Joslyn's body trembled, a fine, uncontrollable shiver born of shock and a pain so deep it felt physical. She stared at Jude, searching his face for a sign, any sign that this was some kind of cruel joke.
There was nothing. Only a wall of ice.
He turned away from her, his back a rigid line of dismissal. He addressed the housekeeper, who had appeared silently in the doorway. "Mrs. Gable, prepare the south-facing suite on the second floor for Mrs. Franklin and young Mr. Leo."
"Mrs. Franklin?" The title sliced through Joslyn's haze of pain. The south-facing suite. That was the master bedroom.
Their bedroom.
A surge of desperate anger propelled her forward. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into the fine wool of his suit. "Jude, you can't! That's... that's our room!"
He ripped his arm away with a sharp, violent motion. The force sent her stumbling backward, her hip colliding hard with the corner of the marble coffee table. A dull thud echoed in the room.
"Oh my God!" Kisha gasped, pulling Leo behind her as if Joslyn were a wild animal about to attack.
Jude's eyes were colder than she'd ever seen them. "There is no 'our' anymore, Joslyn. There are only my decisions."
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded document. He tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a soft, final slap.
"That's a divorce agreement," he said, his voice flat. "I will give you two options-either divorce, or adopt a child."
Joslyn stared at the crisp white paper. She decided she would endure no longer.
"Divorce," she whispered. This whole scheme was set up from the start.
Her quick agreement seemed to throw him. A flicker of something-annoyance? confusion?-crossed his face before he masked it. He hadn't expected her to fold so easily.
Joslyn picked up the pen from the table. She didn't read a single clause. She flipped to the last page and scrawled her name on the signature line. The scratching of the nib on the paper was the only sound.
She pushed the document back toward him. "There. Can I go now?"
Jude stared at her signature, a muscle ticking in his jaw. A dull throb started behind his eyes, a familiar, unwelcome sensation that made the edges of his vision blur. A phantom scent of jasmine-her perfume-seemed to mock him. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, a strange, restless energy coiling inside him, an urge to undo something he couldn't name.
"Kisha and Leo are moving in tonight," he said, his voice clipped. "You should pack your things. Now."
Joslyn didn't grant him another look. She turned and walked toward the grand staircase.
As she passed Kisha, the other woman leaned in, her voice a triumphant whisper. "Thank you for making this easy for us."
Joslyn stopped. She turned her head just enough to meet Kisha's gaze, her own voice just as low, but laced with steel. "Don't celebrate too soon. Things that are stolen have a way of getting lost again."
The color drained from Kisha's face.
Joslyn continued up the stairs, each step heavy. She entered the bedroom, a space she had filled with her personal touches, with books and art, with the faint scent of her perfume. With memories.
There were no more tears. Just a profound, crushing numbness. She opened the walk-in closet and pulled out the small suitcase she had arrived with three years ago.
She packed only a few changes of clothes, the simple things she owned before him. Everything he had ever bought her-the designer dresses, the jewelry, the shoes-she left untouched.
From downstairs, she could hear Leo's happy laughter and Kisha's soft, cooing voice directing the staff. The sounds were like needles piercing her eardrums.
A sharp knock on the door made her jump. Mrs. Gable stood there, her face a carefully blank mask. "Sir asks that you hurry. Mrs. Franklin needs to rest."
Joslyn snapped the suitcase shut. She dragged it behind her, out of the room that was no longer hers.
At the top of the stairs, she saw Kisha, already playing the lady of the manor, pointing to where a vase should be placed.
Jude stood by the window, his back to her, deep in a business call. It was as if she, and the life they had shared, had already ceased to exist.
She walked down the staircase, one step at a time, the wheels of her suitcase bumping against the marble. Each sound was a beat of her broken heart.
