The next morning, Chloe hadn't slept a wink, but her mind was clear—clearer than it had been in years. She applied her makeup with a steady hand, a flawless mask hiding the dark circles under her eyes. She dressed not in her usual soft fabrics, but in a crisp, white power suit.
When she descended the stairs, Elliott was in the dining room, sipping coffee and scanning the financial news as if nothing had happened. He looked up and even managed a practiced smile. "Morning, darling. Sleep well?"
Chloe didn't answer. She walked directly to the table and sat opposite him. She slid a document across the polished wood. Elliott glanced at it, his smile freezing on his face. The title was printed in bold, black letters: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice dropped, laced with annoyance and disbelief.
Chloe leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Her eyes met his without a flicker of warmth. "It means what it says. I want a divorce."
Elliott let out a short, incredulous laugh. He tossed the document onto the table as if it were trash. "Chloe, stop this nonsense. Is this because I didn't spend enough time with you at the gala? Your tantrums are getting worse."
His condescension, the way he dismissed her so easily, was more insulting than any shout. "I've already signed it," Chloe said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I don't want any of the assets. Just sign it, and we can go our separate ways."
The color drained from Elliott's face. He finally realized she was serious. He shot to his feet, looming over her, his eyes filled with a mocking cruelty. "Leave me? Leave the Santana family? Chloe, what will you live on? That pathetic little design job of yours?" His words were meant to cut, to remind her of her perceived dependence. "Without the title of Mrs. Santana, you are nothing in this city. Who do you think you are?"
The verbal blows landed, but Chloe's expression remained unchanged. She met his gaze without flinching. "That's not your concern. Sign the papers, Elliott."
Her calm infuriated him. He snatched the agreement from the table and ripped it to shreds. The torn pieces drifted to the floor, scattering across the polished wood. "I'm telling you, no! I will never agree to a divorce!"
Chloe looked at the confetti of their broken marriage on the floor. She slowly stood up, not even giving him a second glance. She picked up her handbag and walked toward the door.
"You'll regret this, Chloe!" he roared at her back.
Her steps faltered for a fraction of a second. She didn't turn around. "I already do," she said, her voice cold and clear. "I regret marrying you."
She walked out the front door and got into her car. The moment the door shut, sealing her off from the house, the mask of strength cracked. She leaned her head back against the seat, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.
She took out her phone and dialed a number. The call was answered almost instantly. "Chloe! You finally called back! What the hell happened last night? You said you felt sick and left early, I was worried sick!" It was her best friend, Iris Sims.
Chloe's voice was hoarse. "Iris, I need your help. I'm divorcing him."
Three seconds of stunned silence. Then an explosion. "Fucking finally! I've been waiting three years for this day! Did that bastard finally show his true colors? You wait, I'm sending you the contact info for the best divorce team in all of New York right now!"
Iris's voice, raw and fierce, was the first thing all night that felt real. "And where are you now? Don't you dare go back to that hellhole," Iris commanded, her words a rapid-fire succession of plans. "My brother has a penthouse in midtown that's always empty. I'm sending you the address and the code. Go there. It's completely secure."
Iris mentioned her brother—Dante Sims. Chloe hadn't seen him in five years, not since he'd left for Europe. But she remembered the way he'd always stood between her and trouble.
"Okay," Chloe whispered. After she hung up, a text from Iris immediately buzzed through. It contained not just the lawyer's information, but also the address to the penthouse.
Chloe started the car, pulling away from the golden cage that had imprisoned her for three years without a single look back. She knew Elliott's contempt and refusal were just the beginning. This would be a war. But now, she wasn't alone. She was going to take back everything that was hers.
And the first step was to find a fortress.
