The Day We Divorced, He Went Viral in My Mind

Three years of marriage, and Declan Shaw never once looked at me like I was a woman.

I danced around a pole in a maid costume right in front of him. All he said was, Don't catch a cold.

I told myself he simply had no feelings for meand handed him the divorce papers.

He didn't even glance up. He just picked up the pen and signed without a moment's hesitation.

But the instant the ink hit the page, I saw it.

Golden wordsglowing and boldscrolling across the air above his head:

[She's actually going through with it?!]

[This pen is terrible. Can it just run out of ink already?]

[Is it too late for me to fake passing out?]

My name is Daisy Robinson.

Twenty-six years old. Married for three years. Getting divorced today.

Declan Shaw and I were sitting across from each other in the VIP conference room of a law firm downtown.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Typhoon Mitag was tearing through the city. Rain lashed the glass, wind howled through the streetslike something was trying to swallow the whole city whole.

The atmosphere inside was quieter than the eye of the storm.

"Mr. Shaw, Mrs. Robinsonthis is the final version of the divorce agreement. If there are no objections, please sign on the last page." The attorney slid a copy in front of each of us.

I looked down at those few thin sheets of paper. My fingertips were cold.

Three years ago, I married Declan.

When the Robinson family and Shaw Group announced the union, all of Hollywood said I was punching well above my weight. Declan was the head of Shaw Group out of Los Angelesruthless, unreadable, never letting a flicker of emotion cross his face. He was the kind of man no one dared to dream of.

And I was just the overlooked eldest daughter of the Robinson family.

My mother died when I was young. My father eventually brought home his new wife, Veronica Croft, and her daughter. After that, I became invisible in my own home.

The only person I truly cared about was my younger brother, Leo Robinson.

Three years ago, Leo got caught up in a hit-and-run. The evidence was overwhelming. He was looking at ten years or more behind bars. I had nowhere to turnand my father pushed me right in front of Declan.

"Daisy," he said, "you marry into Shaw Group, and Leo walks free."

I didn't have a choice.

But on my wedding day, I'd let myself hope, just a little.

Declan stepped in when people kept pushing drinks on me. He reached down and straightened my dress. When Veronica tried to remind me to show her proper respect as an elder, he cut her off with a single cold look and said, "She's Mrs. Shaw now. I'd like to see anyone try to give her a hard time?"

I thoughtat the very leasthe must have had some feelings for me.

Then came our wedding night. His phone rang. He answered it, didn't even change out of his suit, and walked out the door.

At five in the morning, he came back reeking of cold air and something metallic, like blood.

I was still sitting on the bed waiting for him. I looked up and asked, "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

He glanced at mejust onceand said two words: "Something came up."

Two words. Like a bucket of ice water poured over every foolish hope I'd let myself hold.

For the next three years, we were the most perfectly civil strangers who ever shared a last name.

We lived under the same roof but slept in separate rooms. We went back to the family estate together for holidays and played the part of a happy couple in front of his family. When people asked about me, he'd say flatly, "She's fine."

But in privatehe never held me. Never kissed me. Never explained anything. Never crossed the line.

Once, I looked at him with tears burning in my eyes and asked, "Declan, do you hate me?"

He didn't look up from the papers in his hand. "Stop overthinking it."

After that, I stopped asking.

Some people are just stone cold. You can press your hands against them until you're numb and they'll never warm up. I was done trying.

A week ago, I left the divorce agreement on his desk.

Declan stared at it for a long time.

Long enough that I started to think he might actually ask me why.

But in the end, he just picked up a pen and said one word: "Fine."

Three years of marriage. And that's all it was worth in the endone word.

Now the attorney set the pen down in front of him.

Declan picked it up, expression blank, like he'd just wrapped up some unremarkable business acquisition. He uncapped it, gripped the barrel between steady, long-fingered hands, and signed his name in one clean, unhesitating stroke.

I watched him finish. Took a slow breath. Reached for my own pen.

The moment the tip was about to touch the paper

Golden words burst into the air above Declan's head, bold and glowing:

[She's actually signing?!]

My hand jerked. The pen dragged a long black line across the page.

I froze.

More words came scrolling through:

[This pen is terriblecan it just run out of ink already?]

[Is it too late for me to fake passing out?]

[Declan. Pull it together. You're the ex-husband here. Don't make it weird.]

I stared wide-eyed at the top of his head.

I figured I must be hallucinating I hadn't slept well these past few days, not with the divorce weighing on me.

I closed my eyes.

Three seconds later, I opened them.

The floating messages above Declan's head were still there, scrolling even faster than before.

Why does she keep staring at me?

Does she regret it?

No way. The way she grabbed that pen was more decisive than me signing billion-dollar contracts.

Is she really not even a little sad? Three years you'd still get attached to a dog after three years!

Chapter 2###

"Mrs. Robinson?" The lawyer looked puzzled when I still hadn't signed.

I snapped back to the present and glanced at Declan.

He sat perfectly composed suit crisp, jaw tight, eyes cold and unreadable.

But the floating messages above his head were already crawling all the way up to the ceiling.

Don't sign it.

