Chapter 43: A Win
However, miles away in the corporate heart of the city, the afternoon sun beat down relentlessly against the tall glass windows of the executive tower.
Kian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at a mountain of financial reports. His tie was loosened, his top shirt button undone, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Ever since Aaron Kazarov had walked into his house and carried Isabella away two days ago, the entire company had been in chaos.
He had spent forty-eight straight hours in back-to-back emergency board meetings, plugging leaks, appeasing nervous investors, and trying to keep the syndicate’s legal structure from collapsing under his feet.
Things were finally starting to stabilize, but he was utterly exhausted. His head throbbed with a dull, heavy ache.
A quiet, hesitant knock sounded at his office door.
Kian didn’t look up from his computer screen. "What?"
The door opened, and his second assistant walked in. The young man looked pale, holding a thick, heavy cream envelope in both hands as if it were a live explosive. He walked up to the desk and placed the envelope carefully on the polished wood.
"A courier delivered this ten minutes ago, sir," the assistant stammered. "He... he said it had to be handed to you directly."
Kian glanced down at the blank white envelope. Irritation flared hot in his chest. "What is it? Another threat from the bank?"
The assistant swallowed hard, taking a small step backward. "I... I think you should read it yourself, Mr. Carter."
Kian snapped. "I asked you a question. What is it?"
The assistant didn’t answer. He just lowered his head, looking terrified.
Kian let out a harsh, bitter breath, grabbing the brass letter opener from his desk. He sliced the top of the envelope open with one sharp movement and pulled out the thick stack of legal documents inside.
He flipped through the cover sheet. His eyes landed on the bold, black heading at the top of the first official page.
’PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.’
’Plaintiff: Isabella Kingston.’
’Defendant: Kian Carter.’
The room fell unnaturally quiet.
The low hum of the air conditioner seemed to cut out entirely. The assistant stood near the door, bracing himself, waiting for the desk to be flipped, for glass to shatter, for Kian to tear the room apart in a fit of rage.
The explosion never came.
Kian didn’t scream. He didn’t hurl his coffee cup against the wall. His face went completely still.
He just kept reading.
He turned the page. Then the next. And the next. He read through the attached protective orders and the signature of the high-powered legal firm representing her.. a firm that he knew for a fact was on the payroll of Kazarov Holdings.
His eyes moved down the sharp, legal sentences slowly, absorbing every single line. His expression barely changed. His jaw didn’t even clench.
Finally, after five long minutes of agonizing silence, Kian reached the last page.
He closed the heavy folder. He placed it down on the center of his desk, aligning the edges perfectly with the wood grain.
He looked up at his trembling assistant. His voice was completely calm, smooth, and chillingly polite.
"Leave."
The assistant didn’t need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and rushed out of the office, letting the heavy oak door click shut behind him.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Kian leaned back in his leather chair. He stared down at the cream folder sitting on his desk. He reached out with one long finger, tracing the line of Isabella’s delicate, shaky signature at the bottom of the page. She had signed it herself. Her hand had touched this paper.
A small, short laugh escaped his lips.
It was dry, cold, and empty... a sound born out of a chest so tightly wound that if he didn’t let that small laugh out, he felt like his ribs would crack right open.
"Running behind another man..." he whispered into the empty room, his thumb rubbing over the ink of her name. "So this really is your answer."
He stared at the ceiling, resting his hands behind his head.
’Good,’ he thought to himself.
’This is what I wanted. This is what I planned for.’
’Now the company stays entirely in my hands. The marriage clause is voided without me having to break it. Now Alice and I can finally move forward without this ghost dragging behind us.’
He repeated the words in his head over and over again, trying to build a solid wall out of them.
’This is a win.’
He looked back down at the paper. At her name. At the cold, legal terms demanding that he stay away from her.
A sharp, unpleasant knot tightened deep in his gut.
’Then why does this feel so irritating?’
Why did the sight of her signature on a document provided by Aaron Kazarov make a dark, ugly heat spread through his veins?
He didn’t care about her. He had never cared about her. She was just a blind, helpless burden he had been forced to drag around for years.
He grabbed his desk phone, punching in a private, unlisted ten-digit number from memory.
The line rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered on the other end.
"Carter," the voice spoke. It was Arthur Pendelton—a legendary corporate attorney, an old, ruthless man who charged astronomical hourly fees and whose name alone made major syndicates settle out of court before a trial ever started.
"Arthur," Kian said, his voice flat and steady. "I need a divorce delayed."
A short pause on the line. The faint sound of paper rustling. "Is this regarding your wife’s filing? My office heard rumors an hour ago that Kazarov’s firm already pushed a petition through the court."
"Yes," Kian replied.
"Do you intend to contest the divorce?" Arthur asked calmly. "Given the prenuptial agreements and the state of your corporate assets, letting it go smoothly might be the cleanest path for your board."
Kian looked down at Isabella’s name on the paper again. A long, heavy pause stretched between them.
"Contest it," Kian said softly.
"On what grounds?"
"On any grounds you can find," Kian said, his voice dropping into a hard, unyielding tone. "Use every legal avenue available. File counter-petitions. Dispute the representation. Claim coercion. Challenge the jurisdiction."
Arthur was quiet for a second. "That kind of litigation will take months. Possibly years. It will cost a fortune, Carter."
Kian leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes fixed on the white envelope.
"I don’t care how long it takes," Kian said. "Just tie it up."