Chapter 1

I stared at the divorce papers on the coffee table, the crisp white paper a stark contrast to the gray, rainy afternoon outside. The decision felt like a deep, clean breath after years of holding it in. I was done. This time, I was truly done. The last five years with Mark Davis had hollowed me out, leaving an empty shell where an artist used to be. The public humiliation, the slow and methodical destruction of my confidence, the way he isolated me from my own life-it was over. I had the clarity of hindsight, a painful gift from a future I had somehow managed to step back from.

I wouldn't let him break me again.

Mark walked into the living room, loosening his tie as he tossed his briefcase onto a chair. He didn' t even look at me, his eyes already on his phone.

"Sarah, the caterers for the fundraiser on Saturday are asking for the final menu selection," he said, his tone flat and demanding. "I told them you'd handle it. Why haven't you called them back? You know how important this event is for my image."

His voice was the same as always, a smooth, charismatic surface over a core of absolute control. He wasn' t asking a question, he was issuing a command and a reprimand all in one. A familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, a reflex from years of trying to please him, of walking on eggshells to avoid his displeasure. But today, something was different. The knot was there, but it had no power.

I didn't look up from the papers. I just pushed them across the table toward him.

"I'll approve the menu," I said, my voice steady, "right after you sign this."

He finally looked up from his phone, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He glanced at the document, a dismissive wave of his hand.

"What is this? Some new household insurance policy? Just sign it for me, I don't have time for this."

"No," I said, meeting his gaze. "You need to sign it yourself."

My insistence made him frown. He picked up the single sheet of paper, his eyes skimming the top line. I knew he wouldn't read it. He never read anything he considered beneath his notice, anything he thought was my domestic responsibility. His arrogance was his greatest weakness, and today, it was my greatest strength. He saw the words "Agreement" and "Assets" and his mind filled in the blanks with his own assumptions.

"Fine," he sighed, irritated at the delay. He grabbed a pen from the cup on the table, a sleek, expensive fountain pen I had bought him for our third anniversary. He scribbled his name, Mark Davis, in a sharp, impatient signature at the bottom of the page. He didn't even read the clause right above his name, the one my lawyer had assured me was ironclad. The clause that stated that upon signing, he agreed to an uncontested divorce and a complete relinquishment of all claims to my personal and professional assets, including my art studio and all future works.

He pushed the paper back toward me. "There. Now call the caterer. I want the salmon, not the chicken."

I picked up the document, folding it carefully. The ink was still fresh. I held the proof of my freedom in my hands. He had just signed away his power over me, and he had no idea.

"I will," I said, standing up. "I'll handle everything."

He nodded, already turning back to his phone, dismissing me from his mind. He was so sure of his control, so confident in my obedience. He couldn't imagine a world where I would defy him. But I wasn't just defying him, I was leaving him. He just didn't know it yet. For the first time in years, I felt a spark of something I thought was long dead, a flicker of the old Sarah, the one who painted with fire and passion. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I was going to get her back.