Chapter 2 A Dead Marriage
James’s gaze snapped back to her. His brows drew together ever so slightly, but his face remained a cold mask. “What did you say?”
Mia lifted the papers in her hand and held them out to him.
“This is a copy of the divorce agreement. I’ve already submitted the papers to court for annulment.
Since you and I never had the relationship of husband and wife, the marriage can be annulled.
As long as you don’t go to the courthouse to object, it should be done within a week. ”
His lips curled, though not in a smile. Displeasure and disbelief flickered across his features as his jaw tightened. With a swift movement, he snatched the papers out of her hand, his eyes locked on hers with a hard, unblinking stare.
“You’re done pretending to be good and obedient?” he bit out. “Now you show your evil colors? Threatening me with divorce? Have you completely lost your mind?”
But Mia didn’t flinch. She stared at him with the same calm steadiness, her eyes clear, her tone level.
“I am not evil. I am not trying to trouble you. And I’m not showing a temper.” Her words were soft, yet unshaken. “I’ve already signed the papers. You can open them and see for yourself.”
His eyes flicked down to the documents, scanning each page. His expression shifted from disbelief to a sharp, cold challenge as he finally spotted her signature, dated that very day.
While he flipped through the pages, Mia quietly slid her wedding ring off her finger and placed it on the side table near the couch. “This is the ring you gave me on our wedding day,” she said softly, straightening her shoulders. “I’m leaving now. Take care of yourself, James.”
James’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as his eyes flickered with suppressed fury. But she didn’t wait for his reaction. She picked up her suitcase and walked past him, her calm composure contrasting with the storm brewing in his eyes.
He didn’t turn to look at her. He stood rooted to the spot, his fist clenching tight around the divorce papers until they crumpled in his grip.
Behind him, the heavy door opened, then shut with a loud thud that echoed through the mansion.
The wheels of her suitcase scraping against the pavement outside seemed to reverberate in the silence she left behind.
Mrs. Maisel rushed forward, panic flooding her features. Her eyes darted between the door and James. “Mr. Sinclair! Why don’t you go after Madam? Ask her to stay!”
But James’s expression had already hardened into cold indifference. His voice was low, clipped, and filled with steel.
“No need.” His lips curved into a cruel, confident line. “She’ll come back on her own before she even steps outside these gates.”
Mrs. Maisel froze, her heart sinking. She glanced at him in disbelief, her anxiety growing, but his piercing gaze silenced her protests. She glanced at the door, then out the window, while James stood tall, silent, his jaw rigid.
Other maids appeared from the kitchen, murmuring among themselves as they gathered near the window. They watched Mia dragging her suitcase down the driveway.
“Madam doesn’t even raise her voice…” one murmured, wide-eyed. “How could she suddenly ask for a divorce like that?”
“I don’t know,” another whispered back, glancing nervously at James. “She’s always been so sweet… so calm. What happened today?”
“She’s lived with Mr. Sinclair for five years,” the third said softly, shaking her head. “What could have changed?”
The women exchanged worried glances, all of them still peeking out at the driveway, waiting—half-expecting James's words to prove true.
James’s lips curled into a smirk as he waited, breath steady, confidence etched into every line of his face.
The household stood still, eyes fixed on the entrance.
But the silence stretched on.
Mrs. Maisel gripped her hands together, her worry mounting with every passing second. Her panic grew as Mia disappeared through the large gates without looking back.
Her chest tightened as she finally turned to him. “Mr. Sinclair… Madam didn’t come back,” she said, her voice edged with panic. Her hands twisted together as her fear spilled into her words. “Did she really leave you?”
James’s calm exterior cracked. Fury twisted his face. With a sharp growl, he hurled the divorce papers to the floor.
“Let her leave if she wants!” he roared. “Where can she possibly go? For years, she has lived here under my roof, enjoying the Sinclair title. Do you really think she can throw it all away so easily?!”
Mrs. Maisel flinched at his outburst, her gaze darting back to the window. Her heart sank as she saw Mia disappearing through the mansion’s grand gates, her suitcase trailing behind her.
Without a single backward glance, Mia vanished into the snowy night.
