Chapter 3

The mansion felt unnaturally still as Gadreel descended the staircase the next morning. The usual hum of activity—the faint clink of breakfast dishes, the rustle of newspapers—was absent. An oppressive silence hung in the air, as though the very walls were holding their breath.

"Good morning, Mr. Ødegaar," Jennifer greeted, her voice unnaturally bright. She extended his usual coffee with hands that trembled slightly.

He took the cup automatically, the rich aroma hitting him before the first sip even touched his lips. Bergamot. A hint of cinnamon. His grip tightened around the porcelain. This was her blend—the one Ivory meticulously prepared whenever he'd had a particularly grueling day at the office.

Was this her idea of an olive branch?

If so, it was a pathetic attempt. She’d struck him. Him. Did she really think a cup of coffee would make up for that?

He thrust the cup back at Jennifer. "Where's Ivory?"

The housekeeper flinched as if struck. Gadreel's patience snapped. "I asked you a question."

Jennifer paled. "Sh-she left, sir. Early this morning. Packed her things and—" The words tumbled out in a rush—"She told me to make sure your coffee was ready before work!"

Gadreel went very still.

Before he could respond, the front door swung open. Ezekiel, his secretary, strode in, holding a crisp brown envelope. "Mr. Ødegaar," he said with a slight bow. "Madam asked me to deliver this to you personally."

Gadreel snatched the envelope, his fingers brushing against thick, expensive paper. Finally. An apology. An explanation. Maybe even—

The bold black letters struck like a physical blow:

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

The envelope crumpled in Gadreel's grip, the crisp paper buckling under his whitened knuckles. His expression—momentarily stunned—froze into glacial fury.

She'd actually done it.

Not an apology. Not a plea. A divorce agreement.

His jaw locked. Ivory's bite had always been worse than her bark, but this? This was outright mutiny.

"Sir." Ezekiel's hesitant voice cut through the silence. The secretary extended a smaller envelope like a man offering meat to a starving lion. "She left this as well."

Gadreel snatched it, his composure cracking as he read:

Dear husband,

If you're reading this, you've seen the documents. Don't be stubborn. Sign them. I want nothing from you—no money, no assets. Just my freedom. Consider it compensation for the years I wasted.

Sincerely,

Your ex-wife.

The words burned through him. Wasted? She'd called five years of luxury, of carrying the Ødegaar name, a waste?

His phone was in his hand before he could think. The line connected after three rings—three agonizing rings where his temper climbed with each second.

"Ivory." Her name came out like a curse.

Her voice was different—cool, detached. "Gadreel."

"What the hell is this?" he demanded. "You think throwing a tantrum will—"

"It's not a tantrum." Her interruption was calm, final. "It's exactly what it looks like. I told you last night—we're done."

His grip on the phone threatened to shatter the screen. "Enough. Come home now."

A soft, mocking laugh filtered through the line. "Why? So you can continue ignoring me? So I can watch you pine for Evangeline?"

Her voice hardened. "I'm done being your placeholder, Gadreel."

The words struck deeper than she knew. Before he could retaliate, she delivered the final blow:

"I don't love you anymore. Sign the papers."

The line went dead.

Silence.

Gadreel stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear, the echo of her words ringing louder than any scream.

For the first time in his life, the great Gadreel Ødegaar had been dismissed.

Gadreel stood motionless, his profile carved from marble in the flickering light. Only the pulsing vein at his temple betrayed the storm beneath his carefully constructed calm.

Ezekiel watched, transfixed, as his Boss's jaw worked rhythmically—clench, release, clench—like a predator restraining itself from the kill. The air grew thick with unsaid fury.

Gadreel's gaze dropped to the document in his hand. The terms were laughably generous—she asked for nothing but her freedom. His lips twisted in a sneer until his eyes caught the damning clause:

IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES AND SEXUAL DYSFUNCTION

The bold letters seemed to leap off the page, branding themselves across his vision. His grip turned vice-like, crumpling the edge of the paper.

Sexual dysfunction.

The accusation burned hotter than the fireplace beside him. Who dared—how could she—when she'd never even—

"Sir?" Ezekiel's voice was barely above a whisper now.

Gadreel's head snapped up. The look in his eyes made the secretary take an involuntary step back.

"Find her." The command came out guttural, raw.

Ezekiel's throat clicked as he swallowed. "P-Pardon?"

The explosion came without warning. "I said FIND HER!"

The secretary scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the rug in his haste to obey.

When the door clicked shut, Gadreel turned back to the fire. With deliberate slowness, he fed the document to the flames. Orange tongues licked hungrily at the paper, blackening Ivory's bold accusations to ash.

But he didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched as the last corner curled into nothingness, his reflection warping in the heat.

Oh, she wanted dysfunction? She wanted proof of his inadequacy?

Very well.

He'd show her exactly how functional an Ødegaar man could be.