"You should sign," Ethan said, sliding a pristine divorce agreement onto the coffee table.
Valentina looked at the paper as if it were an animal she had to coax out of hiding. The type was clean. The language was clean. The signature line waited like a verdict.
"Why now?" she asked.
Ethan folded his hands. "Timing is a risk-management issue, Val. Lumen needs distance. Consolidate. Avoid leaks."
"Distance," she repeated. "You mean—"
"I mean this is the cleanest exit for both of us." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
She picked the document up with both hands and set it back down. "I asked you to move out last month. You called it efficiency."
"I called it what it is." He looked at her the way lawyers examine contracts: searching for a loophole, not a person.
Valentina breathed. She forced herself to explain other things later, to fix what needed fixing, but not now.
"Can we wait three months?" she said.
Ethan blinked once, then smiled without humor. "Three months for what?"
"For... three months," she said. "Not reconciliation. Not public statements. Just—hold on to the official paper for ninety days. I need time to settle things. Finish a project at the hospital. Tie up accounts."
He laughed softly. "You want me to pretend we're married while we're not."
"I want the legal finalization delayed," she said. "I'm asking for a limit, not a lie."
Ethan's eyes went sharp
