The pain in my abdomen flared, a sharp reminder of the physical sacrifice I had just made. But as I looked at Mark—at his arrogance, his cruelty, his utter lack of humanity—the emotional pain began to recede. It was replaced by a cold, mathematical clarity.

He thought I was weak. He thought I was just “Anna the Housewife,” the woman who stayed home and organized his dinner parties. He had forgotten—or perhaps, in his narcissism, he had chosen to ignore—the reality of our legal standing.

I looked at Chloe. She was smiling, victory written all over her perfectly made-up face. She thought she had won the prize. She had no idea she was standing on a trapdoor.

I picked up the pen.

“Are you sure about this, Mark?” I asked softly. “Are you absolutely sure you want to dissolve our legal union right now? Once I sign this, every link between us is severed. The separation of property becomes final.”

Mark laughed. “Don’t try to threaten me, Anna. You have no leverage. Sign it. I don’t want to share my future millions with a slob.”

“Very well,” I said.