, I had been Mrs. Sarah Davi

vis. In our world, divorce was a stain, especially for a woman. Men could discard wives like old coats, but if a woman init

just any man, he was Mark Davis, the most celebrated architect in the city, a man of immense power and influence. He would never agree t

to get his signature without h

skin, but I barely felt it. My focus was entirely on the grand entrance. Inside my purse, my fingers brushed against a single, folded sheet of high-quality

ticing calligraphy and that I wanted his signature, a piece of art in itself. His sign

Davis stepped out. He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that made him look even more imposing. His face was all sharp angles and cool

was no recognition, no warmth. Just a flicker of annoyance. He gave a subtle nod to his

ofessional but strained. "Mr. Davis would pre

I followed without a word, my heart a dull, heavy stone in my chest. A few momen

asked. His voice was low and cool, th

d," I managed to say, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. "I thought... I

ismissive. "You could have sent one of the maids.

k straight and unforgiving.

as so unusual for me to stop him that he actually pa

my hands trembling slightly. "I know this is a s

ropping to the paper.

"Your signature is... it' s a piece of art. I wanted to use it as a m

o refuse. In that moment, a car pulled up to the curb, and a woma

replaced by a warmth I hadn' t seen in three years. He was completely

I pushed the paper and a pen into his hand agai

name on the bottom of the blank page. He didn't even look at what he

a bitter mix of relief and pain. My plan had wo

olding the paper carefully an

"Mark! I was just passing by." Then her gaze fell on me,

cking her view of me. "This is just a cousin of mine," he said casually, his

n a slap. I was his wife of three years, and he had just dis

s aloof, private nature. He didn' t want the world prying into his personal life. I had fallen for him hard, a quiet admirer from a distance.

did I discover the devastating truth. He had proposed to me just days after Emily Carter, his childhood friend and colleague, had returned from abroad. Her engagement to another man had fallen throug

just the woman who filled