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The Seven-Day Agreement

On their seventh anniversary, a husband is handed a temporary divorce agreement by his wife, who desires a week-long fling with a younger intern. While she enjoys public displays of affection, the intern sabotages the husband's art career, sparking a viral hate campaign. Despite the betrayal and her refusal to hold the intern accountable, she expects to reconcile after seven days. Unbeknownst to her, he has already packed his bags to study abroad, finally walking away from her games.
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Chapter 3

I paused for a moment.

“Then cut it off.”

“No!”

Vera’s voice rang out before anyone else could speak. She came running down the stairs so fast that she almost tripped on the last step.

“Sean, I am not letting you cut it.”

The outburst caught everyone off guard, Sophie most of all. In all the time she had worked for me, she had never seen Vera lose her composure like that.

“Ms. Lloyd?”

Vera seemed to catch herself. She cleared her throat.

“I do not want you hurting your hand. The last thing I need is you coming to me crying about not being able to paint anymore. It would drive me crazy.”

She paused, then raised an eyebrow as if she remembered something. “Where is the painting you made for me? I have time to look at it now.”

“I burned it.” I kept my eyes down and my voice flat.

Vera stared at me. “What? How could you burn it?”

She stepped toward me, ready to argue, when her phone went off. It was her group chat with her friends.

“Vera, we heard you got divorced? Something this big happened and you did not tell us? Are we even still friends?”

“Seriously Vera, news this exciting and you did not let us celebrate with you?”

“We saw your new guy, and he is young, I will give you that. Not like Sean. Did you not used to complain he had all the passion of a wet blanket? Bet you are happy now.”

Laughter spilled out of the phone’s speaker and filled the room.

Vera fumbled to silence it, then turned to me, flustered.

“Sean, it is not what you think. They do not know this is a temporary divorce. They are just talking.”

I made a quiet sound of acknowledgment, then walked her and her luggage to the door and saw her out.

It was the first time I had ever seen Vera look truly lost for words.

The door closed. The room grew very quiet, and it stayed that way for a long time. Sophie stood off to the side, and I noticed her eyes were redder than mine.

“Sir… I mean, Sean…”

I gave her a small, steady smile.

“Go ahead and cut the ring off.”

For the next several days, Vera did not come home. What she did do, strangely enough, was send gifts, one every day without fail.

She sent a foreign painting I had once liked online, a set of mineral pigments I had mentioned wanting in passing, and even a standalone mountain villa on the outskirts of the city that I had put off buying for years. Each gift arrived with a small note stuck to the back.

“Five more days until we remarry.”

“Four more days until we remarry.”

“Three more days until we remarry.”

The second to last gift was a diamond watch that had appeared in one of Austin’s posts, engraved with the words “Love of My Life.” The moment I saw it, I had a feeling it had been meant for someone else.

I was right.

At the last exhibition I held before leaving the country, Austin pushed through the crowd and stormed onto the stage in front of all the press.

“Sean, can you give the watch back to me?

“Vera gave it to me as a token of her love. She said I was the only one she would ever love.

“I can let go of anything else. Just not that.

“Please. Do not take away what my girlfriend gave me.”

He made a scene, tears and all, but the grip he had on my arm was surprisingly tight. When I pulled free, he stumbled backward and fell, making enough noise to ensure everyone in the room watched.

I had barely processed what was happening when Vera burst into the hall. She took one look at Austin, red-eyed and crumpled on the ground, and her anger lit up at once.

“Austin, are you okay?”

She turned on me. “Sean, if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Why would you go after someone like him?

“No wonder my mother always said you were rough around the edges. She was right.”

Vera shoved me hard. My lower back struck the edge of the podium, and the pain bent me nearly in half.