The office air was thick with the scent of burnt espresso, sandalwood perfume, and a cold, unspoken hostility.

Geneva didn’t look up when her husband tossed the thick stack of legal documents onto the mahogany table in front of her.

She stared at the signature line as if it were an autopsy report rather than the final chapter of their seven year marriage.

“Make it quick,” Christian Wylde said, checking his platinum wristwatch with an air of practiced indifference. “I have a luncheon with the board at the country club and I’m not going to be late over some neighborhood drama.”

From the far end of the long conference table, Kimberly crossed her legs and offered a smile full of elegant cruelty.

“Poor thing,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Going from the wife of a tech mogul to searching for a studio apartment is quite the fall from grace.”

Christian let out a short, dry laugh as he pulled a sleek black credit card from his wallet and slid it toward Geneva.

“There is fifty thousand dollars on that card, which is more than you had when I found you working that shift at the diner,” he said. “Take it as charity or as payment for disappearing quietly without making a scene.”

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

The lawyers didn’t speak, and the legal assistant kept her eyes glued to her notepad.

At the very back of the room, a man in a charcoal suit sat motionless against the tinted glass wall, his face obscured by the shadows.

Geneva remained perfectly still in her simple wool cardigan, her hands bare of the diamonds she once wore.

Geneva took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and finally smiled.

“I am now,” she replied.

THE END.