Divorced by Morning, Claimed by the Billionaire by Night

[9 PM tonight—welcome-back dinner for Dylan. You coming?]

The message from her best friend Elena Whitney lit up Paige's phone while she was still at the studio, buried in overtime. A nightmare client had demanded eight revisions on a single design, and she'd been pulling late nights for two weeks straight.

She stared at the screen, momentarily disoriented.

He's back?

The flutter of anticipation died before it could fully form. She scrolled through her phone—no messages from Dylan. No missed calls. She'd assumed she'd been too swamped to notice, but no. The truth was simpler: no one had bothered to tell her.

[One more piece of bad news, babe. Nancy's there too.]

Elena's follow-up arrived. Paige went still, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

Even his return—she was the last to know.

[Have fun without me. I'm not going.]

She sent the reply, switched off the lights, locked up, and left the studio behind.

It was well past midnight when Paige returned to Maple Grove. She showered and collapsed into bed, but her sleep was shallow. The moment she heard movement outside, she was awake.

Dylan sat on the sofa, wreathed in cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of alcohol. His shirt collar hung open, revealing pale skin and the sculpted outline of muscle beneath. His brow was furrowed, jaw hard-edged in the dim light, Adam's apple bobbing as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. He looked like temptation and restraint at war with each other.

"You're back," she said.

He lifted his gaze lazily at the sound of her voice. A low hum of acknowledgment, nothing more. His eyes passed over her like she was furniture—cold, indifferent, as if he'd never seen her before.

"You've been drinking too much," Paige said, concern slipping into her tone despite herself. "Your stomach can't handle it. Try to ease up next time, okay?"

She turned to pour him a glass of honey water. He didn't take it—just pointed at the table, indicating she should set it down.

"Dylan—"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shadows carving his features into sharp relief. "Let's get divorced."

Her heart seized. She must have misheard.

She swallowed, unable to speak.

"I won't shortchange you on the settlement," he continued, voice flat. "If you have any demands, now's the time."

Paige kept her breathing steady, though something inside her had begun to fracture. "I don't have any demands."

"None?" A flicker of doubt crossed his face, his brow creasing.

"None," she confirmed quietly.

"Anything else you want to say to me?"

"No."

Her voice was so calm it seemed to catch him off guard. This wasn't what he'd expected. "I thought you'd cry," he said. "Make a scene."

"I won't." She'd always known you couldn't force someone to love you. Clinging to a husband whose heart was elsewhere—that kind of humiliation wasn't something she could stomach.

Somewhere deep down, she'd sensed this day would come from the moment she'd married him.

She just hadn't expected it so soon.

Three years of marriage, ending like this.

"Leon will send the divorce papers tomorrow," Dylan said. "Take up any issues with him."

Paige nodded. "Alright."

She said nothing more. But she still rose, poured another glass of honey water, and set it in front of him. "Try not to drink so much from now on," she said softly.

Then she returned to her room and closed the door.

Moments later, she heard the front door open and shut. He was gone.

Paige clenched her jaw until it ached. A dull pain spread through her chest, something thick lodging in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She opened her social media feed and scrolled until she found it—photos posted by Dylan's friends. Group shots from the party.

The man who'd just asked her for a divorce, smiling beside a young, beautiful woman.

Nancy Kaufman.

The girl who'd been Dylan's light during the darkest period of his youth.

And Paige? She was just the interloper. The one who'd swooped in while the real love was away. Now that Nancy was back, there was no place for her anymore.

It was time to go.

The divorce papers arrived the next day at Paige's studio.

She didn't bother reading them. She flipped straight to the signature page and signed.

Leon Lambert blinked. "Mrs. Farley, don't you want to review the terms? What if the agreement—"

"He's always been generous. He won't cheat me." Paige handed the documents back. "And even if he wanted to, your firm's legal department would bury me before I could fight back." She met the lawyer's gaze. "Also—I'm not Mrs. Farley anymore."

Leon offered no correction, just a faint, professional smile.

His task complete, he exchanged a few pleasantries and turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, Paige called out.

"One moment."

"Yes?"

She paused, considering. "I have a business trip coming up. Could you ask him if he's free tomorrow or the day after to finalize things at the county clerk's office?"

"That soon?" Leon couldn't hide his surprise. He'd been sent to deliver divorce papers, but she seemed more eager to end the marriage than his client. "I'm not certain of Mr. Farley's schedule. He didn't mention it."

"Then please ask him for me."

"Of course."

The next time Paige saw Dylan was at the county clerk's office, signing the final paperwork.

He seemed rushed, his phone buzzing relentlessly, never a moment's peace.

Paige waited in silence, not a single unnecessary word. She didn't look at him. Only when he finished his call did she speak, her voice mild. "Everything's ready. Just need your signature."

While he'd been on the phone, she'd already taken a number and submitted their documents.

The marriage registration window next door was packed. The divorce line was nearly empty.

Paige tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the serene curve of her profile. She'd put on light makeup today and chosen a striking red dress that traced the lines of her figure. She didn't notice Dylan's gaze lingering on her—by the time she turned, his eyes had already slid away, betraying nothing.

"Here you go. Your divorce certificates."

Paige accepted hers from the clerk and tucked it carefully into her bag. The feeling was nothing like the day they'd married.

Outside the building, Dylan's car waited at the curb. He glanced back at her, but she spoke first.

"Goodbye."

His eyes narrowed. "Just like that? You're leaving?"

She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled.

Dylan stood with one hand in his pocket, effortlessly commanding attention without trying. People stared; he didn't notice, or didn't care. His dark gaze settled on the woman in red. "Really nothing you want from me?"

"Hm?"

Paige studied him for a moment, then understanding dawned. "Are you worried I'll come after you later? Don't be. I won't cling to you." A small, sincere smile. "I genuinely hope you find your true love."

Dylan opened his mouth to respond, but his phone cut him off—again. He was busy. He'd carved out time for this divorce, nothing more. He hadn't expected her to be so eager to end things, as if she couldn't wait to move on to someone new.

Paige didn't linger. Everything that needed saying had been said. Her ride pulled up, and she was gone.