The Divorce Bargain

Isla I'm gonna be honest, I used to be crazy about my husband. I loved everything about him - the way he looked, his drive, his brains. He'd bring me flowers after a long night at work and give me these sweet kisses in the morning. But that was ages ago. Now, when he walks in the door after being gone for weeks, I just feel...empty. Like, all the love I had for him is just gone, and it's been replaced with this weird, hollow feeling. As I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the glittering cityscape, I heard the soft hum of the elevator announcing Keenan's arrival. "You're back from the Tokyo meeting earlier than expected," I said, turning to face him. Keenan shed his tailored blazer, revealing a crisp, white dress shirt with the subtle logo of Blackwood Markets, the multinational supermarket chain he helmed as CEO. His dark eyes, fringed with lashes that seemed to hold a perpetual hint of exhaustion, met mine for a fleeting instant before he dropped a perfunctory kiss on my cheek. The scent of smoky cedarwood wafted up, a familiar aroma that transported me back to the countless late nights Keenan had spent negotiating deals and expanding Blackwood Markets into the global powerhouse it was today. Now, the fragrance stirred a mix of nostalgia and unease. Keenan's gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered pages of my sketchbook, the empty coffee cups, and the soft glow of the floor lamp. His eyes lingered on the cozy chaos, a hint of disapproval flickering across his face. With our housekeeper, Hannah, away visiting family, the relaxed atmosphere was a departure from our usual tidy routine. Keenan's gaze swept the room, his expression unreadable. "You had guests?" he asked, his tone low and even. "The book club," I replied, omitting the fact that we'd just finalized a major exhibition for my boutique interior design firm, "Elevé". Keenan didn't need to know about the late-night champagne toast or the excitement buzzing in my veins. "It was my turn to host tonight." I watched as Keenan's attention shifted to his phone, his eyes scanning the screen with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. My heart squeezed as if in just a slight bit of pain. Keenan's sharp features, honed from years of navigating the cutthroat world of retail as CEO of Blackwood Markets, were still as arresting as the day we met. His dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and strong jawline seemed carved from stone. It was a face that didn't reveal much, but when it did, the gesture was always deliberate. When was the last time Keenan's eyes had crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me? When was the last time his fingers had brushed against mine, not out of habit, but out of genuine affection? The ache in my chest intensified, making it hard to breathe. I forced a bright tone into my voice. "Hey, don't forget about our weekend getaway to the vineyard." "I haven't," he replied, his gaze still fixed on his phone. "Keenan." My voice took on a firmer edge. "This is important. Our anniversary celebration is on Saturday." It would just be my luck that he forgets or cancels, wouldn’t be the first time to be honest. His eyes flickered up, a hint of surprise dancing in their depths. "Of course, I remember. Best five years of my life." I nodded, a strained smile spreading across my face. "That's right." I paused, then asked, "Would you like some dinner?" Keenan had a notorious habit of neglecting his hunger when he was in work mode. I'd bet my last dollar he'd survived on nothing but black coffee since his lunch meeting. Back in the day, I'd swing by his office to make sure he fueled up, but those visits became a rarity once Blackwood Markets skyrocketed to success. "I'm starving, but I've gotta deal with this mess first," he said, rubbing his temples as he scrolled through his phone. "Sounds like a real headache," I sympathized. "Want me to heat up some dinner for you?" "Nah, I'm good. Just need to put out these fires and I'll grab something later," he replied, already distracted by his phone. His forehead creased into a deep scowl, a telltale sign that he was wrestling with some high-stakes deal. I swallowed my unspoken question. What was the point of asking something I already knew the answer to? Keenan's work was a relentless siren, always beckoning him back. "Please, don't forget about Thursday, okay?" I reminded him, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, yeah, got it," he muttered, already halfway out the door. "Love you." "Love you too," I echoed, but he was already gone. The stillness in our lavish living space felt suffocating. It had been an eternity since I'd last seen Keenan walk through the door before midnight. Our brief encounter had been a fleeting whisper of what once was. I bit back the stinging sensation in my eyes. It was absurd to feel so disconnected from my own life. Some mornings, I'd catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and wonder who that person was, with her perfectly coiffed hair and her manicured smile. But the truth was, I had it all: a husband who'd built a business empire, a home that was the envy of everyone who laid eyes on it, and a career that brought me creative fulfillment. So why did it feel so empty? I shook off the melancholy, focusing on the mundane task of clearing away the remnants of my celebratory dinner. As I worked, the tension seeped out of my body, replaced by a numb sense of resignation.