Chapter 47
Sebastian looked at Mr. Eagleson.
"Calculation date starts from the day of signing. In the disclaimer clause in Article Seven, corporate restructuring actively initiated by Ashford Group does not fall under the force majeure category. If you need to add a supplementary clause, you can handwrite an addendum now. I'll sign it."
Mr. Eagleson glanced at Evelyn.
Evelyn nodded once.
Mr. Eagleson used his pencil to write a supplementary clause beside Article Seven and pushed it toward Sebastian.
Sebastian picked up the pen from the table and signed his name below the supplementary clause.
Then he placed the pen beside the document, tip pointing in Evelyn's direction.
Evelyn picked up the pen.
Metal body, some weight to it. The cap had a line of small engraved text—a high-end stationery brand logo.
She flipped to the last page and wrote her name in the transferee signature line.
The sound of the pen tip moving across paper drew a fine line through the air between them.
Evelyn finished the last stroke and set the pen back on the table.
"Mr. Eagleson, keep two copies. One for the file, one for Mr. Ashford."
Mr. Eagleson put the original in his briefcase and pushed the copy toward Sebastian.
Evelyn stood. The chair legs scraped against the floor.
"Ten minutes is up."
She grabbed her bag and turned toward the door.
"Eve."
Sebastian's voice came from behind her. Evelyn's steps paused.
Not because he'd called her name. Because his voice carried something she'd never heard in three years of marriage.
"If my grandmother hadn't done what she did back then—"
A dry, scratching sound came from his throat.
"Your mom wouldn't have died in that rental."
The café's background music changed tracks. The piano intro was soft.
"I'm sorry."
Evelyn's back was to him. The muscles between her shoulder blades tensed, then released.
She didn't turn around. She pushed through the glass door and walked out. The door closed behind her with a short click from the spring hinge.
Sunlight hit her face on the street. She squinted. A taxi waited at the curb—Sophie had called it ahead of time.
She opened the back door and got in, gave the driver the Parker Group Tower address. The car merged into traffic. The café's floor-to-ceiling window grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
Evelyn didn't look back.
Inside MANNER Coffee.
Mr. Eagleson packed up his briefcase, stood, nodded once at Sebastian, and left.
Only an untouched Americano, a copy of the document, and a pen remained on the table.
Sebastian sat in his chair without moving. His right hand picked up the pen. Evelyn's finger warmth still lingered on the barrel.
His fingers gripped the pen. His knuckles turned white.
Sunlight from the window cast his shadow on the table. The edges of the shadow trembled faintly. The Americano in the cup had gone cold.
He held that pen and sat there for a long time.
The last day of the cooling-off period. Evelyn woke at six-fifteen. The alarm was set for six-thirty. She was fifteen minutes early.
She lay in the guest room bed at Sophie's place, staring at the ceiling for two minutes.
The ceiling was white, a flush-mount light in the center. A thin layer of dust had collected on the edge of the shade.
Today.
She sat up and folded the blanket.
When she washed up, she looked at herself in the mirror for three seconds. The dark circles under her eyes were lighter than yesterday. Lip color normal. Jawline definition clear.
She picked a white blouse, black slacks, tied her hair in a low ponytail. No makeup. Just a thin layer of lip balm.
Before she left, Sophie stopped her in the living room.
"I'll drive you."
"No need."
"Evelyn."
Sophie stood, car keys in hand.
"You went to the courthouse alone when you got married. You can't go alone for the divorce."
Evelyn looked at her for two seconds.
"I'll go by myself. I'll text you when it's done."
Sophie's mouth opened, then closed. She set the keys back on the coffee table and picked up a throw pillow, holding it to her chest.
"Then I'll wait here. There's soup in the fridge from last night. Have some when you get back."
Evelyn nodded once, opened the door, and left.
The taxi arrived at the courthouse at eight-twenty.
She walked to the divorce registration window.
The window wasn't open yet. The electronic number display beside it was dark. The staff chair sat empty.
Processing started at eight-thirty. Evelyn stood in front of the window and waited.
At eight twenty-six, footsteps came from behind her. Dress shoes on tile, the rhythm slower than usual.
Evelyn didn't turn around. The footsteps stopped about three feet behind her.
No cologne in the air. Sebastian must not have worn any today.
Evelyn turned around.
Sebastian stood in the middle of the hallway. He wore a navy suit, charcoal tie knotted properly, white shirt, cuffs buttoned all the way up. His hair was combed neatly, but his face had thinned. His cheekbones were more prominent than when they'd met at the café. His eye sockets had hollowed another layer. Two small red veins threaded through the whites of his eyes. His jawline was taut—sharper angles compared to three years ago when they'd taken wedding photos.
Sebastian's right hand hung at his side. Fingers not clenched, but the tips curved slightly inward, as if restraining something.
They looked at each other in the hallway for three seconds.
Evelyn withdrew her gaze first.
"You bring your ID?"
"I did."
Sebastian's voice was flat. Not the raw scratchiness from yesterday at the café.
Eight-thirty. The staff member sat down at the window, turned on the computer. The number machine started up.
Evelyn walked to the window and pushed her documents through the slot.
Sebastian stepped up beside her, standing to her right, and passed his documents through as well.
The staff member was a woman in her forties, black-framed glasses, expression neutral. "Evelyn Kendall?"
"Yes."
"Sebastian Ashford?"
"Yes."
"Divorce agreement?"
Evelyn passed the agreement through. The staff member flipped to the signature page and verified both signatures. "Cooling-off period has expired. Both parties are divorcing voluntarily?"
"Yes." Evelyn's answer came without hesitation.
The staff member's gaze moved to Sebastian.
Sebastian's Adam's apple bobbed once.
"Yes."
The staff member typed on the computer for a moment, then printed two documents.
"These are the divorce registration review forms. Each party signs one."