Chapter 56: Legal matters pt 2
Arthur stared at him for a long moment, taking a slow puff from his cigar before tapping the ash into a glass tray. "Under normal circumstances? Yes. A petition this clean, with no financial disputes, moves very quickly through the courts. If she maintains this stance, a judge will grant it."
"Stop it," Kian ordered, his voice cutting through the air like a cold blade.
"I can challenge it," Arthur said calmly, leaning back. "I can drag out the proceedings. I can raise procedural issues, file counter-motions, and force mandatory mediation periods. I can make this process take years."
"Then do it," Kian said without a second of hesitation.
"Kian," Arthur warned softly, his tone turning pragmatic. "You need to look at what you are fighting against. Has she changed her mind?"
"No."
"Has she spoken to you since she left?"
"No."
"Then she is committed," Arthur stated plainly. "And who is representing her?"
"A firm out of the capital," Kian said coldly. "Hired by Kazarov."
Arthur went quiet. The air in the room shifted instantly. The lawyer’s relaxed posture tightened, his sharp eyes narrowing as the name settled between them.
"Where is she currently staying?" Arthur asked.
Kian’s jaw tightened. "She’s with him."
"Where?"
Kian didn’t answer. He stared at the polished wood of the desk, the burning ember of his cigar singeing the air.
"You don’t know," Arthur realized quietly, a faint raise of his dark eyebrows revealing his surprise. "You don’t know where your own wife is."
"She’s with Aaron," Kian repeated, his tone turning dangerous, as if saying the name aloud was causing him physical pain.
"I know she is with Kazarov," Arthur said, setting his cigar down completely. "I asked you ’where’ she is. If she is under his physical protection, in his estate, surrounded by his security... this stops being a routine legal matter."
"It was never a routine matter," Kian snapped.
"Then you need to understand reality," Arthur said, leaning his hands flat on the desk. "I am a lawyer, Kian. I can manipulate statutes. I can exploit procedural delays. I can fight any legal team in this country and break them in court. But I cannot litigate against a man who does not care about the law."
Kian’s dark eyes flashed with an icy, dangerous glare. "Then make him play by our rules."
"That is considerably easier said than done," Arthur said flatly. "Kazarov operates outside the boundaries we use. If he decides to shield her entirely, if he keeps her hidden behind his men, no court summons in the world is going to force her back into a room with you."
Arthur picked up the black folder, closing it with a finality that made Kian’s pulse spike.
"I can fight this petition," Arthur continued, looking Kian dead in the eye. "I can delay it for months, maybe years. I can look for every microscopic weakness in her paperwork. But I cannot promise you that she won’t eventually get what she wants."
"Don’t let her," Kian commanded, his voice cold, heavy, and absolute. "I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care how many motions you have to file. Do not let that divorce go through."
Arthur stayed silent for three seconds, searching Kian’s face. He didn’t see a husband trying to fix a broken home.
He didn’t see a man grieving a lost marriage. He saw an obsessed, ruthless man refusing to let go of something he believed belonged to him.
"Why?" Arthur asked quietly.
"Why what?"
"Why are you contesting this?" Arthur asked, leaning back into his chair. "You didn’t want this marriage when it started. You didn’t care about her when she lived in your house. Why are you spending millions of dollars to trap a woman who wants nothing from you?"
Silence fell over the office, so thick and heavy it felt hard to breathe.
Kian sat perfectly still, the smoke rising slowly from his hand. He didn’t have a rational answer. He couldn’t say he loved her—the word felt alien, impossible, completely foreign to his mind. He couldn’t say he wanted to fix things with her.
All he knew was the dark, bitter rage that consumed him whenever he pictured her away from him, laughing in another man’s house, breathing another man’s air, completely free of his name.
"Because she is my wife," Kian said, his voice dropping into a harsh, dark murmur.
Arthur watched him, his face unreadable. "Is that an answer, Kian? Or just an excuse?"
Kian’s eyes narrowed into terrifying slits. "I didn’t hire you to analyze my thoughts, Arthur."
"No," Arthur replied calmly. "You hired me to win."
"Then do your job."
Kian stood up, buttoning his dark jacket with sharp, stiff movements. He didn’t offer a hand. He didn’t say goodbye. He turned on his heel and walked out of the office, his heavy steps echoing down the quiet corridor.
The quiet hum of the elevator carried him down to the private underground garage.
Kian stepped out into the cool, concrete air, walking toward the back door of his black car. His guards opened the door immediately, but Kian didn’t get in right away. He stood by the open door, staring down at his phone in the dim light of the parking structure.
Arthur’s question kept echoing in his mind, louder than the quiet hum of the car engine.
’You don’t even know where your own wife is.’
The realization burned inside him like poison. He didn’t know where she slept. He didn’t know whose face she looked at when she woke up. He didn’t know if she was thinking of him, or if she had already erased him from her mind entirely.
Kian lifted the phone to his ear.
The line rang twice before a deep, raspy voice answered. "Sir?"
"Volk," Kian said, his voice dropping into a flat, terrifying order that made the guard standing beside the car go completely rigid. "Find Isabella."
There was a short pause on the other end. "We know she left the country with Kazarov, sir. She’s likely at one of his private estates—"
"I didn’t ask where she ’likely’ is," Kian interrupted, his voice laced with a dark, quiet threat. "I want her exact location. I want to know which house she is sleeping in, which room she occupies, and who is standing outside her door."
A long beat of silence followed over the line.
"Do you want us to bring her back?" Volk asked carefully.
Kian stood frozen under the harsh, white fluorescent lights of the parking garage.
’Bring her back.’
For a second, his mind pictured it—his men dragging her out of Aaron’s estate, throwing her into the back of a car, and bringing her back to his dark, quiet house, locking her in her room where she could never leave again.
The dark, controlling thought curled through his mind like smoke, tempting him, calling to the ugly, obsessed darkness taking over his chest.
"No," Kian whispered.
"Sir?"
"No," Kian repeated, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth clicked. "Don’t touch her. Don’t go near her. If Kazarov’s men spot you, she’ll disappear deeper into his world."
"Then what are your instructions?"
Kian looked up at the cold concrete ceiling, his dark eyes hollow, empty, and terrifyingly sharp.
"Just find her," Kian murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath. "Find out where she is. Find out what she’s doing. And find out if she ever intends to come back."
He ended the call, sliding the phone into his coat pocket. He stepped into the back of the car, the heavy door slamming shut behind him, sealing him in the dark, icy silence once again as the car pulled out into the gray city.