Love Was Never Enough

"The process is complete," the lawyer announced.

"From this moment, you are no longer husband and wife."

When I walked out of the law firm, Tiffany was already there, waiting. She wore a tight black dress, looking every bit like she was headed to a victory party.

"Finally!" she chirped, linking her arm through Alberto's. "Now we can start planning our engagement party!"

She then turned to me, her eyes glinting with triumph. "Clara, when are you moving out of the Vaughn Estate? I need to start redecorating the master suite."

"Tomorrow," I said simply.

"Tomorrow? Perfect!" Tiffany clapped her hands.

"I've already hired a designer. We're going to get rid of all that stuffy, old-fashioned artwork."

That "old-fashioned artwork" was a collection I had spent three years curating. Each piece held a special meaning.

And now, it would all be thrown out like common trash.

"Tiffany's right," Alberto chimed in, avoiding my gaze. "The new matriarch needs a fresh start. Clara, if you need help moving..."

"I don't," I said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Alberto hurried after me, grabbing my arm. He fumbled with the second button of his shirt, pulling the fabric aside to reveal the tattoo on his ribs—the pathetic "gift" from our wedding.

It was a unique, artistic pattern I had designed myself, once so intricate.

My eyes fell on the ink. "You altered it, Alberto."

His face went pale. "What?"

I scoffed. "You had my initials changed to a 'T' for Tiffany? Is that all our marriage was worth?"

Alberto opened his mouth to explain, but I had already turned away, not bothering to look at the crude alteration again.

"A sham marriage, a sham tattoo. A perfect match."

I strode to my car without a single backward glance.

In the rearview mirror, I saw them arguing.

I rolled down the window, just enough to catch a fragment of their conversation.

"How did she know I changed it?" Alberto demanded.

"Who knows," Tiffany snapped, annoyed. "It doesn't matter. You're divorced now."

"But she looked really angry..."

"Don't sweat it. Clara's a pushover," Alberto said confidently. "Once she cools off, I'll freeze her cards. She'll come crawling back. She wouldn't last a week without the Vaughn name."

I fired up the engine and sped away.

He was wrong.

This time, it was truly over. There was no going back.

Three days after leaving the Vaughn estate, I was settled into a penthouse apartment downtown.

No CEO's demands, no family obligations, no endless social functions. For the first time in years, I felt a profound sense of peace.

I was sipping champagne on the balcony when my phone rang.