Chapter 5

When Chloe woke up, the first thing she saw was Kerr. He was asleep in the chair by her hospital bed, his head slumped against his chest. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually immaculate suit was rumpled.

For a moment, a flicker of the old hope returned. He had come. He did care.

Then he stirred, and his eyes opened. He saw her watching him and immediately straightened up, his expression hardening into the familiar cold mask. He stood and walked to the window, putting a deliberate distance between them.

A nurse came in with a tray of items that had fallen from Chloe's purse during the fall. She placed them on the bedside table. Among them was a folded sheaf of papers.

The divorce papers.

Chloe' s heart leaped into her throat. She tried to sit up, a sharp pain shooting through her ribs, and accidentally knocked the papers to the floor.

Kerr turned at the sound. He saw the papers scattered on the floor and bent to pick them up. He saw the title on the top page: "PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE."

His head snapped up, his gray eyes sharp and piercing. "What is this?"

Chloe' s mind raced. "It's... it's for a friend," she lied, her voice weak. "She's going through a hard time. She asked me to look them over."

She held out her hand. "It's just some legal documents I need to sign for the gallery. A new consignment agreement. Could you pass me a pen?"

Kerr stared at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He held the papers, his thumb stroking the word "divorce."

[Mind-Link Notification: He is hesitating. He is afraid the document is real. He is terrified of losing you. Reassure him. Show him your love is unwavering.]

The notification was, for once, useful. It told her exactly what he needed to hear.

"Kerr," she said, her voice softening, adopting the gentle, pleading tone he secretly craved. "I know I've been difficult lately. I was just... so hurt. But I know you love me. I want to make things right. Please. Let's not fight anymore."

His expression flickered. The suspicion in his eyes lessened, replaced by a complex mix of relief and smug satisfaction. He had won. He had pushed her to the brink, and she had come crawling back, just like he knew she would.

Without another word, he picked up a pen from the nurse' s clipboard, flipped to the last page of the document she' d cleverly placed on top-a generic business form-and signed his name with a flourish. Kerr Chapman.

"I'll have my assistant handle the gallery," he said, his voice back to its usual cool, commanding tone. He placed the pen and the signed papers on her bedside table.

Chloe took the papers, her hand steady, and tucked them safely into her bag. Her heart was pounding, but her face was a mask of serene relief.

In the days that followed, Kerr didn't visit again. He was too busy punishing her, making his point. His social media was a curated stream of his life with Gina. Romantic dinners, weekend getaways, photos of them looking happy, carefree.

Chloe watched it all from her hospital bed, feeling nothing but a chilling resolve. He thought he was playing his same old game, pushing her to the edge. He had no idea she had already jumped.

The day she was discharged, she didn't go home. She went to her lawyer' s office. The divorce was filed. The process of dividing their assets began.

She moved into a small, temporary apartment. She methodically went about erasing herself from his life. She closed their joint accounts, changed her number, and instructed her lawyer to handle all communication.

After a week of silence from her, Kerr started to sense something was wrong. His constant barrage of social media provocations was met with nothing. No angry calls. No tearful texts. Just silence.

He came home one evening to an empty house. It was too quiet. He walked into their bedroom. It was neat, tidy, but it felt... hollow. He opened her closet. Half of her clothes were gone. He opened her vanity drawers. Her makeup, her jewelry, all gone.

A cold, unfamiliar feeling started to creep into his chest. He called her phone. It went straight to a disconnected message.

He felt a surge of real panic. This wasn't part of the game.

He spent the next few days in a state of barely controlled anxiety. He lashed out at his employees, canceled meetings. He told himself she was just making a point, that she would come back.

One evening, he was arguing with her on the phone in his mind, just as he always did. "You're being childish, Chloe. This has gone on long enough."

But she didn't answer. The silence was absolute.

He finally broke. He went to her parents' house, a place he despised. They told him they hadn't seen her. He went to Maya's apartment. She slammed the door in his face.

He was driving home, his mind racing, when a thought, cold and sharp, pierced through his denial.

The papers. The papers he had signed in the hospital.

He floored the accelerator, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He burst into the house and went straight to her art studio. It was empty. All her canvases, her paints, her precious sketch of her mother-gone.

He stood in the middle of the empty room, a profound sense of loss washing over him. This wasn't a test. This was an escape.

He stumbled back to their bedroom, his heart pounding. He remembered a small, hidden safe she kept in her closet, a place she stored her most personal things. He pried it open.

Inside, there was only one thing. A single, crisp document.

The final, stamped, and notorized divorce decree.

And on the back, in her elegant script, was a single word.

"Goodbye."