PART 3
The remaining six months passed faster than I wanted. Odette was removed from the mansion after Kellan’s grandfather learned she had helped Portia finance the smear campaign. Portia’s family company lost two major contracts when an internal review revealed she had used investor information to pressure Bellweather executives. No one woke me before ten anymore. No one criticized my pajamas. Kellan hired a chef who knew exactly how I liked my eggs, installed blackout curtains in my bedroom and quietly changed his schedule so he came home for dinner at least four nights a week. The problem was that every improvement made my departure more complicated. He stopped treating me like a contractual obligation. He began leaving coffee beside my bed, sending me photographs of coastal cottages and asking whether I preferred fireplaces or heated floors. I told myself he was gathering information for my retirement gift. I refused to consider the far more dangerous possibility that he was imagining himself inside that cottage with me.
On the final day of our agreement, I packed one small suitcase. I left the jewelry, designer clothes and expensive gifts because carrying them would require effort. My belongings consisted of pajamas, a game console, snacks and the pillow Kellan had bought after hearing me complain about neck pain. At six that evening, he entered the living room and stopped when he saw the suitcase beside my feet. I had placed the divorce papers on the coffee table with my signature already completed. “Congratulations,” I said brightly. “You survived one year of marriage. Please sign, transfer the four million dollars and enjoy your freedom.” Kellan removed his coat with deliberate calm. “You booked a flight?” “Tomorrow morning. I found a cottage near the coast.” His gaze dropped to the papers. “And you planned to leave without discussing it with me?” “The contract is the discussion.” He picked up the agreement, read the first page and walked toward the fireplace. Before I could move, he dropped the papers into the flames.
I stared at the burning documents. “That was legally binding!” “The original contract was terminated months ago.” “By whom?” “My grandfather.” Kellan placed a new folder on the table. Inside was a trust resolution showing that he had received control of the company without any continuing marriage requirement. My presence had stopped being necessary half a year earlier. He could have ended the arrangement then, paid me and walked away. Instead, he had said nothing. “You lied to me.” “I delayed telling you.” “That is lying with expensive vocabulary.” I grabbed my suitcase, but he stepped between me and the door. He did not touch me. He simply looked more frightened than I had ever seen him. “I knew that if I told you the contract was over, you would leave before I could prove that I wanted you here.” I reminded him that wanting someone did not give him permission to control their choices. His jaw tightened. “You are right. That is why the money is already in your account. The cottage is also yours. You can walk out tonight, and I will not stop you.”
The new folder contained the deed to a renovated house overlooking the Oregon coast, four million dollars transferred without conditions and a second document labeled PERSONAL PROPOSAL. It promised separate finances, no required social events, permanent household staff, unlimited travel and the right to sleep until noon without interruption. At the bottom, Kellan had written one final clause by hand: This agreement may be ended by Romy at any time. Kellan Bellweather receives no financial penalty, only a broken heart. “This is ridiculous,” I whispered. “It is honest.” He moved closer but left enough space for me to leave. “I do not need a wife who cooks, performs or impresses anyone. I need the woman who turned my house from a battlefield into somewhere I wanted to come home to. You made me laugh when I had forgotten how. You protected me without sacrificing yourself. You never wanted my title, and somehow that made me want to give you everything.” My eyes burned. I hated emotional conversations because crying required hydration. “What exactly are you asking?” He took a small velvet box from his pocket but did not kneel. “A real marriage. No deadline. No performance. And no contract unless you write it.”
I remained silent long enough for Kellan’s confidence to begin cracking. Then I opened the personal proposal and found a pen. “The lifetime arrangement needs amendments.” Hope flashed across his face. I added mandatory weekly takeout, separate blankets, a prohibition against meetings before breakfast and financial compensation whenever his relatives disturbed my sleep. Kellan agreed to every demand without negotiation. “One more condition,” I said. “The coastal house needs a larger bedroom.” “Done.” “And someone else must unpack my suitcase.” He laughed, lifted me into his arms and carried me away from the door while I complained that emotional reunions were exhausting. We held a second wedding three months later with fewer than twenty guests. I wore flat shoes. The reception ended before nine. Kellan’s grandfather gave me a framed copy of the destroyed marriage contract, and Tate presented a cake decorated with the words FOUR MILLION DOLLARS WAS NOT ENOUGH. I never achieved my original dream of retiring alone. I found something better: a husband who protected my peace, a home where laziness was treated as strategy and a lifetime agreement I could leave whenever I chose. I stayed because, for the first time, staying required less effort than running away.
