Chapter3 End of Our Vows - From Substitute to His Regret

Elena

That afternoon, I sat in my old bedroom staring at my phone, my finger hovering over Caspar's contact for a full minute before I finally dialed.

He picked up on the third ring. "Elena."

His voice was flat. Businesslike. Like I was a client calling about a contract dispute, not the woman who'd spent three years sleeping in his bed.

"We need to finalize the divorce papers." I kept my voice steady, matching his tone. Professional. "When can you sign them?"

A pause. I heard traffic in the background, voices, the distant wail of a siren. He was already back in Manhattan, back in his world. "I'm heading to London tonight. Won't be back for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" My grip tightened on the phone.

"Business trip. Merger negotiation. It can't wait." His tone was clipped, impatient, like this conversation was an inconvenience slotted between more important meetings.

Something cold settled in my chest, spreading outward like frost on glass. "Fine. I'll sign my part and send it to you. You can sign whenever you get around to it."

Another pause, longer this time. I heard him exhale, could picture him standing there in his office with that look he got when things weren't going according to plan—jaw tight, eyes narrowed. "Elena—"

"I'll have my lawyer email the documents to yours." I cut him off, my voice sharp as a scalpel making a clean incision. "After that, when you sign is your business. Not mine."

"That's not what I meant, that five million dollars —"

"Goodbye, Caspar."

I hung up before he could finish, before my voice could crack, before I could say something I'd regret.

I sat there staring at the phone in my hand, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. My hands were shaking.

Two weeks. He couldn't spare one hour in two weeks to finalize our divorce, to officially end what we'd started three years ago.

But he could drop everything when Chloe crooked her finger.

I laughed, a short bitter sound that didn't reach my eyes. *What did you expect? That he'd prioritize you? *

I opened my email and typed out a message to Mr. Thornton, the lawyer who'd helped me review the prenup three years ago, back when I'd been too young to understand what I was really signing.

Mr. Thornton,

Please prepare the final divorce documents in accordance with the prenuptial agreement. I will sign my section , voluntarily waive the five-million-dollar compensation, and have the papers forwarded to Caspar Hathaway’s legal team for him to sign whenever he finds convenient.

Thank you.

Elena Sawyer.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

Then I blocked Caspar's number.

Deleted his contact.

Erased every text message, every photo, every voicemail, every digital trace of him. My fingers moved mechanically, deleting three years of my life one file at a time.

By the time I finished, my hands were shaking so badly I had to set the phone down.

But I felt lighter. Like I'd finally cut the last thread tying me to that penthouse, to those three years, to the fantasy that he might have loved me back.

Mom knocked on the door. "Elena? Dinner's ready."

"Coming."

I stood up, smoothed down my shirt, took a deep breath that didn't quite fill my lungs.

Then I walked downstairs to start the rest of my life.

Casper

I set my phone down on the desk and returned my attention to the acquisition report in front of me.

I'll sign my part and send it to you. You can sign whenever you get around to it.

Elena's voice had been efficient. Professional. Exactly what the situation required.

Good. She understood this was business. A contract reaching its natural conclusion.

I made a note in the margin of the document—Due diligence on German subsidiary, Q3 projections look inflated—and moved on to the next page.

"Mr. Hathaway?" My assistant's voice came through the intercom. "Your car is here. You need to leave for JFK in ten minutes if you want to make your flight."

"Understood." I closed the file, slid it into my briefcase with the others.

London. Two weeks of merger negotiations. A billion-dollar pharmaceutical acquisition. The kind of deal that would cement Hathaway Capital's position in the European market.

This was what mattered. Building the empire. Expanding into new sectors. Making the moves that would define the next decade of the company's growth.

I grabbed my suit jacket and headed for the elevator.

The flight to London was seven hours. I spent them reviewing documents, responding to emails, preparing for the first round of negotiations.

Efficient. Productive. The way I preferred to work.

Around hour five, I ordered a whiskey. Leaned back in the first-class seat. Allowed myself a moment to think about the logistics ahead.

The divorce would be finalized within the month. Clean. No complications. Elena had been... reasonable. More reasonable than I'd expected, actually.

No hysterics. No attempts to renegotiate the prenup. She'd simply accepted the terms and moved on.

She wants nothing, and I will comply, if that is her wish

Which was exactly what I'd anticipated when I'd had my lawyers draft that agreement three years ago. Clear terms. Clear exit strategy. No room for emotional entanglement.

I'd learned that lesson early. In business, you always planned for the end at the beginning.

The whiskey was smooth. Expensive. I took another sip.

Chloe had texted me twice since this morning. Once to ask when I'd be back from London. Once to send a photo of herself at some café in the West Village, looking beautiful and fragile in the afternoon light.

Missing you already, the caption read.

I stared at the photo for a moment. The girl I'd known since we were eight years old, running around the Greenwich estate during our parents' summer parties. The woman I'd proposed to when we were twenty-two, before everything went to hell.

She was back now. Finally stable.

This was always the plan. Chloe and I.

Elena had just been... an interlude. A necessary arrangement during a difficult period.

Three years of my life that were always meant to be temporary.

I finished the whiskey and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, the plane was descending into Heathrow.

Time to focus on what actually mattered.