Part 3The Divorce That Shook the Company

I stifled a yawn, genuinely surprised. She hadn't stayed out. Usually, any event involving Hawthorne was a 24/7 commitment for her.

Ignoring her, I headed for the bedroom. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise.

"Married for years, and now you decide to start hitting the bars? I specifically cancelled my plans at the symposium to come home and be with you, and this is how you treat me?" Her voice rose. "Ethan, do you even remember that you're a husband?"

A husband? The irony was so thick I could choke on it. The woman could lie without blinking, and now she wanted to lecture me on responsibility? She spends our anniversary on a romantic walk with another man, then comes home to grill me about my duties as a husband.

I remembered all the nights I’d waited up for her, only to be told I was being "too clingy," "not independent enough," that I should "focus my energy on the project."

Now that I’d stopped waiting, she was the one who couldn't let go.

I gave a noncommittal grunt, wanting nothing more than to sleep. But she pulled me back, her eyes cold and hard. "I haven't showered yet. You can keep me company."

There was a time when a request like that would have sent my heart soaring. I would have meticulously drawn her a bath, setting the water to the perfect temperature, adding a few drops of her favorite essential oil.

Now, it just felt like another one of her pointless power plays.

My eyes caught the faint, tell-tale red marks on her neck. A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her hand away, my patience gone. "I've already showered. You go ahead."

She stared at me, her expression a mask of disbelief. "So I came home a little late on our anniversary, and this is how you act? I told you, the symposium ran long! Why do you have to be so childish?" she snapped. "You went out drinking, did I say a word? Why are you giving me this attitude?"

With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

In the past, I would have chased after her, ready to apologize and soothe her manufactured outrage.

Tonight, I just got into bed and slept like a log.

The next morning, I woke up well-rested and made myself a proper breakfast. Just as I was about to eat, I realized Annalise was still home. Usually, she wouldn't set foot in the house until I had groveled sufficiently.

With a sigh, I pushed my plate of food toward her. Her expression softened, just a fraction.

Then I noticed a keycard on the table. A lab access card. My heart gave a painful thud. It was a master keycard, the one with the highest level of clearance, granting access to every experimental zone. I had requested one for years, and had always been denied.

She saw where I was looking and had the grace to look embarrassed. "That's a birthday present for Hawthorne," she said quickly. "I'll get you one next time."

It felt like plunging into ice water. A self-deprecating smile twisted my lips. Of course. Why would she ever think of me?

I just nodded and pushed two documents across the table toward her. "Sign these."

She took them with an annoyed sigh. "Give you an inch and you take a mile."

She signed the first document—my resignation letter—without even looking up. I had expected it, but the casual indifference still felt like a punch to the gut.

She signed the second one, too—the divorce agreement. It was only after her pen had left the paper that she realized what it was.

Her face went pale, then red with fury. She snatched the agreement and threw it at my chest. "Ethan, is this your new game? Threatening me with divorce? You think I won't sign it?" she shrieked. "Fine! I'll sign it! Are you happy now?"