Dominic's POV
"We're not getting divorced."
I stare at my phone after Aria hangs up on me. She actually hung up. My wife—quiet, obedient Aria who never argues—just told me she wants a divorce and then hung up on me.
This isn't happening.
"Sir?" My assistant's voice comes through the intercom. "Your two o'clock is here."
I don't move. Can't move. Aria's words keep playing in my head: "I've spent five years loving a man who doesn't love me back."
That's not true. I... I care about her. Don't I?
My office door slams open. Marcus storms in, his face red with anger.
"What did you do?" he demands.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Aria just called my wife, crying. She said she's divorcing you. What. Did. You. Do?"
I run my hands through my hair. "It's a misunderstanding. Someone sent her photos of me having breakfast with Celeste and she's overreacting—"
"You had breakfast with Celeste?" Marcus looks like he wants to punch me. "On your anniversary?"
My stomach drops. "How did you know it was my—" I stop. Look at my computer screen. The date in the corner reads October 15th.
Five years ago today, I married Aria in a courthouse because she was pregnant. Except she wasn't pregnant. The test was wrong, or she miscarried, or something. I never really asked for details. I just felt relief that I didn't have to be a father.
And now she wants to divorce me.
"I forgot," I whisper.
"You forgot." Marcus laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You forgot your anniversary. You had breakfast with your ex-girlfriend. And now you're surprised your wife wants out?"
"It wasn't like that! Celeste called me at five AM, crying. She said she needed to talk. I met her for coffee to be supportive—"
"At five AM? Dominic, do you hear yourself?" Marcus sits down heavily. "That woman has been gone for eight years. Eight years. And the second she calls, you go running?"
"She was upset—"
"So is your wife! So is Aria, who's been here the whole time. Who's organized your life and attended your events and asked for nothing. And you forgot her anniversary to comfort the woman who dumped you?"
I open my mouth. Close it. Because Marcus is right.
When did I become this person?
"I need to fix this," I say, standing up. "I'll go home. Talk to Aria face to face. Explain that the breakfast meant nothing—"
"Don't." Marcus holds up his hand. "Don't go home yet. You need to think about what you're going to say. Because if you show up and tell her that breakfast 'meant nothing,' you're just proving her point. That she means nothing too."
"That's not—" I stop. Is that what I've been doing? Treating Aria like she means nothing?
I think about our marriage. When was the last time we had dinner together? When was the last time I asked about her day? When was the last time I told her she looked nice, or thanked her for anything, or even just... noticed her?
I can't remember.
My phone rings. Elena Castellano. Again. I should ignore it. But I answer anyway.
"Dominic! Thank God. Celeste is at your penthouse but she's alone and feeling awkward. Can you come home early? She needs you."
She needs you. Three words that make my chest tight.
"I have meetings," I say automatically.
"Cancel them. Family comes first." Elena's voice is warm. She's never used that tone with me when talking about Aria. "You were always so good to Celeste, even after she left. It means the world that you're helping her now."
I glance at Marcus. He's watching me with an expression I can't read.
"I'll be home in an hour," I hear myself say.
Elena thanks me and hangs up. Marcus stands.
"You're going to her," he says flatly. "To Celeste. Even though your wife just asked for a divorce."
"I need to tell Celeste she can't stay with us. It's causing problems."
"You think?" Marcus walks to the door. "You know what the sad part is? I don't think you even realize you're in love with your wife. You're so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt again that you can't see what's right in front of you."
"I'm not in love with—"
"Then sign the divorce papers when they come. Let her go. Let her find someone who will actually love her back." Marcus opens the door. "Because right now? You're just wasting her time."
He leaves. I stand there, his words echoing in my head.
I'm not in love with Aria. Am I?
I think about coming home to an empty penthouse. No more meals waiting. No more notes reminding me about meetings. No more Aria.
My chest hurts.
I grab my jacket and head home. I'll talk to Celeste, tell her she needs to leave, and then I'll find Aria and fix this. Somehow.
