Soren
Two weeks had passed since she demanded a divorce. Two weeks since she punched me into the wall and stormed out. Two weeks since the woman I'd spent years obsessing over walked away like I was an inconvenience she could solve with paperwork.
Not that I didn't deserve it, but that didn't cool the sting.
We knew where she was. Of course we did. Knowing the whereabouts of your wife at all times wasn't stalking.
It was security.
At least, that was the justification we gave each other. Every morning, we received updates. Where she slept. Where she'd gone. Who she spoke to. Which lawyers she'd contacted. What judges were petitioned. How many times she'd attempted to challenge the validity of the contract. How many times she'd failed.
It was fascinating.
Watching Maisie Adams attempt to escape the contract was like watching a hurricane try to punch through a mountain. Undeterred. Determined. Entirely unwilling to accept reality.
And strangely beautiful.
