Ophelia’s POV:
I had signed the divorce papers.
It should have been the only thing on my mind—my impending freedom—but my thoughts were treacherous, drifting back with annoying persistence to the pen.
He had denied it, of course. His voice had been flat, almost bored, as he claimed it was a common brand, that thousands of people used the same model. But I wasn't a fool. I had lived in that manor long enough to know the eccentricities of the Vitale heir.
Damon Enzo Vitale loathed ink pens; he found them messy and inefficient. He used hard ballpoints, ordering them by the box every few months so he never had to worry about a leak or a refill.
I, on the other hand, had been obsessed with that specific fountain pen. I loved the ritual of refilling it, the way the nib scratched against the
