Chapter 1: The Anniversary Gift was a Divorce Decree
The scent of jasmine and stale disappointment hung heavy in the air. Tonight marked their third wedding anniversary, a date Rose Woods had meticulously etched into her heart, though it seemed to be a forgotten scribble in her husband's. She stood by the ornate dining table, a culinary masterpiece of his favorite dishes spread out before her – truffle-infused risotto, pan-seared scallops, and a vintage bottle of Bordeaux he adored. Each dish was a silent plea, a whisper of hope that tonight, just tonight, Alexander Blackwood would see her, truly see the wife who had dedicated three years of her life to his shadow.
The grandfather clock in the opulent foyer chimed nine times, each resonant stroke a hammer to Rose's dwindling optimism. He was late, as always. But tonight, it felt different. A cold dread, a premonition of finality, slithered down her spine. She wore the silk dress he had gifted her for their first anniversary, a pale silver that shimmered like moonlight, hoping it would evoke a flicker of memory, a ghost of affection. Her long, dark hair was styled simply, cascading down her back, framing a face devoid of heavy makeup, highlighting her naturally delicate features and the expressive, deep-set eyes that now mirrored the quiet storm within her.
The distant rumble of a luxury car pulling into the driveway sent a jolt through her. Not of excitement, but of nervous anticipation. She smoothed down her dress, a practiced gesture of self-reassurance. The heavy oak door creaked open, and Alexander Blackwood finally stepped into their silent mansion.
He was a force of nature, even when exhausted. His custom-tailored suit clung to his impossibly broad shoulders, emphasizing his powerful build. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, adding a rugged charm to his already devastatingly handsome face. His eyes, usually a piercing obsidian, seemed dulled, distant. He carried a briefcase in one hand, not a single flower or token of remembrance in the other. He didn't even glance at the lavishly set table. His gaze swept over the foyer, then landed on her, a fleeting acknowledgment, nothing more.
"You waited up," his voice was deep, a low rumble that always sent a shiver down her spine, though tonight it lacked any warmth. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, his movements precise and impersonal.
Rose managed a small, hopeful smile. "It's our anniversary, Alexander. I thought we could celebrate." Her voice was soft, perhaps too soft, easily drowned out by the cavernous silence of their home.
He paused, a single cufflink still clutched between his fingers. His head tilted slightly, as if recalling a forgotten appointment. Then, a sigh, heavy with what sounded like profound weariness. "Rose, I… I forgot."
The words struck her like a physical blow. Forgot. Three years. Their anniversary. Her heart, which had been beating a frantic rhythm of hope moments before, now stumbled, a broken drum. She felt the sudden, unwelcome prick of tears behind her eyes, but she willed them back. She wouldn't cry. Not tonight. Not in front of him.
"I understand," she said, her voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the effort it took to keep it steady. "You've been busy. Dinner's ready. I made all your favorites." She gestured weakly towards the table, where the candles flickered, mocking her efforts.
Alexander finally walked closer, his eyes scanning the elaborate spread, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "It looks... nice," he conceded, the praise hollow. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned, walking towards the study. "I had a long day. I just need a drink. Don't wait up for me."
Rose's heart shattered. He wouldn't even share a meal with her. Not tonight. Not on their anniversary. A choked sound escaped her throat, a small, wounded gasp she couldn't suppress.
Alexander stopped, his back to her. "What is it, Rose?" His tone was edged with impatience, a familiar blade that always sliced through her.
"Nothing," she managed, turning away to hide the tears that finally overflowed, silently tracing paths down her cheeks. "Nothing at all."
He took a step towards the study, then hesitated. "Actually, there is something."
Rose turned back, hope, illogical and desperate, sparking to life within her. Was he going to apologize? Acknowledge her? Perhaps even… hold her?
He reached into his briefcase, pulling out a slim, legal-sized envelope. He placed it on the dining table, right next to the untouched plate of scallops, its stark white clashing against the elegant china.
"Evelyn is back," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet those two words were loaded with more pain than any accusation. Evelyn. The ghost that haunted their marriage. The woman Alexander had loved before Rose, the woman he still loved. The woman for whom Rose was merely a placeholder.
"She needs me," he continued, his eyes, those beautiful, dark eyes, finally met hers, but they were devoid of all warmth, filled only with a cold, resolute finality. "She was the one who saved me, Rose. Not you."
