Until the Marriage Contract Ends

Three years ago, on the day I married Luca Moretti, he personally handed me a marriage contract with a fixed term of three years.

His tone was casual, indifferent, as if he were discussing an ordinary business deal.

"This marriage exists solely to serve the alliance of interests between the Morettis and the Vitales. Sign this agreement. After three years, the marriage will automatically dissolve. When that time comes, you can go and pursue your true love."

I barely hesitated before signing. Ten years earlier, at an inter-family business gala, when I was ten and Luca was sixteen, I had already fallen hopelessly in love with him.

What looked like a strategic alliance was, in truth, the outcome of my decade-long unrequited love.

During the three years of our marriage, Luca was attentive and gentle toward me.

Over time, I began to believe I was loved. I sank into that illusion, unable to pull myself out, forgetting entirely about the agreement.

That illusion was shattered completely on the night of our third wedding anniversary.

That evening, Luca arrived with Elena, who had just returned to New York, and attended what was supposed to be our third anniversary celebration together. She stood beside him with ease and composure, smoothly engaging with business partners. People praised her, saying she looked more like the Donna of the Moretti family.

In that moment, even though Luca never mentioned the agreement again, I understood clearly that it was time for me to step aside.

After breaking free from his control, crossing an ocean to rebuild myself, and becoming a brilliant leader in my industry, I would no longer wait for his love.

After returning home from the party, I booked a flight to France.

Once the call ended, I opened the combination safe and took out the divorce agreement inside. It had been stored there for too long. The text had faded, the ink blurred with age.

I sent it to my lawyer, Evan Rothwell, who replied that it would need to be re-signed. Otherwise, it would not hold legal effect. Therefore, I printed a fresh copy.

Then I sat on the couch and waited for Luca Moretti to come home. Just like always, he brought me a bouquet of red roses, my favorite.

"Why are you still awake?" he asked. "Didn’t you say you caught a cold? Did you take your medicine?"

He reached out and touched my forehead, his hand warm and familiar. "You’re fine. No fever. Go get some rest."

I rubbed my sore nose, forcing the tears back before they could fall. "Can you sign this for me?"

I handed him the agreement.

"What's this?" he asked casually. "An investment contract? Property purchase?"

"A div… investment agreement."

The word changed at the last second. I did not know why. I simply did not want him to know.

Three years ago, he had personally handed me a divorce agreement. This was nothing more than asking him to complete what he had started.