? The sixteen-year-old who still sleeps with a stuffed shark?"
"I didn't correct her."
Nicole narrowed her eyes. "Why the hell not?"
He didn't answer.
Why?
Because a part of him thought she wanted to leave. And he didn't know how to ask her to stay—when he couldn't promise her love.
***
Cassidy Calista sat in a quiet café in SoHo, staring at the steam rising slowly from her untouched cappuccino.
She had just turned thirty-one last week. No party. No celebration. Just a cold message from her mother and a generic bouquet sent from Zeke's office—nothing new.
To the world, her life looked perfect: wife of a young billionaire, a lavish penthouse, designer clothes, and exclusive access to a world most people only dreamed about.
But deep down, Cassidy was exhausted.
Exhausted from being the polished ornament of two powerful families. Exhausted from being a wife in name only. Exhausted from a life where nothing felt hers.
She hadn't married Zeke out of love. She'd married him out of duty. Out of fear. Fear of disappointing her parents. Fear of not fulfilling her role as a "good daughter." Fear of never finding anything better.
But now, in her early thirties, that fear had curdled into frustration.
And from that frustration came a strange, stubborn kind of courage.
She wasn't looking for love. She wasn't expecting fireworks. She just wanted to stop pretending. And strangely, that realization had given her peace.
One thing about Zeke—he always kept his word.
Cassidy knew her family would be furious. Her mother would call her selfish. Her father would rant about the ruined alliance. But none of that mattered now.
Zeke owned the majority shares of the family business. No one could touch him. And if he had signed the papers, no one could force her to stay.
Maybe this wasn't some grand declaration of freedom.
But for Cassidy, it was a start.
**