The Divorce Deal

The pen hovered above the paper like a threat. Camille Rivers stared at the divorce contract spread across the marble desk — initials in all the right places, legal stamps, cold black ink. All it needed now was her final signature. One stroke. One name. One end. Across from her, Elias Carter sat stone-still, suit sharp, jaw tighter than usual. His gaze didn’t meet hers — not out of guilt. No. Elias never bowed to guilt. > “We said one year,” he said flatly. Camille’s lips twitched. “And we lasted eleven months and twenty-nine days. Close enough.” A flash of something — maybe regret, maybe irritation — flickered in his eyes before it disappeared again, buried beneath the usual Carter armor. > “Once you sign,” he said, “our deal is done. You'll get the full payout, the trust release, everything we agreed on.” Her fingers clenched around the pen. She remembered the deal like it had been written on her bones. One year of marriage. Appearances only. No love. No mess. No complications. And in return? Elias would save her family’s company. She would give him the “wife” his board needed to stabilize his public image. It had all been so… professional. Until it wasn’t. > “There’s just one problem,” Elias added, his voice too calm. Camille blinked. “What now?” He slid a second folder across the table. New papers. New conditions. Her heart dropped. > “Clause 9A,” he said. “You missed it.” She opened the file, reading in silence as her stomach twisted. > In the event of early termination, both parties agree to one final clause: 30 additional days of cohabitation and public appearances, with no indication of separation to the media or business affiliates. Camille looked up, stunned. “You’re telling me… we have to pretend to still be married?” > “For thirty days.” > “You’re joking.” > “I don’t joke.” Her hands trembled — not from fear, but from the sting of being near him again. Living under the same roof. Pretending that she hadn’t once, maybe, almost, loved him. > “Why didn’t you mention this before?” she asked. > “Because I didn’t think we’d actually get this far.” The words cut sharper than he intended. Silence stretched. Heavy. Bitter. Familiar. Then, slowly, Camille put down the pen. > “Fine,” she said. “Thirty days. And then I’m gone.” She stood, heels clicking as she walked to the door — spine straight, heart cracking. > “This changes nothing, Elias.” > “Doesn’t it?” But she didn’t turn back. Camille Rivers sat across from the lawyer, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap she could feel the pulse beating against her knuckles. The leather chair was too big, the room too cold, the air heavy with the faint smell of paper and ink. The contract — the one that had tied her life to Elias Carter for two years — lay on the desk between them. It was thinner than she expected for something that had dictated every single move they made. Elias was late, as usual. Not because he didn’t care — Elias Carter never forgot an appointment — but because making people wait was his way of keeping control. She stared at the polished door, the muted sound of footsteps drawing closer. When it opened, her heart reacted before her head could stop it. Elias stepped in, wearing the same quiet confidence that had once drawn her in like a moth to flame. His suit was tailored to perfection, dark hair neatly combed back, jaw freshly shaven. He didn’t rush, didn’t glance at his watch — he knew the effect he had, and he used it. > “Camille,” he said, his voice warm in tone but cool in delivery. She nodded in acknowledgment, careful to keep her expression unreadable. “Elias.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “We’re here to finalize the end of your marriage agreement. Both parties will sign, and the arrangement will officially conclude in thirty days.” Thirty days. Camille knew the terms by heart. She had memorized them the night she signed the deal, thinking she could survive a marriage built on convenience. But convenience had a way of turning into something else when hearts got involved. As the lawyer reviewed the clauses, her mind drifted back — not to the wedding day, but to the first time she met Elias. --- Flashback It had been at a charity auction downtown. She was helping her friend run the silent bidding table, trying to look busy while sneaking sips of cheap champagne. He appeared out of nowhere, leaning casually against the table. “You don’t belong here,” he’d said, eyes flicking over her plain dress and slightly scuffed heels. Camille had bristled. “Neither do you, if judging people is your hobby.” He’d smirked, sliding his name card into the highest bid slot. “Maybe I’m just good at spotting things that stand out.” She didn’t know then that those words would follow her into a marriage neither of them believed in… but would struggle to walk away from. --- The lawyer’s voice snapped her back to the present. “All we need are your signatures, and the countdown begins.” Camille’s pen hovered over the paper, but she didn’t sign yet. She glanced at Elias, catching him already watching her. Thirty days to pretend like they were nothing. Thirty days to forget everything they had been. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure either of them could survive it.