The penthouse is quiet when I arrive. "Celeste?"
"In here!" Her voice comes from the living room.
She's sitting on the couch, and my breath catches. She looks exactly like I remember—golden hair, perfect smile, the woman I thought I'd marry someday.
"Dom." She stands and hugs me. She smells like expensive perfume and Paris and everything I thought I wanted eight years ago.
But something feels wrong. Off.
"We need to talk," I say, pulling back. "You can't stay here. It's not appropriate."
Her smile falters. "But your mother-in-law said—"
"I don't care what Elena said. You're my ex-girlfriend. My wife is upset. You need to find a hotel."
Celeste's eyes fill with tears. Real tears. "Please don't make me leave. I have nowhere else to go. The media is destroying me in Paris. I lost my position with the orchestra. I lost everything, Dom. You're the only person I can trust."
And just like that, I'm twenty-four again. Watching her cry. Wanting to fix everything for her.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "You can stay. Just for a few days."
I'm an idiot.
Celeste smiles and hugs me again. "Thank you. I knew you'd understand. You always understand me."
Over her shoulder, I see something that makes my blood run cold.
Aria's wedding ring. Sitting on the kitchen counter. Not in the trash. Not lost. Placed carefully, deliberately, where I would see it.
She's been here. She came home and left her ring behind.
I pull away from Celeste and walk to the counter. Pick up the ring. It's warm, like Aria just took it off.
"Dom? Are you okay?"
No. I'm not okay. Because my wife left her wedding ring behind like she's already moved on.
I'm about to call Aria when I notice something else. My desk drawer—the one I always keep locked—is open. Just a crack.
Ice runs through my veins.
I walk to my office. The drawer is definitely open. I pull it all the way out, my hands shaking.
It's empty.
Everything I kept in there—gone.
The photos of Celeste from college. The letters she sent from Paris. The plane ticket I never used to visit her. All the proof that I never let go of her, never moved on, never gave Aria a real chance.
All gone.
On top of the empty drawer is a note in Aria's handwriting:
"I hope she was worth it. The lawyer will contact you tomorrow. Don't fight this, Dominic. Let me go. - A"
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number:
"She knows everything now. Every lie. Every secret. Every moment you chose Celeste over her. You destroyed your marriage all by yourself. How does it feel?"
I stare at the message. Who sent this? How do they know about the drawer?
Another text:
"By the way, that kiss this morning? The one in the parking garage at 6:47 AM? It's on video. And Aria has seen it. You really should be more careful about security cameras."
My heart stops.
The parking garage. This morning. When Celeste first arrived and kissed me and I—
I kissed her back.
For just a second, I kissed her back. Because for one stupid second, I forgot about everything else and remembered what it felt like eight years ago.
And someone recorded it. And sent it to my wife.
"Dom?" Celeste appears in the doorway. "Who are you texting?"
I look at her. Really look at her. And I realize something horrible.
I don't love her. Not anymore. Maybe not for years.
But I loved the idea of her. The fantasy of what we could have been. And I held onto that fantasy so tight that I destroyed something real.
My marriage.
My phone rings. Aria's number. Finally.
I answer immediately. "Aria, thank God. We need to talk. That video—it's not what it looks like—"
"Mr. Kane?" A woman's voice. Not Aria. "This is Rachel Torres from Torres Law Firm. I'm calling on behalf of your wife, Aria Kane. She's retained me to represent her in your divorce. Please have your attorney contact my office. Do not attempt to contact Mrs. Kane directly. Any communication should go through me."
"Wait—"
"Have a good evening, Mr. Kane."
She hangs up.
I stand there, phone in my hand, Celeste watching me with concern, and I finally understand.
I didn't just forget my anniversary.
I forgot my wife.
And now she's gone.
My phone buzzes one last time. Another message from that unknown number:
"Want to know the best part? She has a secret that's going to destroy you even more than you destroyed her. Sleep well, Dominic. Tomorrow, your whole world ends."