He Chose The Mistress, She Signed Her Own Death Certificate

A harsh, brittle laugh escaped Callum as he loomed over Olivia. "Is that a threat, Olivia?" Olivia opened her eyes, staring up in utter shock at the man who had been the center of her world for years. His gaze was devoid of even the slightest flicker of warmth or affection. The icy detachment in his eyes mirrored the freezing wind that had bitten into her skin during the desolate winter of her parents' passing. "Callum," she reminded him, her voice trembling, "this divorce was your idea!" A sharp, predatory smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. To him, the divorce was a mere administrative task, a brief inconvenience at the courthouse that could be reversed just as easily whenever he saw fit. It was obvious, however, that he suspected her of harboring a far more calculated agenda. "I see. You're looking for a payout. You're after half of my Jackson Group holdings, aren't you? I clearly didn't give you enough credit for your greed." He turned on his heel, slamming the door violently behind him. The force of the impact sent a framed photo on the wall careening to the floor with a loud crash. It was their wedding portrait; the glass had shattered directly over her smiling face, splintering the image of her happiness into jagged, unrecognizable fragments. The broken frame served as a stark reminder of their marriage—a fragile structure she had spent years trying to sustain through sheer force of will. Olivia drew her knees to her chest, biting her lip so hard she drew blood to keep from screaming. Tears soaked into the very sheets where, only moments ago, they had been lost in the heat of intimacy. His flippant attitude toward ending and restarting their marriage was born from a singular, arrogant conviction. He was certain Olivia was incapable of ever walking away. Eight years prior, Olivia's parents' lives had been cut short in an accident born of her own impulsiveness. Consumed by a crushing weight of guilt, she had sought an end to her pain in the depths of a frozen lake. It was Callum who had pulled her from the water, becoming her solitary source of warmth in the middle of that bleak, unforgiving winter. In her desperation, she had clung to him as if he were her only lifeline. Since that day, she had been his shadow, devoting her entire existence to anticipating and fulfilling his every whim. She had practically begged for his attention for years; their marriage was nothing more than a concession he had made to appease his family's demands for a settled life. The sheer intensity of their nights together—the desperate embraces and the raw, unbridled passion he displayed—had deluded her into believing that he might actually harbor some genuine affection for her. It was a bitter pill to swallow: the truth was the exact opposite. Outside the confines of their bedroom, Callum remained an ice fortress. He had spent their entire marriage keeping her hidden, never once allowing her to accompany him to a public function. Olivia's lips curled into a hollow, mocking smile as she flicked a lighter, watching the flame consume the medical report and the death sentence written upon it. If this was to be her end, she refused to spend her remaining time as an object of anyone's sympathy. She certainly wouldn't squander her final months pining for a man whose heart was permanently closed to her. Resting beneath the ashes of the report lay a weathered, tattered medal. The words "Oasis Research Institute" were still visible in the fading gold engraving. This was her parents' legacy—the highest scientific honor the nation had to offer. Olivia had been their true successor, achieving the rank of professor and becoming a rising star at the institute while still in her youth. Yet, she had traded her brilliance for a wedding ring, walking away from her career to become Callum's wife. She had even repeatedly rebuffed the director of the institute, choosing her husband over the chance to complete her parents' life's work. Olivia's fingers closed slowly, firmly, around the cool metal of the award. With only a year remaining, she vowed to reclaim her identity and pour every ounce of her strength into finishing the research her parents had started. For the first time in her life, she was going to exist for no one but herself. The crushing weight of her illness and the exhaustion of her decision finally took their toll, pulling her into a heavy, dreamless slumber. Callum remained absent for the rest of the night. The next day, a harsh chime from her phone shattered the morning quiet. "I'm giving you thirty minutes to meet me at the courthouse," Callum stated, his voice a deep, resonant monotone that betrayed zero emotion. His eagerness to be rid of her was palpable. The agonizing ache in Olivia's chest had finally subsided into a cold numbness by morning. "Is the divorce agreement ready?" "Olivia!" he snapped, his tone a frigid warning. "Stop testing me. Without my signature, none of your little games will amount to anything." With that, he cut the line. Olivia gazed up at the glittering chandelier and let out a quiet, hollow laugh. She never could have predicted that her life with Callum would devolve into this kind of bitterness. Yet, perhaps this was the clarity she needed. She made a silent promise. When her time came, his name would not be the last thing on her lips. She rose, freshened up, and began packing her essentials. For the first time, she didn't scramble to obey his summons. The days of dropping everything for him—regardless of the storm or the distance—were officially over. She took her time having a lawyer finalize the paperwork, finally pulling up to the courthouse in a taxi just as the business day was winding down. Callum's vehicle was idling at the curb; it was obvious he had been sitting there for hours. A dry smile touched her lips. Callum was a man who lived by his schedule, and she had spent years arriving early to every date just to accommodate him. Today, the roles were reversed. The irony wasn't lost on her. The only reason he was willing to wait now was to ensure he could get rid of her as quickly as possible for Kaylee. She approached the car and gave the glass a sharp tap. As the glass slid down, it revealed Callum's sharp, austere features. He looked every bit the stoic executive, his fingers rhythmically turning pages in a file. Upon seeing her, a flash of irritation crossed his brow. "What was the hold-up? Dragging this out is a waste of energy for both of us." He snapped the folder shut and finally met her eyes. When his eyes locked onto Olivia, his face clouded over, and the air around him seemed to grow heavy with silent tension. She had traded her usual soft look for a sleek ponytail and a precision-tailored pinstripe suit. The warm, accommodating woman he remembered had vanished, replaced by someone sharp, distant, and entirely self-possessed. He scowled, his voice devoid of emotion. "What's with the all-black ensemble today?" Callum had always harbored a dislike for that specific color. Olivia let out a dry, quiet laugh. "We're here to get a divorce. My wardrobe choices aren't your business anymore." In the days when she was still desperate for his affection, she had willingly retreated into the role of a housewife, knowing he preferred his partner to stay out of the spotlight. Because he favored soft, docile women, she had suppressed her own fire and molded herself into his version of a perfect wife. But in the end, what had all that effort actually achieved? He simply didn't love her. No amount of perfection could ever compete with the visceral connection he shared with Kaylee. Stunned by her sharp comeback, Callum's gaze hardened as he gave her face a more thorough scan. As the sun hit her face, he noticed a haunting, unnatural paleness beneath her skin—a sickly hue that her makeup couldn't quite mask. Callum knit his brows together in confusion. It dawned on him that he hadn't truly looked at her in months. Her frailty was so apparent now that he couldn't help but wonder if something was seriously wrong.