He became gentler after that. He started remembering dates. He kissed me goodnight like it was normal. He looked at me like I mattered.
And I believed it.
I fell completely.
But now, lying in that hospital bed, everything made sense in the cruelest way possible.
It was never love.
It was control.
A performance I was too stupid to question.
I wiped my face roughly, grabbed my phone, and forced my breathing to steady.
When my lawyer picked up, my voice didn’t shake.
“Mr. Wells,” I said quietly, “prepare my divorce papers.”
There was a pause on the other line.
“Mrs. Grant… that won’t be easy,” he said carefully.
“Why not?” I asked sharply.
“Your families are bound by multiple agreements. Your father and Mr. Grant’s father would need to approve it. This could collapse the entire alliance—”
“I don’t care,” I cut in immediately. “Just prepare it.”
Another hesitation.
“Even if I draft it,” he continued, “you’ll still need your father’s approval. Without it, this won’t move forward legally—”
“I’ll handle my father,” I said coldly. “Just do your part.”
“…Understood, Mrs. Grant.”