Chapter 55: Legal matters
The black car moved smoothly through the quiet morning streets, the engine hum barely audible beneath the heavy leather interior.
Kian sat in the back, staring out the tinted glass at the gray sky. On the seat beside him lay a single leather folder. He didn’t need to open it.
He had already read every page three times before dawn, his eyes burning in the dark of his study, tracing the small, elegant strokes of her signature over and over until the ink seemed to bleed into the paper.
The phone against his ear vibrated softly.
"You’ll be home for dinner tonight?" Alice’s voice came through the speaker, warm and light, entirely untainted by the storm brewing in his chest.
Kian didn’t look away from the window. His reflection in the glass was pale, his eyes dark and sunken with an unnatural, dangerous stillness. "Of course."
"Are you sure?" Alice asked, a gentle laugh bubbling over the line. "You sound so distant today. Is work that stressful?"
"Just a long list of meetings," Kian lied, his voice dropping into a smooth, practiced tone that was terrifyingly natural. "Nothing to worry about."
"All right," she said softly, her affection clear and unassuming. "Don’t overwork yourself, Kian. I’ll see you later."
"See you later," he said, pressing the screen to end the call before she could say another word.
The moment the line went dead, the warmth drained from his face entirely. The car went dead silent.
The two bodyguards sitting in the front seats didn’t make a sound, their eyes fixed strictly on the road ahead, completely aware of the suffocate, icy air rolling off the man in the back.
The car pulled up outside the private entrance of the country’s most elite law firm. High above the noise of the city, the floor belonged entirely to Arthur Pendleton... a man who handled the divorces and legal wars of kings, billionaires, and politicians.
When the elevator doors parted, Kian stepped out into the quiet floor, his tall frame cutting through the dim hall like a shadow.
Two guards walked a few paces behind him, their boots heavy against the marble.
At the end of the hall, the heavy mahogany doors of Arthur’s office were slightly ajar.
Low laughter and the comfortable murmur of wealthy men spilled out into the corridor.
Kian didn’t knock. He simply reached out and pushed the door wide open.
The laughter died instantly.
Three men in tailored suits turned around, their smiling expressions freezing the moment Kian walked into the room.
It wasn’t just his name that stopped them, it was the lethal, unreadable look in his dark eyes, the sheer, crushing weight of his presence that made the air in the room turn suddenly cold.
They knew who he was. Everyone in their circle knew the sheer power he carried.
Arthur Pendleton, sitting behind a massive desk of dark walnut, looked up from a glass of ice.
His sharp, experienced eyes swept over Kian’s face, catching the tight line of his jaw and the black folder clutched in his hand. He didn’t look surprised.
"Gentlemen," Arthur said smoothly, setting his glass down with a soft click. "We will finish this discussion another time."
The three businessmen didn’t argue. They offered short, respectful nods to Kian as they brushed past him toward the door, but Kian didn’t even look at them.
His eyes were locked entirely on the lawyer across the room.
The heavy door closed with a firm click, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet, grand office.
Arthur gestured toward the deep leather armchairs facing his desk. "Sit."
Kian didn’t answer right away. He walked over, his steps silent against the dark rug, and lowered himself into the leather chair.
He placed the black folder flat on the wooden desk right between them.
Arthur looked down at the folder, then reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a silver box. He flipped it open, offering a thick cigar to Kian.
Kian took it without a word. Arthur struck a match, holding the flame out toward Kian first.
Kian leaned in slightly, drawing the dark smoke into his lungs, the orange embers glowing brightly in the dim light of the office before he blew a slow, gray cloud out into the space between them.
Arthur lit his own cigar, settled back into his seat, and finally drew the black folder toward himself.
"You read it," Arthur said flatly, pulling the white pages out into the light.
"Several times," Kian replied, his voice low, dry, and entirely devoid of warmth.
Arthur flipped through the crisp pages, his eyes scanning the formal legal terms he had seen a thousand times before.
He turned to the final page, looking at Isabella’s quiet, neat signature at the bottom, then closed the folder with a quiet thump. He rested both hands flat over the dark cover.
"You understand what she’s asking for?" Arthur asked.
"A divorce," Kian said simply.
"No," Arthur corrected, leaning forward slightly, his sharp eyes holding Kian’s gaze. "She’s asking for nothing else."
Kian’s hand froze for a split second, the gray smoke hovering around his fingers.
"No alimony," Arthur listed off smoothly, tapping his index finger on the paper. "No division of properties. No claim against your bank accounts. No demand for spousal support. She isn’t even asking you to cover her legal expenses. She hasn’t filed a single complaint or allegation against your conduct."
Arthur paused, letting the silence grow heavy in the room.
"She just wants out."
The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, settling deep into Kian’s throat.
’She just wants out.’
He had spent months believing he was the master of this marriage. He had believed he held all the power, that he could keep her bound to him, hidden away in his dark house, standardizing her existence to fit his life whenever he felt like taking a piece of her. He had believed she was trapped, dependent on his name and his wealth.
And now, she wasn’t asking for his money. She wasn’t asking for his land. She wasn’t asking to hurt him or punish him.
She was walking away empty-handed, leaving everything behind, simply because his presence, his name, and his life were things she no longer wished to touch.
She wanted freedom. And the simple, quiet reality of that desire made something dark and monstrous coil tightly inside his chest.
Arthur watched the way Kian’s knuckles turned white around his cigar. "Most husbands in your position would consider this a blessing. It’s clean. It’s quiet. No mess, no public scandal."
"I’m not most husbands," Kian said, his voice dropping an octave, so low and raspy it sounded like a warning.
Arthur’s mouth twitched into a small, humorless line. "No. I had gathered that."
Kian leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees, looming over the lawyer’s desk like a predator ready to strike.
The calm, polite mask he usually wore was completely gone, replaced by a raw, suffocating obsession that filled every corner of the room.
"Tell me something, Arthur," Kian whispered, his dark eyes fixed on the man. "Can she get it?"
"The divorce?"
"Can she walk into a courtroom, sign a paper, and walk out free of me?"