"You're really going through with the divorce?"
Elena had gotten wind of the news from somewhere and rushed to the studio, cornering Paige with a barrage of questions. "Seriously, you're just handing Dylan to Nancy on a silver platter? You might as well gift-wrap him for her! That woman's going to be laughing in her sleep! Have you lost your mind?"
Paige was still revising a design draft—endless rounds of changes that never satisfied the client. The truth was simple: they wanted champagne quality on a beer budget, expecting top-tier jewelry at bargain prices. Impossible. So she'd been going back and forth, tweaking proposals, buying time. She pinched the bridge of her nose and stole a moment to answer. "The divorce is already final. Too late for regrets."
"You—!" Elena clutched her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. "Look, everyone knows Nancy's the one obsessed with Dylan. He only sees her as a little sister. Even if something could happen between them, as long as you stayed married, you'd be the legal wife. Not even Nancy could touch that!"
Paige kept her eyes on the screen, saying nothing.
Elena stared at her unnervingly calm expression and wanted to scream. "You're telling me you walked away just like that? No regrets? You two seemed so happy together—"
She asked because she'd seen them. The way they'd been—picture-perfect, the kind of couple that made others envious. How could Nancy have destroyed that?
"We got along because there was no love." Paige's voice was flat. "He didn't love me. Any woman would've served the same purpose. I refuse to spend my life shackled to someone whose heart was never mine."
Elena's eyes went wide. "He actually said he didn't love you?"
"He got drunk once." Paige paused. "The name he called out wasn't mine."
Elena fell silent. She hadn't known. Paige had never mentioned it. Looking at her friend's face—still as water, betraying nothing—she let out a long breath. "I should've talked you out of it back then. That whirlwind marriage..."
Paige said nothing.
She remembered how it started. A cocktail party. Too much champagne. She'd mistaken Dylan for her driver and demanded he take her home. He did. Somehow, they'd exchanged contacts. A month of late-night messages, and feelings had crept in—unexpected, undeniable. She'd been the one to suggest dinner. He'd accepted. A few drinks later, she'd been the one to invite him upstairs.
One thing led to another.
The night had been... compatible.
She'd woken the next morning with a flicker of regret. A moment of weakness, even if it was her first time with a man. But they were both adults, both willing. She could own her choices. So she'd told him they could pretend it never happened.
The words had barely left her lips when he'd looked at her, utterly serious. "Some things can't be undone. And I don't think you believe they can either."
Then he'd proposed.
She'd said no.
"Then I want you to take responsibility for me," he'd said, his expression grave, no trace of humor.
She'd married him anyway. What was the phrase? Blinded by desire. She'd been under some kind of spell.
A hasty trip to the registrar's office. No ceremony. No banquet. No celebration with friends. Low-key to the point of secrecy—only a handful of people on her side knew.
Elena was one of the few.
After the wedding, they'd bought a place at Maple Grove. Dylan had insisted on paying; she'd refused to let him cover everything and handled the renovations herself, dipping into her own savings.
Objectively, he was ideal husband material. Attentive. Considerate. A respectable career. No vices. Gifts on every holiday, never missing a beat. Unlike other men, he wasn't careless about hygiene—if anything, he bordered on obsessive. And in the bedroom, they'd been perfectly matched. She couldn't have found a single flaw if she'd tried.
She'd even thought: This could work. This could be my life.
She'd never wanted children. But with him, the thought had surfaced—a baby, their baby.
When she'd mentioned it, his eyes had gone cold in an instant. "You're still young. Practically a child yourself. There's no rush."
Fine.
Fair enough.
She'd dropped the subject.
Then came the late nights. The business trips that stretched longer and longer. Months of this—until the whispers started. Anonymous messages on social media. Your husband's seeing someone else. Get out while you can.
At first, she'd dismissed them as pranks. A man like Dylan was bound to have a past. Former flames with grudges. Nothing more.
But earlier this year, he'd returned from a trip with traces she couldn't ignore. Another woman's perfume clinging to his collar. A phone call in the dead of night—she'd answered it.
That was when she'd learned the truth.
Dylan had married her to spite someone else. He'd never intended to build a life with her.
And that someone was Nancy.
A man like that wasn't worth holding onto.
Besides, these past few years hadn't been a total loss.
Dylan's body was exceptional—lean, sculpted, every line precise. Sleeping with a man like that? No regrets there.
When she framed it that way, it didn't sting quite as much.
As for whatever was between him and Nancy—she was done digging.
Paige had given that marriage real emotion. The divorce was final, but part of her soul had been carved out with it.
Elena watched her friend's carefully constructed composure crack at the edges, revealing the devastation beneath. Her heart ached. "Forget him. Trash belongs with trash—let him have his scheming little princess. We don't want him. You hear me, Paige? Don't you dare be sad over this."
"I'm not sad." Paige's voice was steady. "I'm just grateful we never had kids."
Her childhood hadn't been kind. At ten, her parents divorced. Custody went to her father, who promptly handed her off to a nanny while he remarried and started a new family—complete with new children. At least he'd kept her financially comfortable. By eighteen, when she'd started university, she'd stopped taking his money. Now they met once a year, maybe twice, for obligatory holiday dinners. Otherwise, radio silence.
That was partly why she and Dylan had skipped the wedding festivities.
Elena knew the history. Her heart twisted. "You'll be fine. Three-legged frogs are hard to find, but men with two legs? Everywhere. You've got the looks, the money—you think you'll have trouble finding someone?"
Paige couldn't help it. A laugh escaped—short, surprised.
Seeing that smile, Elena relaxed a fraction. "So what's the plan? What about the place you two shared?"
"I'm moving out of Maple Grove. As for the apartment..." Paige shook her head. "I won't be living there again. I'll sell it. Don't you have a friend in real estate? Think she could handle it for me?"
"Consider it done." Elena thumped her chest. "Leave it to me—I'll have good news for you before you know it!"