Please. Don't sign it.

Who gets divorced during a typhoon? That's terrible luck.

If she just puts the pen down, I'll hand over every share I own. All of it.

I fought to keep the corners of my mouth from twitching and deliberately slowed my hand, writing "Daisy Robinson" in careful, deliberate strokes.

The moment the last stroke landed, the messages above Declan's head erupted into a wall of gray static.

Like a system crash.

The lawyer collected the agreement and smiled. "Well, the paperwork is all signed. However, there's a red typhoon warning in effect outside, and the entire building has been locked down. I'm afraid neither of you will be able to leave for now we'll need to ask you to spend the night in our firm's lounge. We apologize for the inconvenience."

I nodded. "That's fine."

Declan gave a composed nod as well. "Understood."

The next second, massive red text erupted above his head:

THANK GOD!!!

Bless this typhoon. Bless the universe.

Mitag, you're my hero. I love you!!!

I nearly burst out laughing right there.

The lawyer led us up to the VIP lounge on the top floor.

The room was spacious, with a large leather sofa. Just one sofa.

The lawyer gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mr. Robinson we have more guests staying over than expected tonight, and this is the only lounge we have left."

Declan said coolly, "It's fine."

The door clicked shut, leaving the two of us alone.

The silence turned awkward immediately.

I walked to the window and watched the wind howl outside.

"Once the typhoon passes, I'll move out." I spoke to the window, keeping my voice steady.

Declan's low, flat voice came from behind me. "Do whatever you want."

Those words again.

I'd heard them countless times over the past three years.

I said I wanted to visit my family. Do whatever you want.

I said I wouldn't be home for dinner. Do whatever you want.

I said I wanted a divorce. Do whatever you want.

He never tried to stop me. Never lost his composure. Never let a single thing I did get under his skin.

But right at that moment, I used to think he would never hold me back, never lose control, never show any emotion because of me.

But at that exact moment, a line of black text suddenly appeared above his head.

Whatever the hell you want.

I turned around and looked at him.

He was sitting on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine, not even sparing me a glance.

But the words above his head kept coming.

She's really leaving?

Where's she even going? Does she think she can go back to that mess of a Robinson family? Veronica and her mother would eat her alive.

No, I can't ask where she's moving.

If I ask, it'll look like I care.

I do care.

But she wants a divorce. What right do I even have to say anything?

I stared at those words, and something indescribable twisted in my chest.

For three years, I had always thought he was cold and indifferent, that I meant nothing to him.

Turns out, there was a whole storm raging inside his head.

I walked over and stood in front of him, looking down at him. "I don't have much stuff. I'll go back tomorrow, pack it up should be done in half a day."

Declan's fingers paused for just a moment as he turned a page, his voice as flat as ever. "Do you need me to send someone to help?"

He said it like he was asking if I needed a housekeeping? service.

But the words above his head were going crazy.

Yes.

I need to.

Why send someone else I'll help her myself.

No, wait. I can't help. If I help, she'll be gone even faster.

Can I get someone to change the locks on the house? Or just burn all her luggage?

I looked up at him and deliberately drew out my words. "No need. I'll manage on my own. After all, we're basically exes now better to keep things at a distance."

Declan's eyes darkened slightly. "Suit yourself."

Nothing about this is fine.

Not even a little.

Who said I want to be your ex?

I moved to the other end of the couch and pulled out my phone, deliberately opening a dating site right in front of him.

I wasn't actually planning to use it I just wanted to see how long he could keep up the act.

"Oh, by the way," I said, keeping my tone light, "now that we're getting divorced, I should probably start thinking about my next chapter. Mr. Shaw, you've seen a lot of the world do you think blind dates are worth a shot?"

The air went completely still.

Declan snapped the magazine shut and looked up. Those dark eyes locked onto me.

His expression didn't change.

But the feed above his head exploded exclamation marks flooding in from every direction.

A blind date?

She just signed the divorce papers ten minutes ago and she's already thinking about dating?

Am I dead to her? Does she think I no longer exist?

Which guy dares to go on a blind date with her? I'll ruin him before the night is over.

Chapter 3###

I pretended not to notice, scrolling through my phone at my own unhurried pace.

"This one looks nice," I murmured to myself. "He's a doctor. Gentle, refined."

Declan put the magazine down. His voice was ice-cold: "Daisy."

"Hmm?" I looked up.

"We signed the divorce agreement, but we haven't filed at City Hall yet. Legally, you're still my wife." He stared at me, every word deliberate. "Going on dates while still legally married makes you the at-fault party."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that legal advice, Mr. Shaw?"

His tone stayed level. "I'm just reminding you. Watch how this looks."

The feed:

Because I'll lose my mind.

Because I can't stand the thought of you smiling at another man.

Because I haven't learned how to lose you yet.

Please. Don't look at anyone else.

The last line appeared slowly.

Like it was rising from somewhere deep inside him, surfacing bit by bit carrying a barely perceptible trace of desperation.

I found I couldn't smile anymore.

I set my phone down and looked at him steadily. "Declan, do you not want the divorce?"

He went rigid.

The feed went blank.

