(Celia's POV)

I stood at the kitchen table and looked at the two documents side by side, their edges perfectly aligned.

Two years. Two years of memorizing which Burgundy Julius's clients preferred, learning the names of every Proctor Group partner and their spouses, showing up to every dinner and charity gala with the right smile on my face. I'd been so good at it. I'd made myself good at it.

My chest felt tight, but not the way it had yesterday. Not grief. More like finally reading the last line of a contract you'd been squinting at for months and realizing the terms were never what you thought.

My phone lit up on the counter. Proctor Estate.

I hit decline without thinking and went to bed.

I didn't sleep much. When I got up before seven, I pushed open the guest room door on my way out of habit.

The bed was untouched. Pillow smooth, duvet flat, not a single crease. It looked like a hotel room that hadn't been checked into. Julius hadn't come home.

I grabbed my keys.

Harrison was already at his desk when I got to the Reed Institute. He looked up when I walked in, took in whatever he saw on my face, and didn't say anything right away.

I sat down across from him. "We're getting a divorce."

He was quiet for a moment. His eyes moved over my face - the shadows under my eyes, the way I was holding myself very still.

"That's the right call," he said finally. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're not enough - they're not worth keeping. You'll find someone who actually deserves you."

I nodded. I didn't have anything to add to that.

Harrison leaned back. "I want to introduce you to someone over lunch. The Institute's primary sponsor. Alexis Asto."

I knew the name. Everyone in the industry knew the name. MIT at eighteen, aerospace R&D straight out of graduation, then the Air Force - decorated, from what I'd read - then back to civilian life to take over Asto Technologies. He'd turned it into one of the top firms in the world. He was twenty-eight.

"All right," I said.

The restaurant Harrison chose had no prices on the menu. Alexis was already seated by the window when we arrived. He looked up when we approached - one quick, direct look at me, unreadable - and then turned to Harrison.

Harrison introduced me, explained I'd be joining the chip development team. I extended my hand.

"Looking forward to working together."

Alexis didn't take it. He looked at Harrison. "Did she sign the contract?"

I put my hand down.

His assistant slid a folder across the table. I opened it. Annual salary of one million, full return of the signing bonus in case of breach, terms that were clean and fair. I understood the logic immediately. Harrison trusted me. Alexis didn't know me. If I walked out halfway through, the Institute absorbed the loss. This was just standard commercial protection.

I picked up the pen and signed. Pushed it back.

"I won't let you down," I said.

Alexis looked at the signature. Then he signed his own name - clear, deliberate strokes. He stood to shake my hand. He was at least an inch taller than Julius, and his fingers were cool.

My pulse jumped once, fast. I pressed it down.

"Likewise," I said.

The television above the bar cut to a news segment. I wasn't paying attention until I heard the anchor say Proctor Group CEO. I turned.

Footage from last night: Julius, in the coat I recognized, helping a woman out of a car and into the entrance of a building on the Upper East Side. This morning: Julius leaving in a black sedan. The chyron read Proctor Group CEO Spotted with Mystery Companion.

I thought about the guest room. That undisturbed pillow.

He hadn't just stayed out last night. He'd been staying somewhere else for a long time. He'd built a whole other arrangement, and I'd been standing in our apartment signing quarterly foundation documents and memorizing the names of his clients' wives.

A clean, complete bitterness moved through me.

I turned away from the screen and didn't say anything.

After lunch, I drove to the Proctor Group building.

Charlie was waiting near the elevator when I stepped off on thirty-two. He handed me a folder before I could say anything, his voice low.

"Mrs. Proctor. Victoria wanted me to let you know - she's not in a position to return the foundation funds yet. The paperwork isn't ready to sign."

Eight months ago, I'd taken over as chair of the Proctor Family Foundation. On my first day, I'd found a gap in the accounts - significant, not a rounding error. Victoria had promised to address it. Eight months later, nothing.

"Thank you, Charlie," I said.

I tucked the folder under my arm, beneath the divorce papers, and pushed open Julius's office door.

He was on the couch, jacket off, working through a stack of documents. He looked up when I came in.

"Where were you last night?" His tone was flat. Not worried. Not curious. Just corrective. "Don't do that."

No question about why I'd left. No acknowledgment of what had happened in this office yesterday. Just a directive: don't do that.

"I want to talk about the divorce," I said. "Have you thought about it?"

He set down the papers. "It's not a big deal. Don't blow this out of proportion."

I looked at him. He said it the way he said everything - like the matter was already settled and I was just slow to catch up.

Then something shifted in his expression. He reached out and closed his hand over mine where I was holding the folders.

I looked down at his hand. Then up at his face.

He didn't speak. He just took the folders from me, uncapped a pen from his breast pocket - the one I'd given him for our first anniversary, the Montblanc, he still used it - and flipped open the first folder.

The foundation documents.

He scanned the page and signed. "I'll cover the shortfall. Five million. If you need more going forward, go directly to finance."

He turned to the next page and signed that too.

Then he set the foundation folder aside and picked up the second one.

The divorce papers.

He opened the cover. Looked at the first page. His hand moved, and he raised the pen.