Rose froze, the blood draining from her face. She knew this. She had always known this. She had lived in the shadow of Evelyn Vance, the supposed savior of Alexander Blackwood's life, the girl he'd vowed to protect. Rose had only been the convenient, quiet, obedient wife, a balm for his family's insistence that he marry.
"What… what is this, Alexander?" Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling uncontrollably.
He pushed the envelope closer, his gaze unwavering. "These are the divorce papers, Rose. Sign them. I've already spoken to my lawyers. Everything has been arranged."
The world tilted on its axis. The candles on the table blurred into shimmering streaks. The jasmine scent became cloying, suffocating. Divorce papers. His anniversary gift. The ultimate rejection.
Rose slowly reached out, her fingers numb, and picked up the document. Her eyes scanned the official headings, the cold, legal jargon. Alexander Blackwood and Rose Woods. Dissolution of Marriage. Her name, his name, joined by a hyphen, now destined to be severed.
"Three years," she whispered, her voice cracking, "And this is how you end it?" A single tear escaped, hot and defiant.
"It was a mistake from the start, Rose," he said, his voice softer now, almost regretful, but it didn't lessen the sting. "You knew my heart belonged to Evelyn. You accepted the terms."
She had. She had foolishly believed she could win him over, that her quiet devotion, her endless patience, would eventually melt his heart. She had been wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.
"And now that she's back," Rose finished for him, her voice finding a strange, brittle strength, "I'm obsolete."
He didn't deny it. He simply nodded, a confirmation that twisted the knife deeper. "I've instructed my lawyers to ensure you are well provided for. The apartment in the city, a generous financial settlement…"
"I don't want your money!" The words burst from her, raw and fierce. "I don't want anything from you, Alexander, except… except an explanation. Why did you even marry me if you always intended to go back to her?"
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of genuine weariness or perhaps guilt. "It was... complicated. My grandmother insisted. Evelyn was gone, presumed dead. I needed a wife. You were amenable. Quiet."
Quiet. That was her epitaph. Quiet and amenable. The convenient replacement.
Rose felt something shift inside her. The pain was still there, a gaping wound, but beneath it, a tiny ember of anger, cold and fierce, began to glow. She had given him three years. Three years of her youth, her love, her dreams. And he had repaid her with this.
"Alright," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, "I'll sign them."
Alexander's eyes opened, a hint of surprise in them. He had probably expected a scene, tears, begging. He didn't know her at all.
"Just… get them to me tomorrow. I need to read through the terms." She couldn't sign them tonight. Not when her hand was shaking so violently.
He nodded, a brief, almost imperceptible dip of his head. "Of course. My assistant will be in touch." He turned then, definitively, walking towards the study without another word. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing her in the desolate dining room, alone with the elaborate, untouched dinner and the cold, stark white envelope.
Rose stared at the document, the bold letters swimming before her eyes. Dissolution of Marriage. Her heart screamed, but her mind, finally, was beginning to clear. Alexander Blackwood had shattered her, reduced her to an inconvenience. But she would not break.
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, a small, protective gesture she didn't fully understand. A wave of nausea, sharp and sudden, swept over her. She stumbled towards the nearest chair, gripping its back. Her morning sickness had been getting worse lately, something she'd attributed to stress. But the truth, a terrifying and exhilarating realization, hit her like a lightning bolt.
She was late. Two months late.
Her period. She had been so consumed by Alexander, by her desperate hope, that she hadn't even noticed.
Rose sank into the chair, the divorce papers falling from her trembling fingers onto the polished marble floor. Her eyes, still brimming with tears from his betrayal, widened in sudden, profound shock. A tiny, vulnerable life, her own blood, her own flesh, was growing inside her. Alexander's child.
He wanted a divorce. He wanted to return to his "true love." And he would never know what he had just thrown away.
A bitter, triumphant laugh bubbled up from her throat, mingling with her tears. He thought he could discard her? He thought he could cast her aside with a mere signature? He had no idea. No idea what he had done.
This wasn't just a divorce anymore. This was the beginning. The beginning of her freedom. The beginning of her revenge. And the beginning of a life he would never touch.
She was pregnant. With his child. His children. Miles. Mila. The names, unbidden, whispered through her mind, firming her resolve. She would protect them. And she would make him regret this day for the rest of his life.
Rose slowly stood up, her hand still pressed to her belly. The tears had stopped. Her eyes, though red-rimmed, now held a glint of steel. Alexander Blackwood had made the biggest mistake of his life. And she, Rose Woods, would make sure he paid dearly for it.