His Wife, His Enemy

Chapter 1 — The Wife He Never Loved “I want a divorce.” The words were quiet, but they landed harder than any scream could have. Valentina Cruz stood in the doorway of Zane Blackwell’s study, her fingers curled around the edge of the door as she watched her husband sit behind his massive mahogany desk. He didn’t look up immediately. His attention remained on the documents before him, his expression cold and unreadable, just as it had been for most of their three-year marriage. “You’re finally saying it,” he said. Valentina’s chest tightened. She had imagined this moment countless times. She had imagined crying, shaking, perhaps even begging him to stop her. Instead, she felt strangely calm. “What does that mean?” she asked. Zane finally lifted his eyes to hers. His dark gaze held nothing she could recognize as love. It never had. “It means I thought you would never have the courage to.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “So you wanted this?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.” Silence settled between them. Valentina had become an expert at surviving Zane’s silence. She knew the difference between the silence that meant he was busy and the one that meant he was irritated. She knew how he liked his coffee, which shirts he wore to important meetings, what foods he refused to eat, and how he hated anyone touching his belongings without permission. She knew almost everything about him, yet after three years of marriage, she realized she barely knew what it felt like to be his wife. Their marriage had never been a love story. It had been an arrangement made by Zane’s grandfather before his death, a union their families had approved and Zane had accepted because refusing his grandfather had never been an option. Valentina had accepted for a different reason. She had fallen in love with him. Quietly, completely, foolishly. She had spent three years convincing herself that one day Zane would look at her and see more than the woman he had been forced to marry. That day never came. Instead, he treated her like an expensive piece of furniture in his mansion—beautiful, present, and easily ignored. Valentina placed a folder on his desk. “Divorce papers.” Zane glanced at it before looking back at her. “You already prepared them?” “Yes.” Something flickered in his eyes. “You’ve been planning this.” “I’ve been preparing myself for it.” He leaned back slowly. “And what changed?” Valentina almost laughed. Everything. Nothing. She had spent years waiting for him to choose her, and tonight she had finally realized she was tired of waiting. “I overheard you talking to your lawyer,” she said. “About the divorce. You were going to file next week.” Zane’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was answer enough. Valentina nodded. “So I saved you the trouble.” For the first time, Zane looked genuinely interested. “You’re serious?” “Yes.” “You’re not going to regret this?” The question hurt more than she expected. For once, she wanted him to be afraid of losing her. Instead, he was asking whether she would regret leaving him. “No,” she whispered. Zane opened the folder and scanned the pages. “You’re not asking for anything.” “No.” “The house?” “No.” “Your allowance?” “I don’t need it.” His eyes narrowed. “Then what do you want?” Valentina looked directly at him. “My freedom.” Something about the way she said it made his expression change, only slightly, but she noticed. She always noticed him. “I’ll have my lawyer review this,” he said. “You don’t need to.” “I said I’ll review it.” “And after that?” “I’ll sign.” The answer came so easily that something inside Valentina cracked. Three years. Three years of trying, hoping, waiting, and he could end everything with one sentence. She swallowed the ache in her throat. “Good.” She turned toward the door. “Valentina.” She stopped. His voice had softened. She turned back, and for one dangerous second, she allowed herself to hope. Maybe he would ask her to stay. Maybe he would finally tell her that he cared. Maybe he would admit that losing her mattered. Instead, he asked, “Where will you go?” The hope died before it could fully form. “Somewhere you don’t have to see me.” His brows pulled together. “That’s not what I meant.” “I know.” She left before he could say anything else. The moment the study door closed behind her, Valentina stopped and pressed a hand against her chest. Her heart was breaking, but she refused to cry. Not tonight. She walked upstairs to the bedroom they had shared for three years and stared around the enormous room. Everything was exactly where she had left it: his watch on the nightstand, his black jacket hanging over a chair, her perfume beside the mirror. Two wardrobes. One bed. A marriage that had never truly belonged to both of them. She opened her closet and began packing. She took only what belonged to her, clothes, documents, a few pieces of jewelry, and one old photograph she kept hidden at the back of a drawer. She stared at it for a long moment. The photograph showed a much younger woman standing beside a man she barely remembered. Her parents. People she had been told died when she was a child. People whose history had always been strangely difficult to trace. Valentina turned the photograph over. There was a sentence written on the back in faded ink: Never trust the Blackwells. Her fingers froze. She had found the photograph years ago and dismissed the warning as something connected to an old family dispute, but tonight, for some reason, the words felt different. She slipped the photograph into her bag. Then she heard footsteps. The bedroom door opened, and Zane stood there. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and his dark eyes moved from her suitcase to her face. “You’re leaving tonight?” “Yes.” “You don’t have to.” She almost smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve said something like that.” His expression hardened. “I meant you can stay here until the divorce is finalized.” “I don’t want to.” “You have nowhere else to go.” “I do.” “With whom?” “That isn’t your concern anymore.” Something flashed across his face, annoyance, perhaps something else, but he quickly hid it. “You’re being impulsive.” “No. I’m finally being sensible.” She picked up her suitcase and moved past him, but before she could reach the door, his hand closed around her wrist. Valentina stopped. The contact sent an unexpected warmth through her body, and Zane seemed to notice it too. His eyes dropped briefly to where his fingers held her before he released her. “Valentina” She looked at him. For a moment, neither spoke. There was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Uncertainty. Then his phone rang. Zane stepped away and answered it. “What?” His expression changed almost immediately. “What do you mean?” He turned toward the window. “Send it to me.” A pause followed. “No. Don’t involve my father yet.” Valentina watched him carefully. Zane ended the call and stood completely still. “What’s wrong?” she asked. He looked at her. For the first time since she had known him, he looked unsettled. “Nothing.” Valentina studied him, but she was done chasing answers from a man who never gave them. She walked downstairs and headed for the front entrance. By the time she stepped outside, rain was pouring heavily. She stood beneath the covered driveway and looked back at the mansion one last time. Three years of memories. Three years of humiliation. Three years of loving a man who never loved her. She turned away. Her driver opened the car door, but before she could enter, her phone vibrated. Unknown number. Valentina frowned and opened the message. There was a photograph attached. Her breath caught. It was a photograph of her father. Alive. Standing beside a much younger Victor Blackwell. But that wasn’t what made her hands begin to shake. Behind the two men stood a little girl. A little girl who looked exactly like Valentina. Beneath the photograph were six words: Ask Zane why your family died. Valentina stared at the screen, unable to breathe. Then another message appeared. And ask him what his father did to them.