***
The sun rose cold and pale over the Sinclair mansion. The silence inside was louder than usual. At the long dining table, the maids arranged breakfast in an almost ritualistic manner, but there was an unease in their movements.
James finally descended from his study, shoulders squared, his tall figure dressed immaculately in a fresh suit. His expression was once again composed, but his eyes revealed the strain of a night spent working. He sat in the head chair with unhurried grace, as though nothing was amiss.
Mrs. Maisel hurried forward, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, followed by an omelette and a plate of fruits. The maids flitted about, adjusting the tablecloth, arranging cutlery, and stepping back once everything was in place.
James lifted the coffee cup with practiced calmness, but his eyes were cold, sharp as ice. His voice, though soft, carried a weight that made the servants stiffen. “Mia hasn’t returned yet?”
Mrs. Maisel folded her hands together, bowing her head. Her voice was low and uneasy. “No, Mr. Sinclair.”
His lips curled into a thin, disdainful line, a bitter shadow flickering in his gaze. “Who taught her how to have a temper?”
Mrs. Maisel hesitated, then carefully suggested, “Mr. Sinclair… perhaps you should call her? Ask about her whereabouts?”
James’s eyes flicked from the cup to her face, his expression unreadable. “She has grown far too used to the comforts of this house. If she wants to suffer on her own, let her. Let her freeze in the streets if she wishes. When she realizes her mistake, she will crawl back here to apologize.”
He stabbed his fork into the omelet and took a bite, chewing slowly.
A flash of irritation crossed his face as he set the fork down with a sharp clatter.
“Why wasn’t my phone charged last night?
And who laid out my clothes this morning?
Mrs. Maisel, it wasn’t you. Go and change this ridiculous outfit.
Usually, you do your job well. What happened to you today? ”
Mrs. Maisel hesitated, watching him chew on the omelet.
His expression shifted again, displeasure darkening his face. “Even this omelette is disgusting. What’s happening to all of you tonight?” He looked up sharply, his features twisting with thunderous anger as he snapped, “Have you all forgotten how to do your goddamn jobs in just one night?”
Mrs. Maisel’s eyes darted to the other maids before she swallowed nervously. Her voice was hesitant, her tone almost pleading. “Mr. Sinclair… it wasn’t me. Usually… Mrs. wakes up early to prepare these things for you.”
James froze mid-bite, his fork hovering. His posture stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he turned his head slowly toward her. “What did you say?”
She lowered her head. “Since you married her, Madam has risen before dawn. She cooks your breakfast every morning with her own hands. She prepares your lunch and dinner, attaches your phone to the charger, and lays out your clothes for the day. None of us dared to enter your room. It was always Madam who did it herself.”
A stunned silence fell.
The words sank into James like stones dropped into deep water. His face, usually unreadable, flickered with something raw—disbelief, confusion, and the faintest crack of something else beneath. His hand clenched around the fork, the steel bending under the force.
“There are hundreds of servants in this house,” he snapped finally. “Why would she do all of this herself? What are all of you here for?”
Mrs. Maisel answered at once. “Mr. Sinclair… have you forgotten? When you first married her, Madam didn’t know a thing about household chores.
Her parents never let her lift a finger—she grew up sheltered.
But after your marriage, during the very first week, one of the servants misplaced your files.
You shouted at the servant… and then at Madam too. ”
James’s troubled face flickered, recognition dawning.
‘What’s the use of marrying a woman who doesn’t even know where to put a file? What’s the use of marrying you if you can’t even lift a finger?!’
That night came rushing back into his mind—the sharpness of his anger, her stunned expression, her silence.
He had long forgotten it, but now the echo of his own words clawed at him.
Mrs. Maisel’s voice dropped. “Since that day, Madam began to do everything for you by herself. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch your things, not even move a paper from one drawer to another. She wouldn’t allow any help.”
James’s lips pressed together, his eyes shadowed. For a moment, his face betrayed his thoughts—an unspoken unease, guilt pricking the armor of his pride. But then his fingers curled into fists, his jaw tightening. His eyes grew steely with stubbornness.
“I know she did a lot,” he admitted stiffly, each word forced out. “But she was the one who decided to leave this house. If she wants to come back, she can come back on her own.”