Three full seconds.

Then a flood of scrambled text.

She asked.

Say you don't want it.

Say something, Declan what's your mouth for, just breathing?

But... if I say it, will she even believe me? She'll just think I feel sorry for her.

Declan's throat shifted as he swallowed. He finally spoke. "If you've already made your decision, I respect it."

The feed:

Pathetic.

Declan, you're absolutely pathetic.

I lowered my gaze. That small, fragile softness that had just begun to stir inside me was pushed back down hard by those words.

I respect that.

Always, always I respect that.

But what I'd always wanted from him was never his dignity or his respect.

"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep." I got up, walked to the far end of the couch, and lay down with my back to him.

The couch was wide, but two people was still a tight fit.

Declan didn't move.

After a long while, I heard him get up.

He took off his suit jacket and draped it quietly over me.

The jacket carried his scent that cool, crisp cedar-and-fir fragrance wrapping around me all at once.

I kept my eyes shut and stayed still.

A faint sigh drifted down from above.

The feed flickered with a dim glow in the dark:

I'm sorry.

But Dais, I really don't know how to love you.

By the next morning, the typhoon had finally passed.

We left the law office and drove back to the Shaw Group estate.

The moment I walked through the door, I started packing.

There wasn't much to pack, honestly. Three years, and I'd always lived like someone who might leave at any moment never letting myself treat this place as home.

Declan stood in the bedroom doorway, watching as I folded my clothes into the suitcase, one piece at a time.

He didn't say anything.

But the feed was nearly swallowing the whole room.

She's really leaving.

Three years why does she have so little?

All the jewelry I bought her, all the haute couture why isn't she taking any of it?

Has she never once thought of this place as home?

That last line made my hands stop for just a moment.

Right. Because I'd never once felt loved here. How could I have called it home?

I pulled the zipper closed on my suitcase. The sound tore through the quiet bedroom like a blade.

"All done." I turned and looked at him.

Declan's expression shifted a subtle darkness crossing his face.

His lips moved. In the end, he only said: "I'll have the driver take you."

The feed:

Don't go.

Please.

Chapter 4###

I took a slow breath and pulled a black card from the drawer. I held it out to him. "Here this is yours. I never touched the money."

Declan looked at the card. His expression sank, slowly.

"Why?"

"It's not mine."

His voice went slightly cold. "It's marital property. You have every right to use it."

I smiled faintly. "Declan, we've been married three years and we barely even felt like a real couple. Doesn't talking about marital property feel a little ridiculous?"

He went silent.

But the feed kept coming, line after line.

She doesn't even want the money.

She really left herself no way back at all.

For these three years, just how insecure have I made her feel?

Declan didn't take the card. Instead, he reached out and grabbed my wrist.

His palm was burning hot so hot I flinched.

"Keep it." His voice was low and rough. "Even after the divorce, you're still a daughter of the Robinson family. Don't put yourself through hardship."

[Feed:]

Just take it.

At least don't let me worry about you suffering.

I looked at him, about to pull free, when I suddenly felt something rough and uneven against my skin.

I grabbed his hand and flipped it over.

There was a deep, old scar carved across his palm.

And it didn't stop there the scar stretched up his wrist and disappeared beneath his sleeve.

I froze.

"What is this?"

Declan's expression shifted instantly. He yanked his hand back.

"Nothing. I cut myself by accident a long time ago." He moved his hand behind his back.

I kept staring at him.

His feed erupted in blinding red.

Don't look.

She can't know.

That knife wound from the underground?market three years ago it went too deep. What if it scares her?

If she finds out I nearly died in that underground parking garage trying to get Leo's dashcam back, what would she think?

She'd feel guilty.

I don't want her guilt.

My mind went blank. Something detonated inside my skull.

Three years ago?

The underground market?

Leo's dashcam?

My whole body was shaking. I stared at Declan. "You're lying. On our wedding night three years ago where did you really go?"

Declan's face was stone cold. "I told you. I went to handle something for the company."

"You lied to me!" I lunged forward and grabbed his collar, tearing it open.

Buttons snapped off and scattered across the floor.

Declan didn't move.

Across his broad chest was a massive scar stretching from his left shoulder all the way down to his right side.

It looked like something monstrous had been carved into him. Grotesque. Terrifying.

I gasped, and tears burst from my eyes before I could stop them.

How brutal had that blow been, to leave a scar like this?

"This is from handling company business?" My voice shook. The tears wouldn't stop.

Declan panicked.

He fumbled forward, desperate to wipe my tears away but couldn't bring himself to touch me.

The red feed flashed wildly:

Don't cry.

Daisy, don't cry.

I can't stand it when you cry.

I never should have let her see.

I shoved his hand away, sobbing. "Declan, how much have you been hiding from me? Leo's case back then was it you who"

"No." He cut me off, sharp and final. "He got lucky. The police found new evidence on their own."

[Feed:]

It was me.

Ryder Sinclair paid people on the underground market to destroy that dashcam footage.

I had no choice but to go get it back myself.

That knife nearly hit my spine. But I got it.

Not that it matters. I don't want her staying with me out of gratitude.