His Discarded Wife Is A Rune Genius

Archon Barron Montgomery POV:

The door clicked shut, swallowing Alaia's silhouette into the night. The silence in the cavernous hall was suddenly deafening.

A ridiculous thought. She actually left.

I let out a short, sharp laugh and walked to the bar, pouring myself a stiff measure of whiskey. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction from a flicker of... annoyance.

It had to be a new tactic. More elaborate than her usual silent suffering.

My terminal chimed. Julian Carlisle. I accepted the call.

"Barron," he sounded hesitant, guilty. "About the projection... I'm sorry, I sent it to the wrong person."

"It doesn't matter," I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "She would have found out eventually."

Julian paused. "Is... is Alaia okay?"

I took a long swallow of whiskey. "She's wonderful," I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. "Just put on a grand performance of leaving me. Probably hiding in some corner right now, waiting for me to come find her."

"She left?" Julian sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes, and she left a divorce agreement." I sank onto the sofa, the whole situation striking me as absurdly theatrical.

I grinned into the terminal's camera, speaking to Julian and the others I could see in the background of his club. "Let's make a wager. I bet she'll be back on her own within three days."

Laughter erupted from the other end. They understood. It was just a marital spat.

"A human woman with no family, no skills for survival," I added, leaning into their amusement. "What can she possibly do besides depend on me?"

After ending the call, I stared at the divorce agreement on the table. I felt nothing. Not even for the child. I never wanted one. It would have been a complication.

I picked up the papers, walked to the fireplace, and tossed them into the flames. The paper curled, blackened, and turned to ash.

Game over. Time for her to come home.

Alaia Dawson POV:

The taxi stopped in front of a quiet, upscale apartment building on the other side of the city.

This was my sanctuary. A property my late uncle, Robert Dawson, had left me. The security was tight, its existence unknown to Barron.

I dragged my suitcase into the lobby, the doorman nodding respectfully. The elevator ride was silent.

I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped inside. The space was warm, modern, and welcoming.

There was no trace of the Montgomerys here. Only the clean, crisp scent of freedom.

I took a long, hot shower, feeling as if I were scrubbing away two years of dust and sorrow.

Dressed in a simple cotton robe, I sat on the sofa and opened my personal terminal. I navigated to a magical reminder I had set to go off every single morning for the past two years.

7:00 AM: Prepare Barron's morning restorative tonic.

His body had been weakened by old battle wounds. The daily tonic, a complex herbal brew, was something I had once considered a testament to my love.

Now, the words on the screen were a mockery.

My finger hovered over the delete button. There was no hesitation.

I pressed it.

As the reminder vanished from the screen, I felt a physical weight lift from my shoulders. Another chain, broken.

From now on, I would live for myself.

I switched off the terminal and walked to the bedroom. The bed was large and soft, the sheets cool against my skin.

For the first time in two years, I slept without nightmares, without the gnawing anxiety of waiting for a man who would never truly come home to me.

The first rays of dawn sliced through a gap in the curtains, waking me to a profound sense of peace.

I made myself a simple breakfast of toast and coffee and sat at the small dining table, savoring the quiet.

I was no longer an appendage of Archon Montgomery.

I was just Alaia Dawson.

I opened my terminal again, this time navigating to the Silverwood Academy alumni directory. My fingers typed a name I hadn't dared to search for in years.

It was time to take back everything I had lost.