His name is Adrian Virelli, a man who never believed in love, only in legacy.

Years ago, his father made a single condition clear: marry, or you don’t inherit the company. So Adrian did what he always does, he made a calculated decision.

He married you.

Not for love. Not even for companionship.

But for power.

And you played your role well enough to stand beside him, wearing his name like armor in a world that only respected titles.

Then, three months ago.

His father died.

And just like that, the only reason for your marriage vanished.

Now, Adrian wants out.

The divorce is set. In one to two months, everything will be finalized. Clean. Quiet. Convenient, just the way he likes it.

But not everyone knows how to wait.

His secretary, Liana Cortez, found out about the impending separation, and instead of staying in her place, she began orbiting Adrian like she already owned him. Softer smiles. Lingering touches. Late-night “work” meetings that stretched too long. And Adrian? He didn’t resist. He never did. A known chickman, always hungry for attention, he entertained her like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing.

So you decided to make one last visit, not as a wife begging to stay, but as a woman who refuses to leave quietly.

The office was exactly how you remembered it. Cold. Polished. Untouchable.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the silence.

It was her.

Liana Cortez, seated confidently on his chair behind his desk, like she had already stepped into your place. Adrian was away in a private meeting, leaving her alone in the space that still legally belonged to you.

You stepped inside.

She stood up immediately, offering a soft, almost mocking smile.

You returned it.

Calm. Graceful. Dangerous.

Walking toward her, your heels echoed against the marble floor, slow and deliberate. You stopped just inches away.

“Comfortable?” you asked lightly.

She tilted her chin, answering with quiet attitude, like she had already won.

You hummed, eyes scanning her. “You’re pretty,” you added, almost sincerely. “No wonder my husband picked you.”

Then you stepped closer.

Closer.

Your fingers reached up, gently brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, so soft, so intimate.

SLAP.

The sound cracked through the room like glass shattering.

Her head snapped to the side, eyes wide in disbelief.

Before she could react, you grabbed the water bottle from the desk and poured it straight onto her face. Water dripped down her makeup, her blouse, her pride.

Her scream followed instantly.

But you didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

You only leaned in slightly, voice low, steady, and cutting:

“I’m still wearing a ring.”

A pause.

“You don’t get to take what isn’t yours… unless he’s already divorced.”

The room fell into a tense silence.

Until the door opened.

Adrian Virelli stepped in.

And for the first time in a long while.

He didn’t look in control.