Liora's hands trembled violently as she stared down at the thick, cream-colored paper in her grasp. Her fingers crinkled the edge as if pinching it hard enough would turn the contents into a bad dream. But no, the bold header at the top remained the same.
"DIVORCE AGREEMENT"
The words screamed at her in silence. Her breath hitched, eyes wide and glassy, her entire body frozen for a heartbeat, then another. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as if trying to escape the truth written before her. Then rage boiled up inside her, a quiet spark that ignited into a full blaze.
With her jaw clenched and lips pressed into a tight line, Liora stormed out of the room, her feet slapping lightly against the cold marble. The long hallway stretched before her like a runway of betrayal, lit with warm lights and decorated with paintings her husband picked himself. Not once had he asked her opinion.
She reached the door—his door. Elias's office. A room that held more of him than their marriage ever did. The tall double doors loomed in front of her. Usually, she would knock. Wait. Breathe. Pretend to be composed. But today?
To hell with manners.
With both hands, she shoved the doors open. They flew back dramatically, banging against the walls, echoing like thunder through the still air. Inside, the room smelled of leather and ink. Books lined the towering shelves, and a decanter of whiskey glinted from the corner.
Elias looked up from his desk, a silver fountain pen poised elegantly between his fingers. His dark hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and his face gave nothing away—cool, calm, detached. His brown eyes, which once made her heart skip, flicked briefly toward her and then back to the papers in front of him.
"You really have no idea how to knock, do you?" he said without looking up again.
Liora marched forward and slapped the paper onto his desk, the sound sharp and accusing. "What the hell is this, Elias?"
He finally looked at her. One brow lifted slightly. "Your 4.0 GPA is clearly wasted if you can't read. It's a divorce paper."
Her chest rose and fell in quick bursts. "I know what it is. I'm not stupid. What I'm asking is why the hell would you do this?"
Elias set the pen down with precision. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms loosely across his chest. His gaze locked with hers, unflinching. "Why do you think a husband hands over divorce papers, Liora?" he said flatly. "Because he wants to separate from his wife."
Liora blinked at him, her voice breaking. "You can't just throw me away like this. Like I'm—"
"Liora…." Elias interrupted. "Let's not pretend. We're not happy. Never once. I think it's better to let go than keep hurting like this."
Her mouth opened, but no words came. There was a pause—heavy, suffocating. She stood there, chest aching, mind racing.
Did he really not see?
Did he really not care?
Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. A cold shiver ran through her body despite the warmth of the room.
This wasn't just about a failed marriage. It was a lifetime of love being spat on. Of being the second choice. The spare.
The stand-in.
Her gaze lowered. Her voice came out, bitter and low. "You were never supposed to marry me. It was supposed to be Hanna."
Elias didn't respond. He didn't need to.
"But she ran," Liora continued. "She ran and everyone panicked. And who did they turn to? Me. The family's emergency bride. Just slap a dress on Liora, no one will notice."
Nothing. Not even a blink. Just that same blank stare.
She laughed. A broken, humorless laugh. "You know what the joke is? I was actually happy. I thought maybe—just maybe—this was my fairytale. Because I… I loved you. I loved you, Elias. Long before Hanna ever looked your way."
Elias shifted, barely. But Liora noticed. A small crack in his perfect mask.
She stepped closer. "You treated me like I was invisible. Like some inconvenient obligation. You shut me out, locked me out—literally. We don't even share a room like normal married people."
Her voice cracked, but she swallowed it down, refusing to cry.
"And then," she sneered, "after a year of playing happy strangers, Hanna finally decides to come back—and you greet her with open arms. Then you hand me this?" She gestured to the paper. "After everything? After all the times I stood by you, supported you, tried to make this work?"
Elias stood slowly. He was taller, broader, colder than ever. He looked down at her, his face calm.
"I'm sorry," he said.
That was all.
Two stupid words.
Liora stared. The pain twisted inside her like a knife.
"Fine," she said. Her voice was flat now, drained. She moved around the desk, her steps echoing off the marble floor. She picked up the pen, clicked it open with a snap, and signed the paper with a sharp flick of her wrist.
Then she shoved it against Elias's chest.
"Here. Go chase your runaway bride," she spat.
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out, not letting him see anything crack.
She returned to her room—her room, never theirs. Neat shelves, gentle colors, untouched by Elias in any way. She threw open the closet, grabbed her purse and car keys from the vanity. Her fingers moved automatically, driven by whatever mix of rage and pain kept her going.
She needed to leave. She couldn't breathe in this house anymore.
Storming through the hall again, she passed the living room—and stopped.
There they were.
Her parents. His parents. And Hanna. All gathered like one big happy sitcom family. Laughter rang out, cheerful and oblivious. Hanna, beautiful as ever, sat with her legs crossed elegantly, a soft pink smile on her lips. Not a care in the world.
Perfect Hanna. Darling Hanna. She could vanish for a year and come back like a heroine in a drama. No questions asked.
No consequences.
Liora didn't say a word. She tightened her grip on her bag, lifted her chin, and walked past them without sparing a glance.
Let them laugh.
Let them celebrate.
She wasn't going to be the backup plan anymore.