Divorced by the Billionaire Who still owns me

Elara’s Pov;The email came in while I was standing in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a mug of coffee I never got to drink.I noticed it because my phone vibrated twice instead of once. Adrian’s assistant usually sent messages that way. Short. Direct. Easy to ignore. But this time, it wasn’t his assistant.It was his lawyer.That alone made my stomach tighten.I stood there staring at the sender’s name, waiting for my brain to catch up. Lawyers didn’t email unless something had already gone wrong. Adrian didn’t involve lawyers unless he’d already made a decision. He liked things clean. Quiet. Controlled.I opened the email.There was no greeting.No explanation.Just an attachment.DIVORCE AGREEMENT.I blinked once, then again, like the word might change if I looked away long enough. My fingers hovered over the screen before I tapped the file open. The document loaded slowly, each second stretching thin.Legal language filled the screen. Asset division. Confidentiality clauses. Timel

Elara’s Pov;Signing the divorce papers didn’t hurt the way I expected it to.I thought it would feel final. Like a door slamming shut. Like grief crashing down all at once. Instead, it felt quiet. Too quiet. Like something had gone numb inside me and hadn’t figured out how to scream yet.I sat on the edge of the bed with the papers spread out in front of me, my signature still fresh, black ink sinking into white space. My name looked strange without his last name attached to it. Smaller. Lighter. Like it could be erased if someone rubbed hard enough.I stared at it for a long time.That’s it, I thought. That’s how a marriage ends.Not with shouting. Not with cheating. Not with dramatic exits.With a pen.My phone buzzed again.Adrian.I didn’t open it. I didn’t want to see what kind of tone he was using now. Controlled? Annoyed? Relieved? The thought made my stomach turn.I folded the papers carefully and slid them into the envelope like they were something fragile. Then I stood up

Elara’s Pov;New York smelled the same.That was the first thing that hit me when I stepped out of the car. Cold air, metal, something sharp underneath it all. Like the city never forgot anything. It stored memories in the cracks of sidewalks and waited for you to come back so it could throw them at your face.I stood there for a second too long, my bag heavy on my shoulder, my chest tight like I’d already done something wrong just by breathing the air here again.You’re here for work, I reminded myself. Just work.I said it like a rule. Like rules had ever worked in my life.The building loomed ahead of me, all glass and arrogance, reflecting the sky as it owned it. Blackwood Enterprises. His kingdom. The place that had slowly taken pieces of him until there was nothing left for us.I walked in with my head up.That was important. I couldn’t look like I was afraid. Even if I was.Security checked my ID, then paused. Just a fraction too long. I felt it. That hesitation. The recognitio

Elara’s Pov The call from Blackwood Legal sat in my chest all night. I didn’t answer again. I didn’t reply to the follow-up email either. If they wanted something, they could wait until I decided how much access they deserved. The next morning, I arrived early. Earlier than everyone else. I wanted control over at least one thing. The conference room was empty, lights off, blinds half-open. I set my folder down, connected my laptop, and reviewed my notes. Same process I’d used for years. Calm. Efficient. Predictable. That predictability didn’t last. Adrian walked in ten minutes before the meeting, alone. No board members. No assistants. That alone told me this wasn’t about work. “Morning,” he said. “Good morning,” I replied, not looking up. He took the seat across from me instead of his usual place at the head of the table. Another deliberate move. “I spoke to Legal,” he said. “So did they,” I answered. “They called me.” “You didn’t respond.” “I don’t respond to pressure.”

Elara’s Pov By the time I realized Adrian had stopped playing by the rules, it was already too late to pretend this was just professional tension. The shift wasn’t loud. It never was with him. It showed up in small things. Access changes. Calendar reshuffles. Doors that used to open without question suddenly require approval. I noticed it the morning my building access badge failed. I stood there for a second too long, swiping again before the guard cleared his throat and asked me to wait. He checked something on his tablet, frowned, then waved me through without meeting my eyes. “Glitch,” he said. It wasn’t. Inside, my inbox was quiet. Too quiet. Messages I expected weren’t there. Files I needed had been moved. Not deleted. Just relocated. That was Adrian’s style. Control without fingerprints. I didn’t react. I pulled the information I needed from backups and went on with my work. If I let him see panic, he’d escalate. If I stayed calm, he’d get impatient. Impatience was hi