Chapter2

When I returned to the manor, the iron gates had just closed.

This was the core of the East Coast's underground order. All docks, warehousing, and gray-market shipping routes were coordinated from this building.

And in the kitchen, the East Coast's most powerful mob boss was cooking dinner for another woman.

I stood in the doorway, watching Adrian in an apron at the stove, his movements practiced.

The hands holding that knife had once ordered the clearing of an entire street of enemies, but now patiently stirred the cream sauce in the pot.

Sophia sat at the island counter, swinging her legs lightly.

"You actually remembered I like cream chicken." She smiled happily. "I only mentioned it once."

Adrian replied in a low voice, "Your stomach's been bothering you. Don't eat anything too heavy."

His tone was gentle, unlike any board meeting I'd ever witnessed.

I stood there, suddenly remembering that family dinner three years ago.

I'd had a severe allergic reaction to certain seafood that night—difficulty breathing, rushed to the hospital.

That ingredient still appeared at the table afterward.

I'd reminded him twice. He'd only said absently to be more careful next time.

He'd never truly remembered.

I walked into the kitchen and placed the documents on the counter.

Sophia saw me first and immediately stood up.

"Elena, you're back? I'm sorry, I didn't know you were being discharged today, or I wouldn't have troubled Adrian like this."

She spoke gently and innocently, as if genuinely concerned for me.

Only then did Adrian turn to look at me.

"What did the doctor say?"

His tone was steady, without a ripple of emotion.

I looked at him without answering the question, instead pushing the documents toward him.

"What documents?"

My tone was calm. "Annual port scheduling updates. The lawyer's already organized everything. It's time-sensitive."

He didn't ask further questions, just wiped his hands and took the documents.

He didn't even flip to the first page—went straight to the signature line on the last page and signed decisively.

"In the future, have the secretary send these kinds of documents to the study." He pushed the documents back to me. "Don't discuss business in the kitchen."

I looked at that signature, feeling hollow inside.

It wasn't a scheduling document at all.

It was a divorce agreement and port jurisdiction transfer papers.

I hadn't told him.

If I'd told the truth, he might not have signed.

But he hadn't even read the content. He hadn't even asked a single question.

Sophia spoke up softly beside us.

"Elena, are you still angry about last night? I really didn't know you'd be in that kind of danger. If I had known, I definitely would have urged Adrian to find you."

Her tone carried apology, but her eyes kept observing my reaction.

I looked at her without speaking.

Adrian handed the documents back to me.

"Don't bring personal emotions into family affairs." His voice grew cold. "Many people are watching us. Your performance yesterday was bad enough. I don't want to see anything similar happen again."

I looked up at him.

"You think me struggling in the water was embarrassing the family?"

He frowned.

"I'm talking about controlling your emotions. Don't give opponents ammunition."

His gaze was sharp and cold—that oppressive look I knew well.

In the boardroom, he used that look to force opponents to submit.

Now, he looked at me the same way.

Sophia gently tugged his sleeve.

"Adrian, don't be so harsh. Elena is concerned about the family too." She turned to me. "Don't misunderstand, he's just under a lot of pressure. Several shipping routes at the port are under negotiation. He's barely slept."

She defended him like a considerate family member.

I suddenly realized something.

In this house, I'd never been treated as a wife.

I was a symbol of the arranged marriage, a bridge for port cooperation, a name that needed to appear on documents.

But her—she was the person he would personally cook for.

"The documents are signed." I filed the papers away. "I'll handle the follow-up."

Adrian nodded.

"Tell me in advance about these things in the future. Don't make decisions on your own."

I suddenly wanted to laugh.

The divorce papers had taken effect the moment he signed them, yet he was still reminding me not to make decisions on my own.

Sophia carried a bowl to the dining table.

"Elena, do you want to eat a little? Adrian's cooking is really good."

I looked at that bowl of seafood, my stomach tightening.

"You two eat." My tone was calm. "I'm not hungry."

I turned and left the kitchen.

Back in the bedroom, I closed the door and stood against it for a long time.

Three years. I'd tried so hard to adapt to this house, to adapt to mafia rules, learning to smile at negotiation tables, learning to stay calm behind gunfire.

I'd thought that if I did well enough, one day he'd treat me as a real wife.

Now I understood.

He'd never put me in that position.

I opened the closet and began organizing my personal belongings.

Passport, bank cards, private account documents, and old photos my mother had left behind.

I didn't touch the gowns and jewelry. Those belonged to the Godfather's wife.

I pulled open a drawer and dragged out a suitcase.

My movements were slow but exceptionally firm.

In three days, there was a flight to the West Coast. That was where Adrian's influence was weakest.

In three days, I would leave this manor.

This time, I wouldn't look back.