1

"Is this how you thank me?"

Ava slammed the thick file onto the glass table, her fingers trembling from exhaustion and disbelief. The digital clock on the wall read 2:37 AM, its dull blue light illuminating the dimly lit room. Her back ached, her eyes burned, but she had pushed through—because she thought she was doing this for them. For their marriage.

But the moment she looked at the man standing across from her, she knew.

Logan wasn’t grateful. He wasn’t relieved. He wasn’t even looking at the damn contract she had spent the last three weeks perfecting for him.

Instead, his gaze was cold. Indifferent. Like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.

He exhaled slowly, then slid a white envelope across the table. "You should sit down for this," he said, his voice too calm for what he was about to do.

She didn’t sit.

Her fingers hesitated before picking up the envelope. The weight of it felt wrong.

Then she pulled out the papers.

The moment Ava saw the word "DIVORCE" printed in bold letters, her stomach twisted into a painful knot.

For a second, her brain refused to process it.

"You... you're joking," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, her throat dry like sandpaper.

"I'm not."

She looked up, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign of regret. Anything.

But there was nothing.

Just cold detachment.

The same man who used to hold her close when she cried. The same man who promised her forever.

She let out a short, breathless laugh. "I just worked my ass off finishing this damn contract for you. I haven’t slept in two days, Logan."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn’t ask you to."

Something inside her cracked.

"You didn't ask me to?" Her voice rose, raw and sharp. "I did this for you. For your company. For us, Logan!"

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

She felt like she was drowning, her mind spiraling between anger and disbelief. Then, she noticed something.

A slight movement behind him.

A shadow.

And then—she stepped into the light.

A woman. Young. Beautiful. Fresh-faced, dressed in one of Logan’s shirts, its sleeves too long for her delicate arms.

The pieces fell together instantly.

Her breath caught. "Who is she?"

The woman’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Oh. He didn't tell you?"

Her stomach churned.

Logan didn’t even flinch.

"I'm not doing this, Ava," he muttered, rubbing his temples as if this were a minor inconvenience.

But the woman—Sophia Ellis—was enjoying this.

She stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the marble floor. "I suppose introductions are unnecessary. But since you're already holding the divorce papers, I might as well be polite."

She extended a manicured hand.

"I'm Sophia Ellis." A pause, then, with a soft, cruel chuckle, she added, "Logan’s fiancée."

The room spun.

Everything—the late nights, the ignored texts, the sudden business trips—it all made sense.

It had never been about work.

It had never been about them.

Logan had already moved on.

She was just the last one to find out.

Her fingers curled around the divorce papers, the weight of betrayal settling in her chest like a stone.

Five years.

Five years of building a life with this man. Of believing in him.

And in return, he had replaced her before she even had the chance to fight for their marriage.

"Say something!" Logan said, his voice impatient now, as if she were the one making everything difficult.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, steadying herself.

Then, she did something neither of them expected.

Ava laughed—a hollow, humorless sound.

"Wow," she whispered, shaking her head. "You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?"

Sophia arched an eyebrow. "Oh, honey. If I were you, I’d be grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Logan isn’t exactly the easiest man to be married to, is he?" Sophia tilted her head, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. "At least now you’re free."

Ava’s fingers tightened around the papers.

Freedom.

What a joke.

She wasn’t free—she was discarded. Tossed aside like she had meant nothing.

Logan crossed his arms, impatience radiating from him. "Are you done?"

She turned to face him fully.

"You really think you can just throw me away like this?" Her voice was calm. Too calm. "Like the last five years meant nothing?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "They meant something. Until they didn’t."

A sharp pain stabbed through her chest, but she refused to break. Not in front of him.

"You should sign it," he said, glancing at his watch. "It’s late."

As if her heartbreak were just another appointment in his schedule.

She exhaled slowly, forcing her hands to stop shaking.

With steady fingers, she picked up the pen.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

If he wanted her gone, she’d leave.

But not as a broken woman.

As someone who deserved better.

The tip of the pen touched the paper, and with one final breath, Ava signed her name.

Then, she placed the papers back on the table, meeting his eyes one last time.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice eerily steady. "I hope she’s worth it."

She turned on her heels, grabbing only her purse before walking toward the door.

But just as she reached for the handle, the other Sophia’s voice stopped her.

"Oh, one last thing," she mused. "Did Logan ever tell you why he really married you?"

Ava’s fingers stilled.

She didn’t turn around.

Silence stretched between them before Sophia giggled softly.

"Guess not," she said, amusement lacing her voice. "Well then, let me be the one to tell you—"

A pause.

Then, with a smirk in her voice, she asked, "Did you really think it was love?"

The door clicked shut behind Ava, but Sophia’s laughter echoed in her mind—a haunting reminder of everything she had lost. She stepped into the cool night air, the weight of the divorce papers still heavy in her purse. The streetlights flickered above, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement, mirroring the turmoil within her.

What had she done wrong?

The question gnawed at her as she walked aimlessly down the street, her heels clicking against the concrete. She had given everything to Logan—her time, her love, her trust. And for what? To be replaced by a younger, prettier version of herself?

Ava paused at a nearby park, the familiar swings swaying gently in the breeze. Memories flooded back—swinging side by side with Logan, laughing under the stars, dreaming of a future together. But those dreams felt like a cruel joke now, shattered by the reality of betrayal.

“You should have seen it coming,” she muttered to herself, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You were so blind.”

She sank onto a bench, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting. The pain was suffocating, a raw wound that refused to heal.

But as the tears fell, something shifted within her. Anger.

Ava was angry at Logan for his betrayal, angry at the other Ava for her smugness, and most of all, angry at herself for allowing this to happen.

“No more,” she whispered, wiping her tears away. “I won’t let this define me.”

With newfound determination, she stood up and took a deep breath. She would not be a victim. She would reclaim her life, starting now.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of emotions. Ava threw herself into her work, pouring her heart and soul into her projects. The office became her sanctuary—a place where she could focus on her goals and ambitions without the shadow of Logan looming over her.

Her colleagues noticed the change. They saw the fire in her eyes, the way she commanded attention in meetings, and the confidence that radiated from her.

One evening, as she was wrapping up a presentation, her boss approached her.

"Ava, you’ve really stepped up lately. I think it’s time we discuss a promotion."

Her heart raced at the prospect. A promotion. It was a chance to prove to herself that she was more than just Logan’s wife. She was Ava—capable, ambitious, and deserving of recognition in her own right.

"I’d love that," she replied, a genuine smile breaking across her face.

As she left the office that night, she felt lighter. The weight of her past was still there, but it no longer consumed her. She was moving forward, one step at a time.