Four Loveless Years, One Unforgettable Goodbye

"Of course Willa would mind. We're still married, after all." Not a flicker of emotion touched Bryan's voice.

Caylee bit back a retort and sank into the bed, fingers curling into tight fists beneath the blanket.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Bryan—his chiseled features lit by the glow of his phone, the faint crease between his brows betraying his focus.

A man like him—disciplined, handsome, and coldly self-contained—was the kind others spent lifetimes trying to claim.

The weight of her gaze drew his irritation. Bryan's brow furrowed, the muscle along his jaw tightening.

He despised being stared at, the scrutiny pressing against his composure like grit under skin. Out of old sentiment, he let the moment pass without remark.

Only once Caylee's breathing deepened did he rise, sliding his phone into his pocket and stepping out into the corridor.

Outside, Jarrod scrambled upright, shaking the numbness from his legs. "Mr. Scott, there's a function scheduled for tomorrow," he reported, rubbing his knees. "It's getting late—you should turn in. I've got the newest sleep aid on hand. Practically no side effects."

He knew too well that if Bryan pushed past this hour, insomnia would surely follow.

At the sight of the pills, Bryan's eyes narrowed and a crease formed between his brows. "No need."

The thought of choking down those bitter tablets repulsed him—he'd rather exhaust himself in Willa's arms.

Once their bodies unraveled together, sleep would come easily, heavy and deep till morning.

But the realization itself unsettled him, and his face darkened with irritation.

...

From that day on, Willa seemed like an entirely different woman. Around others at the Scott Mansion, she played the part of a devoted wife to perfection—gentle smiles, light conversation. But once the doors closed, she and Bryan went their separate ways.

She already had a plan in motion: to leave her husband for good and start a new life.

Lately, Bryan had been relentlessly swamped—business luncheons by day, high-profile parties by night, often working past midnight without a proper meal.

Truthfully, nothing he ate outside ever satisfied him.

He preferred mild flavors, but the trendy chefs seemed obsessed with heavy sauces.

After the latest event, Jarrod brought in takeout, setting the boxes down.

"Not to your liking?" The sight of Bryan ignoring his food, paired with that unmistakable look of displeasure, prompted Jarrod to speak.

Bryan's brows tightened, a faint look of disgust flickering across his face. "Get something lighter."

Jarrod, well aware of his boss's exacting tastes, pulled out his phone and called Willa instead.

Less than thirty minutes later, a thermal container arrived—steam curling from the lid, with neatly arranged shrimp glistening on the top layer.

The moment Bryan lifted it, he recognized Willa's cooking.

"Where is she? Bring her here," he ordered, his tone cool yet unmistakably expectant.

Jarrod hesitated, throat tightening, but eventually fetched Willa, who hadn't gone far.

She entered calmly, a simple gift bag in hand, which she set discreetly on a side cabinet before facing Bryan.

His eyes flicked toward her, his voice edged with dry amusement. "You've been unusually quiet lately—not a word about divorce. What's this about? Did you finally decide to behave, or are you planning to poison me instead?"

His long fingers circled the spoon, stirring the soup in slow, deliberate motions.

Meeting his gaze, Willa reached for the spoon, took a sip, and swallowed. "Don't worry. I'm not that stupid."

The soup that was meant to be rich and comforting left a bitter trace on her tongue.

After setting the spoon down, she dabbed the corner of her lips with a tissue, waiting until he'd finished half the bowl before stating in a flat tone, "Once you're done, we need to talk about something important."

With a slow lift of his brow, Bryan let the sarcasm drip from his voice. "Must be exhausting keeping up the act. So what's your prize—car or house?"

"I don't want anything. Just your signature." Her voice was calm but worn, stripped of fight. She reached into the gift bag and pulled out the divorce papers, neatly folded and sealed by a lawyer.

Bryan's lips twisted in disdain. Without so much as a glance, he crumpled the document and discarded it like garbage.

"Planning to make Miss Wall your mistress?" Willa sneered. "Don't forget she's carrying your child. Try not to be so damn selfish."

Four years had gone by, and she still hadn't found a place in his heart. The realization that he'd never stopped loving his ex made her feel like the biggest fool.

"Next time you bring up divorce, remember your place before you start talking nonsense. Oh, and the soup's a little salty—ease up on the salt," Bryan remarked casually, scooping up a meatball.

Before he could swallow, the bowl vanished from his hands.

Willa, face drained of color but eyes steady beneath her lashes, moved with calm precision. "Then stop eating. Wouldn't want you getting too salty yourself."

Without another glance, she turned and strode out.

In the hallway, Jarrod sprang from the couch. "Heading out already, Mrs. Scott?"

Willa gave a brief nod, her expression unreadable, already deciding she'd mash the meatballs to feed the stray cats by the gate.

When Jarrod turned back, Bryan was standing in the doorway, frowning as he stared at the half-bitten meatball still resting on his spoon.