Page 94 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

Damien no longer controlled Blackthorne Global alone—and neither did Aria. Employees, independent directors, and the medical foundation held protected voting shares. The corporate empire had finally become something no single Blackthorne could possess or manipulate.

Yet despite the peace they had painstakingly built, a final shadow remained between them.

On a quiet Tuesday evening, Damien arrived at their residence to find a thick manila envelope resting on his study desk.

Divorce papers. Signed cleanly by Aria.

Damien’s heart slammed against his ribs. He read her signature three times, searching frantically for some hidden clause or legal condition that would tell him what came next. There was none. He could have called his battery of corporate lawyers. He could have found a legal mechanism to delay the filing and force her hand. The old Damien would have engineered circumstances until leaving became impossible.

Instead, he placed the papers back into the envelope, sat down in the quiet study, and buried his face in his hands. Loving her had finally meant accepting an outcome he could not manipulate.

He walked to her private suite, stopping just outside the open threshold. Aria stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in the gold light of sunset, one hand resting over her prominently swollen stomach.

“You signed them,” Damien said, his voice stripped of all its usual corporate steel.

“Our marriage began with coercion and leveraged debt,” Aria replied, turning to face him calmly. “I cannot build the rest of my life on a foundation that started as a contract.”

His face emptied of color. “Are you leaving me?”

“The legal marriage ends tomorrow.”

“That was not my question, Aria.”

“Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow morning at ten.”

Damien looked at her for a long, agonizing moment, his dark eyes filled with a raw, defenseless vulnerability. “Will you tell me whether I should have hope?”

Aria crossed the room, stepping close to him, and reached up to gently touch the place on his cheek she had once struck in anger.

“No,” she said softly. “You’ll have to come without controlling the answer.”

He arrived at the courthouse at nine-thirty.

Chapter Thirty: Chosen

The judge finalized their divorce at precisely ten-twelve.

The original contract marriage—born from eighty-seven dollars, a dying mother, and a forced signature—ended after exactly two hundred and seventeen days. Damien signed the dissolution decrees without a single word of protest, accepting the end of his leverage.

As they walked out into the marble corridor of the courthouse, Damien reached into his coat and handed Aria a sleek black leather folder.

“What is this?” she asked, pausing beside the heavy oak doors.

“Property transfer documents,” Damien explained quietly. “The penthouse, the trust distributions, and your personal equity shares in the medical foundation remain entirely yours. There are no prenuptials, no hidden stipulations, and no legal reversions.”

Aria looked up, a faint smile touching her lips. “You came prepared.”

“Preparation is not the same as control,” he replied, looking down at his polished shoes.

“You really are learning.”

Damien looked toward the grand exit doors of the courthouse, his throat working. “Is that all?”

Instead of walking away, Aria reached into her handbag and withdrew a second folder, holding it out to him.

Inside was an official marriage license application from the city clerk’s office. There was no prenuptial agreement attached. No financial compensation, no expiration clause, and no private rules.

Damien stared at the document, his breath catching in his chest. “Aria...”