Chapter 2 The Wife Who Walked Away

Three days later, Dominic Thorne walked into his penthouse like nothing had ever happened.

The city skyline was outside the floor-to-ceiling windows-brash, unmoved, and breathtaking. His suit was dark, immaculate. His watch glinted in the ambient light, custom-made and worth more than most houses. And his face? Cool. Composed. Cutting enough to cut steel.

But the silence inside the penthouse was oppressive.

No soft scent of Ariana's perfume lingering in the air. No gentle sound of her movement from the bedroom. No coffee dripping. No speakers playing music they always left on.

Just silence.

He unknotted his tie, glancing over into the kitchen. A black flower vase still stood on the marble counter-covered in dead roses.

His forehead furrowed.

Where was she?

He took out his phone, automatically dialing her contact.

**No answer.**

Raising an eyebrow, he texted instead.

**DOMINIC:** Where r u?

**DOMINIC:** We need to talk.

He wasn't expecting a reply. Not yet.

But he wasn't expecting what came next.

A soft chime of the elevator. The private one that only she owned.

He turned as the doors opened-hoping she would step out.

It was Ariana.

It was his lawyer.

"Michael?" Dominic's voice dropped into warning register. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Michael Cleary had been his lawyer pitbull for ten years. He didn't make house calls.

The man cleared his throat, appearing extremely out of place. "She asked me to deliver this personally."

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "She?"

Michael held out a thin black envelope. "Ariana."

Dominic didn't budge. For a long, tight moment he stared at the envelope as if it might bite.

Then he took it.

Slit it open with a knife from the counter.

Pulled out the papers.

**Divorce.**

His jaw locked.

Michael spoke quietly. "She's serious, Dominic. She's already signed. It's clean. No asset demands. No alimony."

Dominic's eyes scanned the lines like they were written in a language he didn't recognize.

No demands?

No negotiations?

She just... wanted out?

"She left me?" he asked, voice low.

Michael hesitated. "You've been leaving her for a long time."

Something in Dominic's gut curdled.

He dismissed the attorney with a tense nod. Doors closed again behind him, leaving Dominic alone in the big, suddenly suffocating penthouse.

He snarled down at the papers. Her name at the end. Unobtrusively neat, by the letter.

Ariana Vale waited no longer for Dominic to come home.

She was gone.

---

Ariana in the mirror in the Fifth Avenue penthouse secured the last pearl of her cream-colored blouse.

Her hair was back. Bare minimum makeup. Dignified gold hoops in her ears. She was polished, calm, put together.

Just as she needed to be when she burned her old life.

She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to the meeting.

There was a knock on the door.

She didn't have to know who it was.

"I didn't think you had the balls," Dominic's voice from the other side said.

She didn't flinch.

Didn't move.

When she finally opened the door, her face was serene. Expressionless.

Dominic stood there like a specter from another planet. Pockets in his hands. Windswept hair, clenched jaw, black suit immaculate.

But his eyes-those unreadable, obsidian eyes-were far from tranquil.

He burst in without asking.

"Divorce?" he snapped. "That's your move now?"

She closed the door behind him with soft sophistication. "Yes."

"No compromise. No warning. You simply had papers sent to my attorney like you were making a corporate deal."

"You weren't in the mood for discussion the last hundred times I tried."

His jaw tightened. "So you're just disappearing now? That's it?"

She crossed her arms. "You cheated on me, Dominic."

A moment.

Not denial.

Not even shock.

Silence.

"I didn't sleep with her," he finally said.

She laughed, hard and dry. "Do you think that makes it better? You think emotional betrayal doesn't count?"

He stepped closer, his voice low. "You don't know what it was."

"Then tell me," she said, tilting her chin. "Tell me what it was when you slept over at her hotel room. When you left me all by myself in our bed. When you let her kiss you and you never kissed me again."

His breath caught.

She saw something flash across that cold wall for the first time.

Regret? Shame? Maybe. Maybe not.

But he was not in control.

And that terrified him half to death.

"You think leaving makes you strong?" he said. "That storming out means you've won?"

"This isn't a game."

"It was always a game," he replied, stepping into her space. "Marriage is chess, Ariana. You've made your move. But remember-I'm the one who knows how to play."

She braced herself against him, immovable. "Then prepare to lose."

---

Dominic stormed out of her apartment in rage.

But under the rage... panic struggled in his chest.

He'd always assumed she'd stay. That no matter how tough he became, no matter how many walls he built, Ariana would still be there-soft, loyal, waiting.

He hadn't seen this part of her. Not from the beginning.

The woman who lightened up every room had disappeared somewhere along the line. Buried beneath silence and distance and endless, sleepless nights filled with empty space between them.

Now, she was home. But not for him.

*Because of him.*

And she was already changing.

He saw it in her eyes.

The way she didn't cry. The way she didn't beg. The way she didn't even flinch when she handed him her wedding ring and shut the door in his face.

He wanted to believe he didn't care.

He wanted to believe this was cleaner. Simpler.

But Dominic Thorne was not a man to lose.

Especially not *her*.

---

That night, Ariana rested on the guest bed and stared at the divorce copy on the bedside table.

Her fingers traced the edge of the paper.

Her heart should have felt lighter. It should have been a clean break.

But heartbreak doesn't listen to logic.

And love-true love-doesn't evaporate just because a line is signed.

She absently rubbed her stomach. A strange flutter had tormented her all day. Stress. Nausea.

Perhaps.

She closed her eyes, pushed the thought aside.

One step at a time.

She had just begun the journey to freedom. The next? Building a life that was hers and hers alone.

No more quiet dinners.

No more broken promises.

No more Dominic.

She wasn't walking away.

She was *starting over*.

And if Dominic thought she'd crawl back to him-he was about to find out what it felt like to chase the woman he never really knew.