BAD WIFE

Chapter {23}

Three months later...

Clarissa and Jacob had long since stopped trying. Whatever possibility of reconciliation they once entertained had burned out quietly, reduced to ashes of civility and scheduled exchanges. Now, they coexisted as functional co-parents—cordial, distant, and cold. Jacob especially had mastered the art of detachment. He was rarely home, and when he was, his eyes were glued to his phone like it held the meaning of life. The only time he was truly present was when the children were around, and even then, their growing independence left little need for conversation between him and Clarissa.

It was fine. It was exactly what she had wanted. Or so she told herself.

To her, Jacob was no longer the man she once ached for—he was simply the father of her children. Nothing more. She poured her focus into charity work for Alden Enterprises, dressed in polished smiles and practiced grace, and gave the rest of her energy to her family.

She had just returned from dropping the kids off at school when the doorbell rang. A courier stood there, dressed in black and holding a thick manila envelope like it was sacred.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking it and closing the door behind her.

She padded across the foyer and into the kitchen, setting the envelope on the marble island. The seal tore with a soft rip, and her fingers paused just for a breath when she saw the header.

Divorce papers.

His signature already marked the bottom.

It didn't even register at first. She'd forgotten this was coming—forgotten how final it would feel. But there it was, tangible in her hands. The end. Official and irrevocable.

Neutral. That was the only word to describe her reaction. She didn't flinch. Didn't sigh. Didn't cry. She opened a drawer, pulled out a pen, and without hesitation, scrawled her name in clean, fluid strokes.

Done.

A flicker of something ignited in her chest—something light and defiant. This wasn't an end. It was the beginning. A clean slate. A reason to celebrate.

So what if it was a Wednesday?

She was officially a single woman again.

That night, she booked the babysitter—Jacob, as usual, was off on yet another "business trip." Then, she called Mikey.

They met at the private entrance of an exclusive club, the kind reserved for the elite where paparazzi were banned and discretion was part of the contract. It was the perfect place to disappear into the night and not care who was watching.

She was handed a drink the moment she stepped inside—bubbly and bright, the glass cold in her fingers. A waitress led them to the VIP section, tucked behind velvet curtains and tinted glass.

She and Mikey slid into a sleek leather booth. He waved down another round of drinks.

They toasted.

"To starting over," Mikey declared, raising his fruity cocktail with a flourish.

Clarissa blinked slowly, already warm from the alcohol. "Cheers," she whispered, tapping her glass to his. One sip was enough to make her skin hum, but she didn't stop.

Something inside her broke free. She wasn't sure who this version of herself was—uninhibited, bold, unbothered—but she liked her.

She grabbed Mikey's hand and pulled him out of the booth.

"Let's dance," she grinned.

The music swallowed them the moment they stepped onto the floor. Lights pulsed, bodies moved, and Clarissa lost herself in it all. She didn't know what she looked like, and she didn't care. Her hips swayed to the beat, eyes closed, hair falling in waves around her shoulders. The music wrapped around her like a lover, and she let it.