Pablo and Sloane were waiting for a scene. It never came.
I just stood there, my expression unreadable.
For three years, they'd all assumed I was wrapped around Pablo's little finger—the dutiful wife, content to support him from the shadows.
And it was true, at first. I did love him. I poured every ounce of my passion into my work, and into him. But now? Nothing. The only reason I stayed was my passion for the craft itself.
My parents had nurtured my creative talents since I was a child. Those who saw my work called me a natural artist.
They hoped I would protect my own creative spark and use it to build a better life for the people I loved.
So when I learned I was to be Pablo's partner, I was overjoyed. I gave him everything—my love, my creativity, my time.
I worked tirelessly, diving into the complex worlds of finance and operations that were foreign to me. There were countless times I wanted to quit. But the thought that my work could bring the company success always spurred me on.
And, just as I’d hoped, I watched the company stabilize and flourish.
But as the company grew stronger, Pablo grew more distant. I told myself he was just busy. That is, until I saw a photo of him and Sloane on vacation in Italy, splashed across a gossip magazine.
I knew our marriage was a contract, but the betrayal was a physical ache in my chest.
That night, I tormented myself, asking why it wasn't me by his side. I was his wife. Why couldn't he just love me?
Back then, I fought back. I threw tantrums and caused scenes.
I couldn’t understand why all my efforts earned me nothing, not even a glance. But now I understood. Love couldn't be earned, only given.
...
My placid reaction was not what Pablo expected. The old Cora would have exploded.
He stared at me, dumbfounded, and took a step closer. "What did you just say?"
I met his gaze evenly. "I said, it's my fault. My fault for thinking that if I just worked hard enough, you'd choose to stay. My fault for believing that if I gave you my all, one day you would finally see me."
His brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I opened my mouth to tell him about the contract, but I stopped myself.
He'd never cared. What was the point? In three days, our legal ties would simply cease to exist.
