The courtroom smelled like polished wood and perfumed tension. It was supposed to be just another legal formality—a clean cut through years of chaos. But as Thiana Cabello sat across from the man she had once loved, her pulse betrayed her. Her hands were steady, outwardly poised, but inside she was splintering.
Zade Cabello lounged in his leather chair as if nothing in the world could touch him. There was something infuriating about how calm he looked, dark suit pressed to perfection, one leg casually crossed over the other. He wore power like cologne—intoxicating, choking.
Thiana could still hear the quiet hum of their last morning together. The silence between them had grown like mold, creeping over the love they'd once hoarded. Now, love felt like the wrong word. It was obsession. War. Possession.
The judge's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Mrs. Cabello, do you affirm your decision to finalize this divorce?"
Her eyes locked onto Zade's, and for a second, her resolve wavered. There was history in those eyes. Passion. Violence. The kind of intimacy that couldn't be rinsed from the skin.
"I do," she said, voice even.
Zade leaned forward. "You're making a mistake."
His words didn't surprise her. It was his tone that did—low, unshaken, almost amused.
She didn't respond.
The gavel cracked against the bench, sending a jolt through her spine.
"In accordance with Article 17 of the marital code, this court hereby dissolves the legal union between Zade Julius Cabello and Thiana Morgane Cabello."
It was done.
But it didn't feel over.
Outside, cameras snapped like gunfire. Thiana kept walking. Her heels clicked against the pavement, each step a heartbeat. Reporters circled, hungry for blood.
"Thiana! Is it true you filed because of Lawrence Gonsalvez?" one called.
She didn't pause. A tight-lipped silence was her answer.
Zade followed several paces behind. She didn't look back, but she could feel him—like a shadow stitched to her spine.
"You don't know what you've signed," he said, voice just loud enough for her to hear.
She turned. "Then enlighten me."
"I will. Soon."
There was no threat in his tone, but the promise in it chilled her.
The penthouse was quiet that night—eerily so.
Thiana poured herself a glass of red wine and curled up on the velvet chaise overlooking the city. Lagos shimmered beneath her, electric and indifferent.
Her phone buzzed.
LAWRENCE: He didn't fight you. That's a win.
She stared at the screen longer than she should have. Part of her had hoped Zade would fight. She wanted to believe he still cared enough to resist. But maybe he didn't. Maybe she was just one more file in his empire. Signed, sealed, shelved.
Another text buzzed in.
LAWRENCE: You're free now. Isn't that what you wanted?
She didn't reply.
Meanwhile, Zade Cabello was staring at a different kind of screen.
His lawyer stood beside him, nervously shifting.
"She signed everything," the man said. "No questions. Clause 47 included."
Zade gave a slow nod.
"You know what that means."
"She thinks she freed herself," Zade murmured. "But she gave me everything."
He walked toward the balcony, glass in hand, the legal document folded neatly on the table. His empire was intact. His control, sharpened.
Thiana hadn't escaped.
She'd walked into the trap herself.
Three days passed, and Thiana couldn't ignore the itch in her gut. Something was off.
She sat in her office at Cabello & Sons—the real estate arm Zade had handed over in the settlement. Papers were spread across the desk, contracts, property titles, financial transfers.
It was supposed to be hers now. Clean.
But hidden within one of the property folders was a clause she hadn't noticed.
A secondary contract.
Signed by her. Dated two months prior.
Except… she'd never seen it before.
She scanned the text, heart thudding.
Ownership granted under conditional servitude.
Clause 47: Behavioral Compliance.
She froze.
That couldn't be right.
But it was her signature. Her initials. Her handwriting.
Zade had buried her beneath a legal illusion.
That night, she went to the gala. She hadn't planned to, but she needed answers.
The Cabello Foundation's annual charity event was one of Lagos' most opulent affairs. Thiana arrived draped in emerald silk, face stone-set. She didn't come to make a scene. She came for truth.
Lawrence was waiting for her near the bar. He looked smug until he saw her expression.
"He lied," she said quietly. "Zade played us all."
Before Lawrence could ask, the lights dimmed.
Zade appeared on stage, microphone in hand.
"Tonight, we honor legacy," he said, voice rich and magnetic. "The legacy of those who build, who protect, who reclaim."
He held up a document.
Thiana recognized the seal.
It was the same contract.
Her name blazed on it.
"My wife," Zade said, "has returned to where she belongs. Not as an ornament. As an heir. By contract."
Gasps. Whispers. Phones raised.
Thiana couldn't breathe.
The room tilted around her.
She turned, bolted for the exit.
Alleyway. Downtown Lagos.
She didn't expect to be followed.
The first man grabbed her arm, yanking her back into the shadows.
"Shouldn't have crossed him," he hissed.
She struggled. Screamed.
A blade flashed.
Before it could reach her—fury struck.
Zade.
He tore into the attacker like a storm made flesh. Precision. Rage. Elegance. The kind that came from years of control.
By the time the last man hit the pavement, bleeding, Zade stood panting, fists bruised, shirt ripped at the collar.
He looked at her.
Her voice was shaky. "You staged that?"
"No," he said. "But I knew they'd come."
"Why?"
He stepped closer.
"Because once you leave me, every enemy I've ever silenced returns. And now… they know you're alone."
She trembled.
Zade touched her face. Tenderly. Dangerously.
"You think I'm the villain," he whispered. "But you haven't met the monsters I kept at bay."
She followed him home.
Not because she trusted him.
But because the world outside suddenly seemed more terrifying than the man she once called husband.
That night, she read the contract again.
Clause 47. Behavioral Compliance.
There were footnotes. Conditions. Triggers.
One line stood out.
In absence of mutual divorce recognition, ownership rights revert to primary contractor.
Her voice broke in the silence.
"You never meant to let me go."
He stared at her from across the room, dark eyes unreadable.
"No," he said. "I meant to keep you. Legally. Emotionally. Entirely."
Her blood ran cold.
He raised a glass.
"To freedom. The kind I define."