Her coat hung off her shoulders, slipping slightly, the weight of it was too much after the long day.
Caius sat on the edge of the couch, one arm resting across his knee, a glass of dark liquor held in his other hand. He didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on her, unblinking, the way someone might look at a fire—fascinated, wary—unsure if it would warm them… or burn everything they had left.
"They said my name is on something. Some document. But I'm not married to anyone."
Caius didn't respond immediately. He didn't flinch or shift. He simply watched her.
"They think we still are," he said quietly.
Heather turned her head toward him slowly, her brows were drawn together in confusion.
"Then tell them we're not."
Caius looked away then, just briefly, as though the answer weighed more than he wanted to admit.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
He took a slow sip from his glass before setting it down on the table beside him.
"Because your name is still on the legal documents," he said. "The family estate. The inheritance. Everything was bound with your name years ago."
Heather stood motionless for a moment, struggling to process what he was saying.
"So?" she asked, bewildered. "We're divorced. Just have my name removed."
He exhaled, the sound was closer to a sigh than anything else.
"It's not that simple. Legally, it can't be undone. Not without you there." He sounded like a person who had already tried.
She took a slow step closer, arms folding across her chest as she stared at him.
"Why was my name even on it to begin with?"
There was a pause, a visible hesitation in his expression that gave him away.
"My family kept pressuring me to marry," he finally admitted. "They kept sending women, arranging meetings. I never told them about us. So, when the paperwork came, I just… I used your name."
Heather's eyes widened slightly. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but the picture they painted made her stomach twist.
"And now they think we're still married," she murmured.
Caius gave a slight nod.
"My father is stepping down. The estate is being passed over. And in our family, tradition means the heir must be married for the transfer to be valid. They want to meet a wife. They want to meet you."
She let out a bitter laugh, the sound was hollow and sharp as it echoed through the quiet room.
"So, you lost it all."
He didn't answer, or even need to.
Heather tilted her head slightly.
"And now you need me to show up. Play pretend. Be your little loving wife?"
Caius looked up at her. "You already told my mother you'd do it," he said.
Heather's jaw tensed.
"That was before I knew it was you," she snapped. "If I'd known, I would've laughed in her face."
There was a simmering heat in her voice now, but not rage, just exhaustion and worn-out betrayal that had never quite healed, because it never got the satisfaction of a revenge.
"I would've rather stayed locked in that room forever than lift a finger for you."
Caius remained seated, but his grip on the glass had tightened. He was doing his best not to react—and she could see it. The cracks.
"You don't even have to live here," he said. "You just have to show up at the council. Sign the papers. Once it's passed down—"
"No."
"Heather—"
"I said no."
There was no shake in her voice, or even hesitation, but the air in the room had grown heavier.
He leaned forward slightly, frustration beginning to break through his composure.
"This is because of what I did to you."
Heather walked toward him slowly, stopping only a few feet away. Her eyes held his, unwavering.
"Maybe. But it's also because you think I'd still say yes."
Caius blinked, he was caught off guard by the honesty in her tone.
"I gave you what you wanted," she said. "I didn't argue. Even when I begged, you looked me in my eyes and said 'no'. I signed the damn divorce papers and let you go. Even when you walked into my sister's arms like I meant nothing. I stayed quiet. And now everything's falling apart for you, you think I'll just come back into your life to fix everything?"
"You do realize this is more than just telling security guards they're dismissed or being called 'young master'" she mocked.
There was a few minutes of silence.
"You hate me that much."
"No. I don't hate you enough. That's the problem."
He flinched slightly.
"But what doesn't make sense is this. Tell me, why did you really put my name? You could have put Lauren or the other women you were with. Why did you use mine? And I want the truth."
Caius didn't answer.
"If you don't tell me I won't be signing anything." Heather held up her polished nails to her face.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Like he needed strength.
He exhaled. "I trusted you and I—"
"Bullshit."
"It's true."
She shaked her head in disagreement. "You wanted someone you could control. Like a puppet. And who better than the stupid wife who was pathetically in love with you? You thought no matter how badly you treated me, I'd still crawl back. Still smile. Still say yes." She let out a dry laugh.
"You thought I was stupid, easy, controllable."
Caius didn't respond immediately. Just stared at her. But she saw it—that flicker of something in his eyes.
"I never thought you were stupid," he said finally.
She tilted her head, a bitter smile playing at her lips.
"You'll say anything now, won't you? To save yourself."
"I'm not trying to save myself," he said, quieter now. "I'm trying to fix this."
"Let me be honest with you," she snapped. "I'm not signing a single goddamn thing. So if that's what you're hoping for, a change of heart—too bad."
"I regret what I did to you."
"Okay," she said, moving to the bed to grab her bag, "and I'm still not signing it."
She picked up her bag like she was already gone.
He stepped forward. "Heather—just wait."
"No." She slung the strap over her shoulder. "I'm done talking."
"Please," he said.
The word was so soft it barely reached her. She paused at the knob, but didn't turn.
"…What?" she asked, not needing to hear it again—but needing him to say it again.
Caius exhaled, his jaw was clenched as if his pride was cracking. "Please. Don't leave like this. Let's talk."
She turned now. And when she looked at him—this man who commanded empires, who ruined people with a glance—he looked... small.
Begging.
That made her smile. Not a warm smile, no. A curved, cold satisfaction that bloomed quietly on her lips.
"You're begging me," she said. "That's new."
He didn't answer, but his fists were clenched at his sides.
"How does it feel?" she added, taking a step closer. "Not being the one in control for once?"
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. That silence was an answer.
She held his gaze for one long, satisfying second… then walked past him.
She didn't need to slam the door. The silence behind her was loud enough