***
At Luxe, blinding lights flashed across the bar and music pounded like a heartbeat gone mad. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and the sound of drunken laughter.
James sat in the corner on a leather couch, gripping a glass tightly.
He drank heavily, glass after glass, but the burning liquor couldn’t dull the storm inside him.
His suit jacket lay abandoned, his tie loosened.
His wedding ring glinted faintly under the neon lights as he twirled it on his finger, his expression dark and sour.
Around him, two friends lingered, talking to girls while sipping drinks and flirting.
Gabriel Kennedy spotted him first. Tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled brown hair and warm hazel eyes that always seemed to be laughing, he pushed through the crowd, slightly tipsy, and dropped onto the bench beside James.
“What’s gotten into you?” He draped an arm casually over James’s shoulder.
“On weekdays, you never step foot in a bar.”
James didn’t respond. He only lifted his glass again, draining it with tense, uneven movements.
Across from him, Neil Carmen lounged lazily on the couch, a woman draped over his arm. Lean and sharp-featured, with dark hair slicked back and a sly, calculating smile, he exuded a natural charm that drew attention effortlessly. His smirk widened.
“Well, this is a surprise. Mr. Sinclair, leaving his precious wife behind just to drink with us?” He chuckled, swirling his drink. “You, of all people, abandoning her at home for a night out? It doesn’t sound like you at all.”
James’s fingers tightened around the rim of his glass, the faint clink betraying his restraint. He said nothing, just swallowed hard and poured himself another.
Gabriel leaned forward, grinning. “Precious? More like stupid. I’ll never forget that office party.
Remember, Sinclair? She never drinks, but since you don’t touch alcohol on weekdays, she drank in your place all night.
” Gabriel’s laugh rang out loud. “She looked like she was going to collapse. Must have been the first time she ever touched alcohol. I thought she might actually die right there!” He shook his head, chuckling.
“What kind of woman does that? Isn’t she just plain stupid? ”
The two of them burst out laughing, their voices rising above the music.
James’s eyes darkened. His knuckles went white as he grabbed another drink, downing it in one gulp. The bitterness in his throat was nothing compared to the fire twisting inside his chest.
Neil’s laughter faded as he frowned, studying his friend. His voice dropped, more serious. “Why are you drinking like this? What’s going on?”
James’s voice came low, almost casual, though his eyes betrayed a tension. “Nothing happened. It’s not serious. Mia just lost her temper. She got angry over something and went back to her parents’ house.”
The words froze Neil mid-laugh. His brows drew together, confusion clouding his face. “Nonsense. What are you talking about?”
James turned sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Are you deaf?”
Neil’s amusement vanished. He straightened in his seat, his voice turning grim.
“James, her parents died last week in a car accident.” He paused, searching James’s face.
“And what house are you talking about? She doesn’t have one to return to.
The bank seized it months ago to cover her family’s debts. ”
James’s hand slipped from his glass. His head jerked up, shock flashing across his face. “What?”
Neil stared at him in disbelief. “How could you be her husband and not know this?”
For the first time, James couldn’t speak. His face paled, his lips pressed tight, as though the ground beneath him had shifted.
Gabriel snickered, his voice low and mocking, cutting through the music-drenched haze of the bar. “That woman—no wonder everyone at our parties calls her a married widow. Married to a name, not a man.”
James’s eyes snapped to Gabriel, the shock in them deepening to something darker.
Gabriel leaned closer, the smirk never leaving his face. “Even though her husband is alive, there’s no one to care for her. A dead marriage… a widow married to a ghost of a husband.”
James’s hand trembled as he set down his glass on the table.
His fingers moved almost instinctively to the wedding ring on his finger, tracing its cold metal as his body stiffened, his face frozen in a rare, transparent expression of shock and disbelief.
The laughter and chatter of the bar blurred around him.
Neil finally broke the tension, throwing an arm over James’s shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to jolt him back.
“All right, enough of this bullshit about James’s life.
We’re here to drink, not wallow. After all these years, you decided to come out on a weekday!
Put your personal life aside, at least for a night. ”
James mechanically lifted his glass, joined by Neil and the others, but his face remained pale, frozen in shock at the words he’d just heard.