Snow fell heavily outside, covering the world in a ghostly veil. Inside, Cynthia sat on a couch in a brightly lit room, a surreal contrast to the shadowed night beyond. She cradled a steaming cup of tea, staring blankly at the papers spread across the table.
A bitter laugh escaped her, the sound strangely muffled, as her eyes rested on the title: [Divorce Agreement].
Her gaze drifted from the papers to the man seated across from her. He was always focused on the documents, his face a cold mask.
"You want a divorce?" Cynthia's voice wavered, cracking as though it were an echo from another time.
Lucian nodded, his silence speaking volumes.
"Is it because of that wen—" Cynthia's lips trembled as she caught herself, the term feeling foreign. "That woman," she corrected, her voice barely a whisper in the dreamlike haze.
"Think what you will," Lucian's words felt detached, "but this marriage has lost its meaning."
