Victoria Velmore sat in the quiet of her study, her fingers trembling slightly as she held the freshly delivered document in her manicured hand. The bold heading made her stomach drop: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Her eyes scanned the signature at the bottom—Caliste Winslow-Velmore.
She didn't need to read the rest. The message was clear. The carefully woven alliance between the Winslows and the Velmores was unraveling with just one stroke of a pen.
Her jaw clenched.
Years of collaboration, business ties, investments—they would all crumble if this went through. The Winslows had always been cautious partners, but Caliste brought a calm strength to the table. She wasn't just a trophy wife. She was an asset.
Victoria picked up her phone and dialed Gregory Winslow.
"Gregory," she said sharply, not bothering with pleasantries. "I just received the divorce agreement from your estate. What's the meaning of this?"
A sigh answered her.
"It wasn't me, Victoria," Gregory said grimly. "It was Caliste's choice. She had the documents drafted and signed on her own. I tried to reason with her, but… she wouldn't hear it."
Victoria closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temple. "Do you understand what this means? This wasn't just a marriage. This was a merger. A legacy."
"I understand perfectly," Gregory replied, his voice low with frustration. "But I will not force my daughter to stay in a marriage she no longer believes in."
Victoria ended the call without another word.
She summoned Lucian immediately.
When he entered her study, she was standing by the fireplace, holding the divorce papers like they were soaked in poison. She didn't speak—she simply handed them to him.
Lucian's eyes scanned the paper, and then darkened like a gathering storm.
"She signed this?" he asked hoarsely. "Caliste?"
Victoria gave a stiff nod. "From the Winslow estate. Delivered directly."
Lucian threw the papers onto the desk. "No. I won't accept this. I'll talk to her—I'll explain everything. I'll make this right."
He turned to leave, already pulling out his phone, but Victoria's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Lucian," she said, her voice firmer than he'd heard in years, "Don't chase her."
He froze. "What?"
Victoria stepped forward, her expression stern, but there was pain behind her sharp eyes. "You don't deserve her."
Lucian turned, his face a mixture of disbelief and anger. "Grandmother—"
"You hurt her. Repeatedly. You let her be humiliated in front of the world, and you weren't there to protect her. You let another woman claim your child on national media, and you didn't crush it the moment it started. You waited. You hesitated."
"I was fixing it!" he snapped.
"But too late," Victoria cut in coldly. "She waited for you to choose her. She gave you her loyalty—and you gave her silence."
Lucian looked away, jaw clenched.
Victoria's voice softened, but it carried a heavy weight. "She was the best thing to happen to you. And you let her slip through your fingers."
Lucian turned his face toward the window, his throat tight.
"I'm not giving up," he said quietly. "Not yet."
Victoria watched him for a long moment before replying, "Then for once, don't use your name or power. Win her heart, Lucian. Or lose her forever."
-----
The morning sun filtered softly through the tall windows of the Winslow estate, casting golden light on the vintage luggage by the door. Caliste stood at the threshold of her childhood home, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her handbag. Dressed in a simple cream coat and wide sunglasses, she looked nothing like the wife of a Velmore.
She looked like a woman preparing to disappear.
Her mother's voice called faintly from behind the grand staircase, but Caliste didn't pause. She had said her goodbyes last night. What she needed now was distance—space to breathe, to heal, to forget.
The past weeks had unraveled her. From Mirana's deceit to Lucian's silence, to the headlines that made her marriage feel like a PR joke, she had been reduced to an image instead of a person. And when she finally reached her limit, she chose peace.
And peace meant leaving.
A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts. Gregory, her father, entered the foyer, holding a passport and a thin envelope.
"I had your new documents expedited," he said, offering them to her. "Your new work visa and itinerary are inside. You'll have a car waiting when you land."
Caliste nodded, taking the envelope gently. "Thank you."
He didn't ask her to stay this time.
Instead, Gregory reached out and touched her shoulder, his voice low. "You did what you had to do, Caliste. But you know running away doesn't erase pain."
She smiled faintly. "I'm not running. I'm just… choosing myself for once."
Her father's eyes softened. "Then do it properly. Heal. Breathe. And don't look back unless you're sure."
Caliste pulled her suitcase behind her as the doors opened, the chauffeur standing beside the black sedan waiting outside.
She didn't look back. Not at the house. Not at the staff watching silently. And not at the phone that she had deliberately left off for two whole days.
As the car pulled away, her heart ached—but there was a strange sense of freedom in the pain.
She didn't know what the future held, but for now, she had finally taken control of her story.
And that mattered.
------
Lucian Velmore stood alone in the middle of his penthouse, the curtains drawn back to reveal the sprawling city below. Papers lay scattered on the floor, the result of his rage just minutes earlier when Victoria had handed him the signed divorce agreement.
"She left," Victoria had said. "You didn't fight hard enough when it mattered. Now, it's too late."
Lucian hadn't believed her. Couldn't.
He had driven to the Winslow Estate without thinking, only to be turned away by the guards.
"She's not here," one of them said. "She left this morning."
Lucian's jaw clenched. "Where?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Velmore. We were instructed not to disclose her destination."
Now, back in his apartment, he stood frozen as Tristan rushed in, waving his phone.
"Lucian," Tristan said breathlessly, "I just got confirmation from someone at the airport. Caliste boarded a private flight out of the country."
Lucian's stomach dropped. "Where did she go?"
Tristan hesitated. "They won't say. But... it's real, man. She's gone."
The weight of those words sank in like stones. Lucian leaned against the edge of the table, his hands gripping the marble until his knuckles turned white.
He had taken too long. Pushed too far. Ignored her pleas for space until space became distance, and distance became silence.
His eyes landed on her last forgotten item on the counter—a pale scarf she had once worn on a rainy day. He reached for it slowly, lifting it to his face as if it might carry her scent. But it didn't. It was just... fabric now. Like how their marriage had become just paper.
"She said she needed peace," Gregory had told him. "And this time, she chose it for herself."
Lucian whispered her name like a prayer. "Caliste..."
His heart cracked open in that moment—not from anger, not from pride—but from pure, aching loss.
Because now... she was really gone.
And he had no idea if she would ever come back.