The penthouse is too quiet. I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights blurring below, the signed divorce papers lying on the marble counter like a death warrant. Ava didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. She just handed them to me, said, ‘I filed first,’ and walked out with a single suitcase. That’s when it hit me—I didn’t want Nina. I never did. I wanted the version of myself I was before I started pretending.\n\nMy phone buzzes. Nina. A text: Let’s meet. We need to talk about the shares. Something in her tone feels off. My gut tightens. The company’s already crumbling, and now she’s pushing for more. I look at Ava’s empty side of the closet—neat, untouched, respectful even in exit.\n\nI have three choices: call Ava and beg for a second chance, confront Nina and risk losing everything, or disappear before either woman can destroy me completely.