Divorcing Mr CEO

　　"Happy anniversary," I whispered to myself as i adjusted my lipstick in the mirror.

　　I stood in front of the grand floor-length mirror in the master bedroom, my silk dress hugging my curves like second skin. My makeup was flawless, my smile effortless, at least, in public. Three years of red carpets had taught me how to fake perfect.

　　I glanced at the clock. 10:43 p.m.

　　My husband still wasn't home.

　　Not like he hasn't come home this late before.

　　With a sigh, I slipped off her heels, walking barefoot across the marble floor to the balcony. The city lights stretched far beyond me, alive with noise and celebration. Somewhere out there, someone was being kissed, touched, loved.

　　But not me.

　　Not tonight.

　　Not ever.

　　Not by the man i married.

　　And not by the man who hasn't glanced at me since three years of their marriage.

　　Not the man I have loved for many years.

　　The door clicked open downstairs. My heart, stupid thing, still jumped at the sound. Poor heart. I slipped back inside, calm composed mask in place, just as Damian Blackwood stepped into the living room, tall, sharp-suited, smelling faintly of bergamot and indifference.

　　"You're back," I said, my voice lighter than i felt.

　　He didn't look at me at first, just tossed his keys on the counter and loosened his tie. "Had a meeting."

　　"It's our anniversary," I said softly.

　　A pause. "Right."

　　No apology. No flowers. Not even a look, nor a smile.

　　We stood in the same room, yet miles apart. Just like they had been for 1,095 nights. I bit the inside of my cheek. I could pretend one more night. Just one more. But then, something inside me broke, quietly, and with surprising grace. Something i never thought she would say years back.

　　"I want a divorce, Damian."

　　The silence that followed was louder than his voice had ever been.

　　He looked up, finally, his cold, unreadable eyes locking on me.

　　At least I am being seen now.

　　"What did you say?"

　　I smiled gently, tears nowhere in sight.

　　"I'm tired," I said. "Of pretending. Of being your wife on paper and invisible in every other way. I don't want to do this anymore."

　　He stepped closer, his jaw tense. "We had a deal."

　　"Yes. Three years. It's been three years." I looked up at him, eyes shining but dry. "And not once have you touched me, held me, or looked at me like I was anything more than a roommate with your last name. We've been married for three years, and our contract is over."

　　Damian said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes was new.

　　The look on his face was unexpected. I guess this divorce announcement was a blow to him.

　　I watched him unbutton his shirt without a word. Again, this silence.

　　"You can't just decide that. It's something we need to discuss together. You should have asked me for my opinion." Damian broke the silence, as he turned to face me. My eyes lingered on his bare chest. It was a sight to behold, that made me to swallow hard.

　　"What is there to discuss about? Our contract was a three years contract and today marks the end of our contract. Why sounding like you haven't been praying for this? like you didn't want this?"

　　I walked past him, brushing his shoulder with mine, the closest we'd been in years.

　　"I'll have my lawyer prepare the paper's and send them over," I said. And for the first time in three years, i slept in our bed alone, by choice.

　　DAMIAN POV:

　　She said it so quietly, I almost missed it.

　　"I want a divorce, Damian."

　　I thought I'd misheard her.

　　Until she looked at me, not with anger, not with tears.

　　Just… tired.

　　Like she'd finally accepted something I never meant for her to accept.

　　I didn't speak. I couldn't.

　　I stopped breathing for a second.

　　The words stayed frozen in my throat as she brushed past me, the hem of her silk dress whispering against my slacks. That was the most contact we'd had in months.

　　And this was our longest conversation in three years.

　　I turned my head to watch her walk away.

　　She didn't look back.

　　The house was too quiet after she disappeared upstairs.

　　It always was.

　　But tonight, the silence pressed against my chest like a weight.

　　I poured myself a drink, though I didn't need one. The burn helped me feel something.

　　I didn't love her.

　　That's what I told myself.

　　What I believed.

　　This marriage was meant to be convenient. A merger of names and reputations. She was beautiful, poised, scandal-free-a perfect choice.

　　And she'd agreed.

　　She signed the damn contract.

　　She knew the terms.

　　So why the hell did it feel like something sharp had just been ripped out of me?

　　Why do I feel bad right now?

　　I climbed the stairs slowly, pausing at the door of the master bedroom.

　　It was closed.

　　She never closed it.

　　Something twisted in my gut.

　　I opened the door anyway. She was already under the covers, eyes closed, her back turned. Her breathing wasn't even. She was awake, but pretending not to be.

　　She always used to wait for me.

　　I should've said something. Anything.

　　But I didn't know how or what to say.

　　So I stood there, a coward in an expensive suit, watching the woman I married curl into herself like she was trying to disappear.

　　And maybe she was.

　　Maybe she already had.

　　I didn't sleep that night.

　　I lay awake on the couch downstairs, staring at the ceiling, wondering when silence stopped being peaceful and started feeling like punishment.

　　At 3 a.m., I checked her Instagram.

　　She'd posted a picture from set. Her smile was radiant. Her co-star's hand was on her waist.

　　I stared at it too long.

　　My jaw clenched.

　　Something I didn't want to name flared in my chest.

　　It wasn't love.

　　It couldn't be.

　　Because if it was… then what the hell have I been doing all this time?