The Twin's Last Martian Wish

Ada Mcfadden POV:

The bitter taste of the anti-nausea medication coated my tongue, a small victory against the physical toll of the last hour. My hands still trembled slightly as I clutched the divorce papers, now retrieved from the chaise lounge where Clayton had carelessly tossed them. Jovan had stayed just long enough to ensure I was steady, then, with a sympathetic glance, he'd left to handle the Gisele situation.

I knew he thought I was broken, fragile. But I wasn't. I was simply… finished.

The cold night air was a welcome contrast to the furnace of my anger. I had to get this done. I had to leave. I had to scatter Julian's ashes.

I made my way down to the garage, the polished concrete amplifying the echo of my footsteps. My small, inconspicuous SUV, a stark contrast to Clayton's fleet of luxury vehicles, waited patiently. As I approached the exit, a heated argument spilled from the valet area.

It was Gisele, her voice shrill and piercing. "You promised me, Clayton! You promised you'd dump her tonight! You said you'd marry me!"

Clayton's reply was low, but I could make out the sharp edge of his tone. "Gisele, this is not the time. Control yourself."

I saw Jovan standing nearby, looking utterly resigned, holding a phone to his ear. When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly, then he gave a subtle nod towards the escalating scene.

"What do you think he'll do?" Jovan asked, his voice low as I pulled up beside him, cracking my window just enough for him to hear me. "Gisele's threatening to expose all his dirty laundry. His family won't like that."

I glanced at the furious tableau. Gisele was now stomping her foot, pointing dramatically at Clayton. "I'll tell the world everything, you hear me? Every dirty secret! Every lie! You'll regret this, Clayton Parrish!"

I knew Clayton. I knew his pride, his need for control, his carefully constructed public image.

"He'll placate her," I predicted calmly, my voice flat. "He'll give her what she wants, within reason. He always does."

And just as I finished speaking, Clayton' s shoulders sagged. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his face a mask of weary exasperation. "Fine, Gisele. Fine. You win. We'll announce our engagement next month. Is that what you want?"

Gisele's face transformed, her anger melting into a dazzling, triumphant smile. She threw her arms around his neck, planting a loud, smacking kiss on his lips. "Oh, darling! I knew you loved me! I knew you'd come to your senses!"

I felt nothing. No jealousy, no pain. Only a quiet affirmation that my prediction had been correct. He was predictable.

I opened my car door, stepping out, the divorce papers held firmly in my hand. Clayton, his arm still around a beaming Gisele, saw me. His eyes, just moments ago filled with a forced affection for Gisele, now narrowed into cold slits.

Gisele, seeing his attention shift, followed his gaze. Her triumphant smile faltered, replaced by a sneer. "Oh, look. The little mouse is back for more. Can't take a hint, can you, Ada?"

I ignored her, walking directly towards Clayton, my footsteps measured and deliberate. I held out the papers to him.

"You said you wanted me to sign them," he said, his voice clipped. "You want to end this. Fine." He snatched the pen from my hand with a swift, angry movement. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a frustrated rage.

He scribbled his signature across the bottom of the document. His hand trembled slightly, not from hesitation, but from a barely contained fury. He didn't even read it. He just wanted me gone.

He flung the pen down, glaring at me. "There. You happy now, Ada? You got your pathetic little divorce." He leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "Don't think for a second this means you 'won.' You'll be crawling back. They all do. And when you do, don't expect me to be here."

He straightened up, pulling Gisele closer. "Consider this a temporary separation. A cooling-off period. When you realize what you've thrown away, I might just take you back. If I'm feeling generous."

His words struck me as profoundly absurd. Temporary separation? Cooling-off period? He truly believed I was playing some kind of intricate game to win him back. He couldn't fathom a world where I didn't want him.

I merely nodded, taking the signed papers from the table, my focus entirely on the legal document that severed our ties. It was done. It was finally done.

"Goodbye, Clayton," I said, a soft finality in my voice. I didn't wait for his reply. I didn't care to. He was already a ghost to me, a means to an end.

He stood there, Gisele clinging to his arm, watching me walk away. He didn't call out. He didn't chase. He just stood, a statue of arrogant disbelief.

Jovan, who had observed the entire exchange from a discreet distance, approached me as I reached my car. His expression was a mixture of shock and reluctant admiration. "I've never seen anyone handle Clayton like that, Ada. You're… something else."

He paused, then cleared his throat. "So, now what? You're free. What's next for Ada Mcfadden?" He offered a small, hesitant smile. "Dinner? A drink? I'd like to hear the real story, if you're willing to share."

I shook my head gently. "Thank you, Jovan. But no." I held up the divorce papers, then gently touched the locket beneath my dress. "I have a flight to catch. A promise to keep."

He looked at the locket, then back at me, a dawning understanding in his eyes. A wistful smile touched his lips. "Julian would be proud, Ada."

"I hope so," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

I got into my car, the engines now purring, ready for takeoff. A text message vibrated on my dashboard screen. It was from Clayton.

Consider this a generous send-off. Your flight is booked. First class. Don't think about trying to contact me. This is for your own good. I'll be in touch when you come to your senses. Don't worry about finding a place. I've arranged for a small apartment in London. My treat.

I stared at the message, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. His "generosity" was just another form of control, another way to assert his superiority, to ensure I knew my place. A "small apartment in London" was his idea of a handout, a gilded cage for a bird he believed would eventually fly back to him. He still didn't understand. He never would.

I deleted the message. Then, with a decisive press of a button, I ejected the small, silver locket from my dress, letting it fall into the center console. I would not carry Julian's ashes in a locket designed for a woman. Julian deserved better. I would carry him in my heart, and soon, across the cosmos. This was not a temporary separation. This was an ending. This was my beginning.

I started the car, leaving the opulent penthouse, the arrogant billionaire, and the calculating socialite behind. The city lights blurred as I accelerated onto the highway, heading towards the airport, towards a new life, a future Julian and I had once mapped out, a future I would now live for both of us.