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Tomorrow was supposed to be my divorce day, marking the end of a three-year contract marriage to Olivia Hayes, the woman I hopelessly loved. But tonight, walking into Liam Peterson' s lavish penthouse, I found myself facing the man who' d effortlessly stolen my life, and the woman I called my wife. I' d just signed away my rights to her, believing it was for her well-being, only to be told by Liam that my entire marriage was a sham, a mere placeholder until he returned. He bragged about how Olivia despised my touch, how every thoughtful gesture she made-from the white roses to redecorating my office-was secretly a homage to him. Each revelation was a calculated strike, exposing me as the ultimate fool. The world tilted as I stumbled out, the image of Olivia' s social media post-her hand intertwined with his, declaring "Finally back where I belong. #truelove #reunited"-searing into my soul. I was nothing to her, less than nothing. But later, when Olivia' s grandfather beat me savagely for defending her honor, and I saw her obliviously texting Liam outside, something inside me snapped. The pain, the humiliation, the years of one-sided devotion-it all coalesced into a cold, hard resolve. I would no longer be a ghost in my own life. I would leave, taking what was left of my shattered heart, and build a new life for myself, without Olivia Hayes. Then, she called, frantic that Liam was cold. She demanded I give him the cashmere coat I bought as a symbol of my own hard-won success. The old me would have handed it over, but that man was dead. I' d give her the coat, but it would be the very last thing I ever gave her.