RISEN FROM THE ASHES: GOD OF CHAOS

“I don’t understand,” Flynn Grayson said as he stared at the brown envelope on his desk.  

“There are divorce papers, Mr. Grayson. And all you have to do is sign them,” Francesca Montana said as she stood before him. 

She was his wife, Ava’s lawyer. But what Flynn didn’t understand was what she was doing in the office by 10 in the morning, with an envelope containing divorce papers. Things were shaky in his marriage with Ava for the last few months, but this came as a shock to him. 

Is Ava sending him divorce papers?

 It was unimaginable. 

“There has to be some kind of mistake here,” he said, blinking hard, as he tried to digest what was unraveling. 

“I don’t think that you need much to understand what’s going on here, Mr. Grayson. Your wife doesn’t want you anymore, and so she sent me here,” Francesca said, barely hiding her irritation. 

She was dressed in a gray suit with matching pants, which brought out her curves in all the right places. Her dark bob hair, which glinted in the morning sun that washed into the room, brushed against her cheeks as she shook her head at him. Her hazel eyes were narrowed in impatience as she waited for Flynn to get on with it. 

“No,” Flynn said, clenching his fist and slamming it on the table. “I’m not signing this. Not without an explanation.”

Francesca’s face was twisted in rage at his words. “There’s no need for us to go down that path, Mr. Grayson. My client is simply no longer interested in you and wants the split.  You can’t thwart her efforts this….”

“And that client is my wife!” He yelled, his voice booming through the room like it had been amplified with speakers. 

Francesca looked completely shocked by that. But she was relentless. Her full lips, which were glistening with strawberry-flavored gloss, slanted as she thought of her next piece of action. There was only one thing she could do. And that was to call on her client, Ava Grayson. 

Flynn, on the other hand, was trying to understand what was going on. Ava hadn’t been vocal with her dissatisfaction in their marriage, which was why he found it hard to believe that she would do something like this. This could only be the work of one person—Austen Hendrix, her father, and his father-in-law. 

Unlike Ava, Austen had been pretty vocal about his disdain for their marriage. He had always told Ava that she could have done better in a husband than Flynn, and that always broke Flynn. But Ava had always fought back and was always supportive of him in everything he did. That was why he couldn’t turn his back on her.  And that was why he wouldn’t believe that she was behind this.  

“Let me speak with my wife,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. 

Francesca, who had been waiting silently, hoping that he would change his mind before he was too late, bent over before she could grasp what he said. 

“Ava wished to be kept out of this,” she said. 

Flynn furrowed his brows, veins popping at his temples as he glared at her. 

“I demand to speak with her now!” He barked. 

Francesca sighed and pouted as she stared at the fuming Flynn sitting before her. Knowing that this wasn’t going to go forward without his approval, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She dialed Ava’s number and waited. 

Flynn watched nervously as Francesca phoned his wife. He was trying his best to keep his composure, but was failing terribly. He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest, and the echoes reverberated in his eardrums. 

“He wants to see you first,” Francesca said, before ending the call. 

Before Flynn could ask if that was all, the door creaked open, and a blonde woman dressed in a black shirt and gray office pants walked into the room. Her blue eyes caught the morning sun, making them glitter and highlighting the appalled expression on her face. 

“Ava,” Flynn said, rising from his desk. “Can you believe this? She is asking me to sign some divorce papers, saying it’s an order from you.”

Ava cranked an eyebrow at him, with one hand in her pocket, and her thin lips pressed together. But then, Flynn’s world shattered when she spoke. 

“Sign them, Flynn.”

Flynn was confused as he heard that. He thought his eardrums had been ruined by the constant pounding going on there. 

“What?” He finally asked. 

“It’s over between us, Flynn,” Ava replied coldly. 

Flynn ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. How could this be happening? Where did it all go wrong?

“Ava. What’s going on? Did your father send you to do this?” He asked from the desk. 

Ava took a couple of steps forward before stopping beside Francesca, who had her hands folded. She had a smug smile on her face—one of satisfaction. 

“I told you, Flynn. I’m done carrying you on my back,” she said. “I’ve helped you over the last five years. The desk you are seated on is supposed to be mine. But I gave that to you. I just can’t keep carrying you.”

Flynn clenched his jaw. 

“Then, I’ll find another job. I’ll find a way to make this work,” he begged. “Please don’t do this, Ava. You’re all that I have left.”

“Not this time, Flynn,” she said, her voice still cold. 

At this point, Flynn realized that she had made up her mind since before she walked into the room, and there was nothing he could do to change it. So there was only one thing left for him to do. And that was to move on. 

He sat back on the chair, defeated, and opened the envelope. He pulled out the papers and went through them, and at the footer was her signature. His heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he looked up at her. 

“You already signed it?” He asked, but didn’t get a response. 

With that, he clenched his jaws and signed the papers, his pulse drumming in his ears. When he was done, Francesca stepped forward and picked up the papers, placing them back into the envelope. 

“And one more thing,” Ava said, stepping forward. 

Flynn looked up at her with a cranked eyebrow.

“You’re fired.”