Chapter 2

The silence in the penthouse was heavy after Isabella left. It always was. Jules was the noise in her life, the chaos she craved. I was the quiet, the order she resented.

I remembered Michael Rossi talking to me, years ago.

"Ethan, my Izzy is... spirited. She needs someone like you. Someone loyal. Someone who understands value, not just price."

He' d put his hand on my shoulder.

"You remind me of your father. A good man. He saved my life. I owe him. I owe you."

That debt, in his mind, extended to his daughter' s happiness, her stability. He' d engineered our marriage, hoping I' d be an anchor. Instead, I was a ghost in her life.

The Rossi Foundation gala was next week. It was her father' s legacy, funding engineering scholarships, community projects. She' d be in Austin, chasing Jules. Our anniversary was two days after that. She wouldn' t remember.

I picked up the signed separation agreement. Her signature, bold and careless, was a perfect symbol of her regard for our marriage. For me.

Marc had been hesitant.

"Are you sure about this, Ethan? This is... a big step."

"She won' t even read it, Marc," I' d told him. "She' ll just sign. She always does when she' s distracted by Jules."

And she had.

My quiet disapproval of Jules, of her constant drama, was a wall between us. She saw it as clinginess, as weakness. I saw Jules as a user, a leech drawn to her money and power. He saw me as a joke.

I felt a deep weariness settle in my bones. It had been building for years. The constant dismissal, the casual cruelty, her preference for the artificial excitement Jules provided over anything real.

I walked to the window, looked out over the city. It felt alien. This life, this penthouse, it was hers, not mine. My father was a simple engineer. I was an architect, a project manager. Quiet. Unassuming. Overshadowed.

The decision was made. The papers were signed.