Chapter 2

Three weeks after she was discharged, Eleanor stood in the lobby of the Price Group headquarters. It was a monument to wealth and power, all gleaming marble and polished brass. The receptionist tried to stop her, her smile faltering when Eleanor announced herself.

"I'm Mrs. Price."

The name was a key. It unlocked every door, silenced every protest. She rode the private elevator to the top floor and walked directly into the CEO's office.

Heath was behind his massive desk, a king on his throne, overlooking all of Manhattan. He looked up, and that familiar flash of irritation crossed his face.

"Eleanor. What are you doing here?"

She didn't waste time with greetings. She walked to his desk and placed the single sheet of paper in front of him.

He glanced at the two words at the top. A short, sharp laugh escaped his lips, full of derision. "Divorce? Eleanor, have you found a new way to get my attention?"

Her expression was placid, her voice a calm, level river. "I've signed it. All you need to do is sign. The prenup stands. I take nothing."

Sean Sullivan, Heath's assistant, who stood silently by the window, drew in a sharp breath. He had never seen anyone, let alone the perpetually timid Eleanor, speak to Heath with such finality.

Heath picked up the paper. A cruel smile played on his lips. He held her gaze as he slowly, deliberately, tore the agreement into small pieces. He let the scraps of paper flutter from his fingers into the wastebasket beside his desk.

"Stop playing these stupid games," he said, his voice low and dismissive. "Go home."

Eleanor didn't flinch. It was as if she had expected this. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an identical document, placing it on the desk along with a pen.

"This one is for you," she said, her voice unwavering. "My lawyer has already filed my copy with the court."

The smile on Heath's face froze. For the first time, he truly looked at her. He saw that her green eyes were no longer filled with adoration. They were empty. A vast, quiet emptiness where love used to be.

"My lawyer, Brenna Cabrera, is very efficient," Eleanor added, her tone informational. "She advises you to sign, to avoid making this a public spectacle."

She straightened up, her posture radiating a strength he had never seen before. "I'm not asking, Heath. I'm informing you. We are done."

She turned and walked out, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. The only sounds were the frantic beating of Heath's own heart and the rustle of the damning document on his desk. He stared at it, then, with a roar of fury, swept everything off his desk. Papers, a crystal paperweight, a silver pen holder—they all crashed to the floor.

Five weeks later, Eleanor sat in the living room of her new apartment. It was a modest but elegant space in a quiet Midtown building, a world away from the cold grandeur of the Price mansion. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

The doorbell rang. Her best friend, Brenna Cabrera, strode in, all sharp angles and designer suit, and enveloped her in a fierce hug.

Brenna handed her a file. "It's done. He was served that afternoon. He never responded. The judge entered the default judgment this morning. You are officially a free woman."

Eleanor took the document. A genuine smile, the first in what felt like a lifetime, touched her lips.

"Are you sure about the prenup?" Brenna asked, her sharp lawyer's eyes filled with concern. "You could have fought for more. He owes you."

Eleanor shook her head. "I don't want anything from him. I just want to be free."

In the office of the Price Group headquarters, Heath spun a pen between his fingers, a confident smirk on his face as Sean delivered the news.

"Mr. Price... it's done. The default judgment was entered this morning."

"Let her be," Heath said coolly. "She'll come crawling back in a month, when she can't even afford her rent." He was certain of it. This was all a performance. "Book a table at Per Se for tonight. Harlow mentioned she wanted to try it."

In her sunlit apartment, Eleanor opened her laptop. She logged into a social media account under the name "HoneyHeart." The profile page showed a staggering number: millions of followers. It was her secret world, a fitness and lifestyle brand she had built from scratch. The account was registered to an LLC Brenna had set up before the marriage. Not a cent of Price money had ever touched it.

She posted a new photo: a single white orchid on her windowsill, bathed in sunlight. The caption was simple.

"A new beginning."

Comments and likes flooded in immediately. Then, one stood out. A user named "EternalAdmirer" had written: "The phoenix is reborn from the ashes. Shine on."