Chapter 194 Divorce Papers at the Doorstep

Chapter 194 Divorce Papers at the Doorstep

Ryan walked out of the kitchen, his fingertips still damp. He wiped them on his pants, then bent down and picked up the manila envelope by the front door.

I watched him from the couch. He moved with that easy calm of his, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I already had a feeling.

Before coming over, he'd told me he was bringing a "gift," but wouldn't say what it was.

At my housewarming party, he'd said the exact same thing—then handed me an oil painting he'd done himself. It's still hanging in the living room. Soft colors, easy on the eyes.

But whatever was in that envelope clearly wasn't a painting.

"Sit down," I said, patting the cushion next to me. "You're being so serious about this. Now I'm nervous."

Ryan gave a quiet laugh and sat down, setting the envelope on the coffee table without opening it right away.

He looked up at me, his expression hard to read. Warm on the surface, but underneath—something else. Like he'd gone back and forth a hundred times, but had already known how this would end.

"Eleanor," he said, his voice steady and gentle as always. "I have something to give you. After you look at it, don't say anything right away. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. His whole manner had me curious now. "What is it? Why all the mystery?"

Ryan didn't hesitate anymore. He opened the envelope, pulled out a stack of papers, flipped to the last page, and turned it around to face me.

I looked down.

At the top of the page, in bold: Divorce Agreement. The rest was standard legal language, everything laid out in neat, orderly sections.

My eyes moved to the signature line at the bottom.

William had already signed.

I recognized the handwriting instantly—sharp, heavy strokes, clean finishes, completely his own. I'd watched him sign things countless times in his office. Contracts, invoices, internal documents. He always wrote without hesitation, and this was no different. Not a single waver.

I stared at his signature for a long time, until Ryan's voice pulled me back.

"Eleanor?"

"...Yeah."

I looked up. My lips felt dry for no reason. I ran my tongue over them. The strength had gone out of my body. I sat there for a moment, steadying myself, then asked quietly, "When did he sign this?"

"The same day you left the hospital. He went to City Hall alone." Ryan flipped back to the first page and pointed to the date stamp in the corner. Two days ago. "He brought the original with him and signed it on the spot. But both parties have to be present in person for it to take effect, so the agreement stayed at City Hall."

My fingers went cold. I gripped the paper tight.

"How did you get it?" I asked.

Ryan paused. He looked down, kept his voice low. "I used some personal connections. There was no designated recipient listed, so I picked it up myself and brought it to you."

He was looking at the edge of the coffee table as he said it, not at me.

Something caught my attention then. Ryan could have just told me where the agreement was and let me get it myself. Instead, he'd gone and done it for me, brought it right to my door.

But my head was too scattered to think much about that.

"Did he say anything when he signed it?" I pressed my fingers tighter around the paper. The edge of the page bit into my skin, just enough to keep me focused.

Ryan shook his head slowly. "Nothing. The staff said he signed and walked straight out. On his way out he said, 'Sorry for the trouble.'"

I closed my eyes.

William was the real power behind the Spencer Group—the coldest, most decisive person of his generation in Silverlight City.

Hearing something like that from him was rarer than an outright apology. I couldn't tell whether it was just his usual politeness, or whether something in him had already given way.

"Give me a pen," I said. I opened my eyes. My voice was steady now. "I'm going to sign."

Ryan looked at me for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black pen. He took the cap off and handed it over.

I took it. Held the tip just above the signature line. Stayed like that for two seconds.

Two seconds—and a hundred images tore through my mind.

My wedding day. He wasn't there. I got through the whole ceremony alone, standing in a nearly empty room.

I'd waited backstage in my dress, palms sweating, not knowing. I found out later he'd gone to the airport that day to see Jane off.

At Madison's funeral, he stood beside me the entire time and never once reached for my hand.

The day Thalia woke up, he didn't think twice—he stood with Thalia and Jane, and in front of everyone, he pushed me away and blamed me.

All those nights of waiting, hoping, holding on. None of it meant anything.

Everything I'd held onto had only ever meant something to me.

The memories rushed through me all at once, and for a moment I couldn't breathe.

Then I pressed the pen to the paper.

The signature came easier than I expected.

I set the pen down and slid the agreement back across to Ryan.

"Done."

Ryan took it, flipped to the last page to check, and said nothing.

He folded everything carefully, slid it back into the envelope, and pulled the ties closed. Neat and unhurried.

"You can go in tomorrow to finalize everything," he said. "I've already taken care of the arrangements. You just need to show up."

I nodded.

Ryan stood, tucked the envelope under his arm, and walked to the front door. He put his shoes on, then wrapped his hand around the door handle and stopped.

He stood there with his back to me for a few seconds.

"Eleanor."

"Yeah?"

"I came today because I thought you should have this sooner rather than later."

"Yeah."

"After this..." He paused slightly. "What are you going to do?"

That caught me off guard.

Honestly, I had no idea.

The only thing on my mind right now was a drink.

He turned partway toward me. The warm light from the living room fell across the side of his face, shadow cutting across his cheek from the bridge of his nose. He looked calm. But there was something soft in his eyes—quiet, and gentle.

"You waited a long time," he said.

Then he opened the door and left.

After it clicked shut, the only sound in the apartment was the low hum of the refrigerator. The whole place went still.

I sat on the couch and stared at the glass of water on the coffee table, completely cold by now. The room felt wide and empty.

I picked up my phone, opened my chat with Emily, and typed: [That bar you mentioned—are they open tonight?]

She replied almost immediately: [Yeah, why?]

I typed back: [I just got divorced. I want to drink.]

A few seconds of silence. Then: [Stay there. I'm coming to get you.]