Chapter 3

The clock struck 8:30 AM when Vivian arrived at the courthouse, a full half-hour earlier than their agreed meeting time.

She hadn’t just come early—she’d come prepared. A deep crimson halter dress hugged her frame, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that exposed the delicate curve of her neck. The morning light caught the smooth expanse of her skin, making her glow like something ethereal.

From a distance, she looked untouchable. Cold. Perfect.

Too bad her body wasn’t cooperating. A fever burned beneath her flawless exterior, leaving her limbs heavy and her head throbbing.

At exactly nine, a silver Bugatti rolled into the lot. The door swung open, and Nathaniel Blackwood stepped out, his expression as icy as ever.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze flickered when he saw her. Then, just as quickly, his lips curled into something mocking.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” he drawled, striding past her without so much as a pause.

Vivian clenched her jaw. Excuse me? She glared at his retreating back. You’re the one practically sprinting to the counter.

The process itself was laughably simple. A few signatures, a stamp, and in under ten minutes, it was done.

“There’s a mandatory one-month cooling-off period,” the clerk explained, sliding the forms toward them. “If either of you changes your mind, you can file for revocation within thirty days.”

He’d seen his fair share of messy divorces—screaming matches, tearful breakdowns. But this? This was the calmest he’d ever witnessed.

It almost made him wonder why they were splitting up. They looked like they belonged together.

Vivian snatched the papers, scanning the fine print. “A grace period for divorce but not marriage?” she muttered under her breath. “If only—”

Nathaniel’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “Regretting it already?”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “Not a chance.” A smirk played on her lips. “Forty million, Nathaniel. Most women would kill for that kind of payout. I’d say I hit the jackpot.”

His jaw tightened, fingers tugging at his tie in irritation.

The Vivian he’d married had been docile. Agreeable. But the closer they got to this moment, the more her words turned to knives.

Just as they turned to leave, a soft voice called out. “Nathaniel? Are you finished?”

Vivian spun around.

Cassandra Delacroix stood there, draped in white, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Fragile. Delicate. Nothing like the sharp-tongued woman from their first encounter.

And then Vivian saw it—the faint swell beneath Cassandra’s dress.

“I told you to wait in the car,” Nathaniel said, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it.

“It’s chilly out here. The baby—”

“Isn’t worth risking.”

Vivian’s chest tightened.

She turned back to Nathaniel, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Care to explain, Mr. Blackwood?”

His expression didn’t waver.

“I don’t owe you anything.”