In the quiet, dimly lit hotel room, Lydia was indulging in her nightly facial routine after a long, luxurious massage. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air as she carefully applied cream to her face, her movements slow and deliberate. She had just finished massaging the product into her skin when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Glancing at the screen, she saw Martello's name flashing, and a wave of irritation washed over her. She ignored the call, already knowing what he wanted. But a minute later, the phone rang again.
With a sigh of annoyance, Lydia picked up the phone. "Hello?" she answered, her voice dripping with impatience.
From the other side, Martello's voice came through, loud and frantic. "Why did I receive divorce papers at home? Is this some kind of joke?"
Lydia's tone remained calm, almost icy. "I don't do jokes, Martello," she replied. "I've wanted to do this for a long time. Milo is grown up; he can handle it just fine now."
