The Twin's Last Martian Wish

Ada Mcfadden POV:

Jovan's stunned silence was almost a comfort. He simply stared, the questions swirling in his eyes, but no words came out. After a long moment, he slowly nodded, a single, decisive movement. He drained his glass, placed it carefully on a nearby table, and without another word, turned and walked back inside, leaving me alone on the balcony.

The cold intensified, biting at my exposed skin. My head pounded harder, and a wave of nausea washed over me, making the city lights swim before my eyes. I leaned against the railing, gripping it tightly, trying to steady myself. The past five years had been a constant drain, physically and emotionally. The facade had been exhausting to maintain, every smile, every compliant nod, every silent tear a performance. Now, the adrenaline that had fueled my confession was wearing off, leaving me utterly depleted.

I closed my eyes, willing the dizziness to pass. I needed to see him, to get the divorce papers signed, to truly break free. But every fiber of my being screamed for rest, for escape.

The balcony door slid open again, and I heard Clayton's voice, thick with satisfaction. "Ada? Still out here? Didn't Gisele give you enough of an audience?"

I didn't turn. I couldn't. My body felt heavy, my legs weak.

He walked up beside me, his presence a suffocating weight. "So, the little mouse finally found her voice. 'I'm leaving tonight.' What a charming sentiment. Did you really think I'd let you just walk away?"

His voice was a low growl, devoid of the earlier amusement. "You signed a prenuptial agreement, Ada. You get nothing. Not a penny of my money. No inheritance. No alimony. You'll be back to your pathetic freelance graphic design career, living in some cramped apartment. Is that what freedom looks like to you?"

His words, meant to wound, merely washed over me. They were background noise, echoes of a life I was already leaving behind. His disdain for my old life, for me, had always been clear.

A tear escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. It was a tear of exhaustion, of release, not of hurt. But Clayton misinterpreted it.

"Ah, there it is," he scoffed, his tone softening with a sickening kind of triumph. "The tears. You're upset that I won't play your little game. You wanted me to beg, didn't you? To tell you how much I need you?" He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Sorry, Ada, I'm not that desperate."

Gathering every ounce of strength, I pushed myself upright and turned to face him. My hand, still clutching the locket, reached into the small purse I carried and pulled out a neatly folded document. The divorce papers. I held them out to him.

"Sign them, Clayton," I said, my voice surprisingly firm, despite the tremor in my hands. "It's over. You can have Gisele. You can have anyone you want. But you can't have me."

He stared at the papers, then at my face, a flicker of genuine bewilderment in his eyes before it hardened into scorn. "Is this a joke? Some kind of elaborate test?" He snatched the papers from my hand, his gaze sweeping over the clauses. "No assets, no alimony. Just a clean break. What's the catch, Ada?"

He crumpled the papers slightly in his hand. "You think I'll believe this? That after five years of being the perfect, silent wife, you suddenly want nothing? You're playing a dangerous game, Ada. A very dangerous game." He tossed the papers onto a nearby chaise lounge with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Don't flatter yourself," a silky voice drawled from behind him. Gisele, now armed with a glass of champagne, glided onto the balcony. "She's not playing a game, darling. She's just being pathetic. She probably thinks this will make you chase her. All that 'hard to get' nonsense."

Gisele smirked, taking a long sip of champagne. "Look at her, Clayton. She's practically begging for your attention. She thinks she can compete with me. After everything." She gestured derisively at my simple dress, then at her own sparkling attire. "Some people just don't know their place."

I ignored Gisele, my gaze fixed on Clayton. My head was swimming, my vision blurring. But I had to finish this.

"Sign the papers, Clayton," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an unyielding steel. "Let's end this charade."

His eyes blazed with a sudden, furious anger. The amusement was gone, replaced by a raw, naked rage. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm with brutal force. "Charade? You call this five years a charade?" he snarled, his grip tightening painfully.

He dragged me towards the large glass doors leading back into the penthouse, his movements jerky and aggressive. "You want to play games, Ada? Fine. Let's play."

He threw open the doors, pulling me into a dimly lit hallway. "Gisele, wait for me in the car," he commanded, his voice sharp.

"But darling, our reservation-" Gisele began, her voice shrill with protest.

"Now!" Clayton bellowed, his eyes flashing with a possessive fury I had rarely seen directed at me.

Gisele, startled, hesitated for a moment, then scurried away, her high heels clicking rapidly down the hall.

Clayton slammed the door shut behind us, plunging the hallway into near darkness. He shoved me against the wall, his body pressing close, trapping me. His breath was hot against my ear.

"You want to leave me, Ada?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You think you can just walk away? After five years of being my wife? My property?"

He moved his mouth to my neck, his lips grazing my skin. "Don't you know how this works? You don't leave me. I decide when it's over."

His hand found my jaw, tilting my head back. His kiss was rough, demanding, tasting of anger and desperation. I struggled, pushing against his chest, but my strength was failing. The nausea churned, the headache intensified, and a cold sweat broke out on my skin.

"You want a child, Ada?" he muttered, pulling back slightly, his eyes burning with a dark intensity. "You want to be a mother? We can start tonight. A real family. Our child. Then you won't want to leave."

The words were a grotesque parody of a promise, a twisted manipulation. I whimpered, a sound of pure misery, as fresh tears streamed down my face. My body was on the verge of collapse.

"Clayton, darling!" Gisele's voice, muffled but insistent, pierced the door. "The car's waiting! What are you doing in there?"

He ignored her, his grip on me unrelenting. "Regrets, Ada?" he murmured, pressing his lips to my tear-stained cheek. "Do you regret any of it?"

Just then, the door burst open. Jovan stood framed in the doorway, his face grim. "Clayton! What the hell are you doing? Gisele's threatening to call the tabloids. She's furious."

Clayton hesitated, his eyes still locked on mine. The mention of tabloids, of public scandal, seemed to break through his rage. He glared at Jovan, then back at me.

"This isn't over, Ada," he hissed, releasing me abruptly. He pushed past Jovan, leaving me slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

Jovan rushed to my side, his hand on my shoulder. "Ada, are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

I nodded mutely, still struggling to catch my breath. My head spun.

"He's unbearable," Jovan muttered, watching Clayton stalk away. He looked at me, his gaze softening. "Do you hate him?"

I shook my head, my hand flying to the locket hidden beneath my dress. It was still there, warm and solid. My purpose. My promise.

"No," I whispered, my voice raw. "I don't hate him. I feel nothing."