CHAPTER 252: CHAPTER 252 ASHTON: PLANNING THE EXIT BEFORE THE ENTRANCE

She said ‘prenup’. I heard ‘divorce’.

I stared at the document in my hands. ‘Why?’

‘Isn’t it standard practice? You gave me something to sign when we got fake married.’

‘Exactly. “Fake” being the operative word. This isn’t.’ My voice barely rose above the roar in my ears.

What was she playing at? Drawing up an escape route before we’d even made it to the aisle? Did she really have that little faith in us?

‘I thought you liked contracts.’ She sounded genuinely baffled, even a bit hurt. ‘It protects both our interests. I don’t get why you’re so worked up about it.’

I kept my eyes on the document. If I looked at her, she’d see too much.

‘Will you at least skim it? We can change anything you’re not happy with.’

Skim it? All I wanted to do was rip the bloody thing into confetti and scatter it to the wind.

Still, I sat down and flipped open the first page.

Most of it read like a remix of the contract I’d made her sign for our fake marriage—clearly, Mira had studied my playbook.

But the real kicker was in the assets section. I had to re-read it to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

If we divorced on neutral terms, Mira would walk away with nothing—no settlement, no jewellery, no shares in Nyx Collective—and she’d buy out my stake in Mira Joie at market price.

A clean break.

It was all laid out in plain, emotionless language. To any outsider, it would look not just fair, but generous. Amicable, even.

If I weren’t the one being cut out.

‘How long have you been working on this?’ I asked, keeping my voice level.

‘Not long. Two, maybe three days? I got my lawyer friend to draft it. He did most of the work.’

‘Finn Carter?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘He gave me the friends and family discount.’

Brilliant. Finn Carter. The same guy who took her libel case against Rhys for free, who took her out to lunch, who looked at her like he’d love nothing more than to rip off his shirt and offer her his heart on a platter.

‘Looks like Finn’s thought of everything,’ I said coolly, tamping down the fury rising in my throat.

We hadn’t even been properly engaged for two weeks and she already had an exit strategy.

‘He’s good at what he does,’ Mira said breezily. Either she didn’t notice my tone or she didn’t care. ‘But you can still make changes.’

‘It says here that if I cheat, or if the break-up’s my fault, you get Nyx Collective. You think I’m going to cheat on you?’

She gave a sheepish shrug. ‘It’s just a safeguard. These things have to be comprehensive. It’s not personal. Look, there’s also a clause for if I cheat.’

I tossed the document onto the coffee table. ‘I’m not signing it.’

‘Why not?’ she asked, staring at me.

I didn’t have an answer I could say out loud.

Mira was only doing what I’d taught her—protect yourself first.

Wasn’t I the one who showed her the first contract? The one that turned love into a business deal?

So why did it feel like a slap in the face now that she’d learned to do it better than me?

My thoughts drifted to Lea. The contrast was jarring. When I met her earlier, she wouldn’t even let me speak to that violent bastard she married. The woman sobbing into her wine last night was gone. I had to pry information about the guy out of Kylian.

She’d had no prenup. Which made things messy. Even if Lea finally agreed to a divorce, it’d be a long, bitter slog. Kylian said Pierre’s family would fight it tooth and nail.

Mira, on the other hand, had everything locked down. Bulletproof.

Two women, two extremes. And somehow, both left me furious.

‘Maybe we can talk about this later,’ Mira said, backing down. ‘Didn’t you say we’re seeing a designer today? I’m excited.’

‘Are you really?’ How could she be excited about wedding dresses when she’d already planned for the divorce?

‘Of course. Who doesn’t like new clothes? I looked up his portfolio. Valmont & Cie might even collaborate with him. Haute couture and fine jewellery—natural playmates, right?’

‘And if we divorce, do you keep the wedding dress?’ I asked, sharper than I meant to.

‘I don’t know. What’s the prenup say?’ She turned to me. ‘Oh, you’re still mad?’

‘Glad you’ve noticed.’

‘But I don’t get why. And you won’t explain.’ Her back was up now, I could tell. ‘You know, the whole strong, silent routine’s out of fashion. We prefer men who speak up these days. If you’ve got something to say, say it—instead of brooding like you’ve forgotten how to use your mouth.’

‘When I gave you that contract last year, you took days to think it over. This time, it took what—two days after the engagement for you to start working on an exit clause? You called your lawyer before you even picked a venue. If I hadn’t brought up the designer, would you have just bought a dress off the rack? I hear most women find that an insult.’

‘So this is about me not planning the wedding?’ Mira threw her hands up. ‘You and Yvaine both. What’s with this idea that if the bride’s not micromanaging the whole thing, it means she doesn’t care? It’s like saying if a woman doesn’t cook, she doesn’t love her husband. Outdated crap. Fine, you want the truth? I don’t care much about the wedding. There. Happy?’

She kept going. ‘We’re already married. We’ve gone public. I don’t see the point of a big ceremony. But if it matters to you, I’ll do it. I’ll book the venue, send the invites, shout at the florists and caterers and whoever else until it’s all perfect. Is that what you want?’

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The pressure behind my eyes was starting to throb.

‘No. That’s not what I want. I’ll handle the logistics. I just don’t want you prepping the parachute before you’ve even boarded the plane.’

‘It’s not a parachute!’ she snapped, then caught herself. Took a deep breath. ‘It’s like insurance. You buy it when you fly—you don’t PLAN to crash, it’s just common sense.’

‘I don’t buy plane tickets. I have a plane.’

That tripped her up for a second. Then she clenched her jaw. ‘You know that’s not the bloody point.’

‘I get your point.’ I just didn’t agree with it.

‘So you’re not signing?’

‘No.’

‘Fine. Your loss.’

‘Will you still go to the dress fitting?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m tempted to say no, but you’ll only twist it into proof I don’t care about the wedding. So yes. I’ll go.’

‘The car’s—’ My phone rang.

I glanced at the caller ID. Declined it.

‘We could grab dinner after—’

It rang again. Same name. I declined.

Then it rang a third time. Relentless.

‘You should take that,’ Mira said, watching me. ‘Looks serious.’