I bury the annulment papers on page forty-seven of Alexander's latest acquisition report. He won't look. He never does. That's what assistants are for—what I've been for three years, the wife who reads the fine print while he signs where I point. The document is flawless. I spent two months working with lawyers he doesn't know I hired, using money from the account he doesn't know I opened. Every clause designed to look like standard corporate paperwork. Buried among projections and profit margins, the dissolution of our marriage reads like a subsidiary liquidation. I watch him from across his office at Kane Industries, this temple of glass and steel forty stories above Manhattan. Alexander Kane, the man whose name opens doors I didn't know existed, whose face graces Forbes covers, whose touch I haven't felt in months. He's on a video call, his voice low and warm in a way it never is with me anymore. "I know," he says, and he's smiling. Actually smiling. "Two more weeks. I promise." I can't see who's on the other end. He's angled the laptop away. "I'll make this right, Viv. I should have done it years ago." Viv. Vivienne. The name I've heard whispered at galas, the woman whose photo I found in his desk drawer last year—younger than me, beautiful in that effortless way I've never managed. The girlfriend he left behind when his father demanded he marry someone appropriate. Someone from the right family, with the right connections. Someone like me. "Just sign these," I say, setting the report on his desk. My voice is steady. I've practiced this. "The Meridian deal. Legal needs them by end of day." He doesn't look up. Doesn't look at me. His eyes stay on the screen, on her, as he reaches for his pen. "You're sure about the timeline?" he asks, still talking to Vivienne, and signs the first page. My heart is a fist in my chest, but I don't let it show. He flips through, signing each flagged page. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven. His signature bleeds across the dissolution agreement in permanent ink. "I'll call you tonight," he says softly, and ends the video call. I gather the report, the papers, the end of us hidden in plain sight. "Mrs. Kane?" His assistant appears in the doorway. "Your doctor's office called. They said it's urgent."