I stared at my phone screen in disbelief. Seventeen missed calls from Alistair since I'd left that restaurant with Vera. The audacity of this man knew no bounds.
"You're not seriously going to call him back, are you?" Vera asked, sipping her latte across from me at our favorite coffee shop.
"I have to," I replied, gripping my cup tightly. "We need to finalize the company transfer. I want everything in writing before his wedding to my dying stepsister."
The words tasted bitter even now, two days after the hospital confrontation. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ivy's smug face as she'd stroked my wedding dress with her bony fingers.
Vera narrowed her eyes. "Let me call him."
"What? No—"
But she'd already snatched my phone and hit redial before I could stop her.
"Hello, traitor," she answered sweetly when Alistair picked up. "This is Vera Vance, speaking on behalf of the woman whose life you destroyed."
I lunged across the table, but Vera deftly avoided my grasp.
"Oh really? You think Hazel should be more understanding?" Vera's voice dripped with venom. "Understanding of what exactly? Your inability to keep your dick in your pants even when your fiancée spent six years donating blood to keep your pathetic ass alive?"
Several coffee shop patrons turned to stare. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"Vera," I hissed, "give me the phone."
She ignored me. "No, YOU listen," she snarled into the receiver. "Hazel gave you everything. Her time, her blood, her love. And you repaid her by—"
I finally managed to grab the phone. "I'm sorry about that," I said, though I wasn't. "We need to meet. Today. To discuss the company."
Alistair's sigh crackled through the speaker. "Fine. Civil affairs bureau at 3 PM. We can handle both matters at once."
"Both matters?"
"The company transfer and the divorce," he clarified. "Might as well get everything done in one go."
My stomach dropped. Of course. The divorce. In all the chaos, I'd nearly forgotten we needed to legally end our marriage.
"Fine. 3 PM." I hung up without saying goodbye.
Vera stared at me, concern etched across her face. "You okay?"
"Peachy," I muttered. "I'm getting divorced and losing my fiancé to my stepsister all in the same week."
"At least you're getting the company," Vera reminded me.
I nodded, attempting a smile that felt more like a grimace. "At least there's that."
---
The civil affairs bureau was crowded when I arrived at precisely 3 PM. Alistair was already waiting, looking irritatingly handsome in his tailored navy suit. The same suit I'd helped him pick out last month for our honeymoon.
"Hazel," he greeted, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.
I ignored it. "Let's get this over with."
He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I've prepared all the paperwork for Evening Gala. My lawyer will send over the final documents after you sign the preliminary agreement."
"Fine." I took the folder he offered without looking at him.
We approached the counter together, an uncomfortable silence stretched between us. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, looked up from her computer.
"How can I help you?"
"We need to file for divorce," Alistair stated.
The clerk's gaze flickered between us. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No," I replied. "We weren't aware we needed one."
She clicked through her computer system. "I'm afraid you'll need to schedule one. And there's a mandatory 30-day cooling-off period after filing before the divorce can be processed."
My heart stuttered. "Excuse me?"
"It's a new regulation," she explained, not looking up from her screen. "All divorces require a 30-day reflection period. And our next available appointment to even start the process is..." She squinted at the screen. "Two weeks from now."
Two weeks. Plus thirty days after that. I did the math quickly in my head.
"But that means..." I turned to Alistair, horror dawning on me.
His face had paled slightly. "That means you'll still be my wife during my wedding to Ivy."
The cruel irony of the situation hit me like a physical blow. I'd still be legally married to Alistair while he exchanged vows with my stepsister. The humiliation burned through me, white-hot and unbearable.
"This can't be happening," I whispered.
The clerk looked between us with newfound interest. "Unless there's evidence of domestic violence or other extreme circumstances, the cooling-off period is mandatory."
"Is there anything we can do?" Alistair asked desperately. "Pay an expedited fee or something?"
"I'm afraid not, sir. The earliest I can schedule you is October 3rd at 10 AM."
I grabbed the counter to steady myself. "Fine. We'll take it."
The clerk nodded and printed a confirmation slip. "Both parties must be present with identification documents. The formal divorce application will be submitted then, and the 30-day period begins after that."
We moved away from the counter, and I fought to keep my composure from cracking.
"Hazel, I'm sorry," Alistair began.
"Don't," I snapped. "Just don't."
"But this changes things," he insisted. "Maybe we should—"
"What? Call off your wedding to my dying stepsister? Too late for that. You've made your choice."
His expression shifted, something calculated replacing the initial shock. "Actually, I was thinking maybe we shouldn't bother with the divorce at all."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard him. "Excuse me?"
"Think about it," he continued, his voice dropping. "Ivy only has a few months at most. After that..." He reached for my hand.
I jerked away as if burned. "After that what? We pick up where we left off like nothing happened?"
He had the audacity to look hopeful. "It's the practical solution. Why go through a divorce just to remarry later?"
The sheer entitlement of this man rendered me speechless for several seconds. He genuinely believed I would wait for him, that after he married and buried my stepsister, I would welcome him back with open arms.
"You're insane," I finally managed. "Completely insane."
"I'm being realistic," he countered. "Our relationship has always been the real thing, Hazel. This—with Ivy—it's just a brief detour. A charitable act for a dying woman."
"A charitable act?" I repeated, my voice rising dangerously. "You're marrying her in MY wedding dress at MY venue with MY flowers and calling it charity?"
Other people in the bureau were staring now, but I no longer cared.
"Keep your voice down," Alistair hissed, glancing around nervously.
"No," I stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You don't get to dictate terms anymore. Not to me. Not ever again."
His expression hardened. "You're being unreasonable. This situation isn't ideal for anyone."
"Isn't ideal?" I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "You destroyed our future and broke every promise you ever made to me. And now you have the nerve to suggest I should wait around while you play house with my stepsister?"
"She's dying, Hazel," he snapped, frustration finally breaking through his polished veneer. "What do you want me to do? Let her last wish go unfulfilled?"
"Yes!" I shouted, beyond caring who heard. "Yes, that's exactly what you should have done! You should have told her no. You should have honored your commitment to me!"
He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in painfully. "You're making a scene."
I wrenched away from his grip. "And you're making the biggest mistake of your life if you think I'll ever take you back after this."
Something ugly flashed in his eyes then—a glimpse of the real Alistair behind the charming facade. "Don't be so confident, Hazel. You've never been able to stay away from me. We both know it."
His certainty chilled me. For six years, I'd built my world around this man, sacrificed for him, bled for him. And in his mind, that made me permanently his—a possession he could set aside temporarily and reclaim at will.
"We'll see about that," I said, my voice low and steady. "October 3rd, 10 AM. Be here with your ID."
I turned and walked away, my steps quickening with every beat of my heart. Behind me, I heard him call my name once, twice. I didn't look back.
Outside, the afternoon sun blinded me momentarily, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Vera with trembling fingers.
"How did it go?" she answered immediately.
"There's a mandatory waiting period," I said, my voice breaking. "I'll still be his wife when he marries Ivy."
Vera cursed colorfully. "That's beyond messed up."
"It gets worse," I continued, ducking into a taxi. "He suggested we skip the divorce entirely. He expects me to wait for him, Vera. He thinks after Ivy dies, I'll just take him back."
The silence on the other end spoke volumes.
"He really believes that?" Vera finally asked, incredulous.
"Yes." I leaned back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. "And the scariest part? For a split second, a tiny part of me wondered if he was right."