The next morning, I found Aaron waiting at the café below Aaron's Group.
He was already seated by the window when I arrived, his expression cool and detached.
Without a word, I slid the signed divorce papers across the table.
"I've signed."
Aaron picked up the document, his brows lifting slightly, as if surprised by my swiftness. "Finally come to your senses?"
"Yes," I said calmly. "Finally."
I held his gaze. "Thank you for your 'care' over the past six years. Consider us even."
My composure seemed to unsettle him. Frowning, he drew a black credit card from his wallet and pushed it toward me. "There’s ten million on it. Take it as extra compensation. Just stay away from Reese and me from now on."
I glanced at the card and almost laughed. Did he really think six years of my youth—and whatever affection I’d given—were worth so little?
I didn’t touch it. "That won’t be necessary. What’s in the agreement is enough. You’re a busy man, Aaron. I won’t waste any more of your time."
I stood to leave.
Just then, a sugary voice floated from the entrance. "Aaron, your secretary said you were here. So you were meeting with Ariana."
Reese glided over in head-to-toe Chanel, a Hermès Birkin swaying from her arm—every inch the poised heiress. Her eyes flicked to the divorce papers on the table, a flash of triumph quickly veiled by delicate sympathy.
"Ariana… you’ve already signed? You didn’t have to rush. Aaron and I could have waited…" She reached out as if to take my arm, a gesture of faux sisterly concern.
I stepped smoothly aside. "Ms Reese, we’re not that close."
Her face stiffened. She turned a wounded look toward Aaron. "Aaron, look at how she’s—"
"Ariana," Aaron cut in, his expression darkening. "What are you trying to pull? Remember what I said yesterday."
I had no interest in staying for the performance. Without another word, I turned and walked out.
