The Broke Husband’s Billion-Dollar Name

The Careless Signature

He ignored the text, shoving the phone into his pocket.

James stumbled into the house, he didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he sank into the armchair in the living room, the one Sophia had picked out when they moved in, its leather now worn out from being neglected.

The room only brought back memories. Her perfume still clung to a scarf on the couch, and the faint metallic tang of her old wheelchair lingered in the corner.

James lit a cigarette, his first ever, the smoke twisting in the air, a deliberate choice to mark the end of who he was for her. He'd never smoked before tonight, but the pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray spoke of a man reclaiming his drive.

The past three years played in his mind like a broken reel. Sophia’s accident, a car crash that shattered her spine and her career, had left her broken, a fallen star. He’d orchestrated her recovery behind the scenes, calling in favors she'd never known.

The world had mourned her, but it was James who stayed. He’d carried her to therapy, read scripts aloud to keep her spirits up, and celebrated her first steps when she walked again.

Their marriage, a secret to protect her image, had been his vow to her recovery. He’d believed in her, even when she stopped believing in herself. But he knew now she’d never seen the power he held back.

Now, Simon Reed was back, the man she’d loved before the crash, the one who’d vanished when she needed him most. And James? He was done being a shadow in her spotlight.

The clock ticked past 4 AM, the city outside was winding down.

He stared at the coffee table, where a birthday cake sat untouched, its white frosting pristine under plastic wrap.

He’d baked it himself, a clumsy attempt at vanilla and lavender, her favorite flavors. The gesture felt pathetic now, a reminder of a promise he’d kept for her sake alone.

The 3D billboards outside flashed Sophia’s face—her latest film poster, her smile a currency he could never afford. He stubbed out his cigarette, the ashtray overflowing, and lit another. The smoke stung his eyes, or maybe that was something else.

The front door creaked open, and Sophia Carver stepped in. She was messy, her silk blouse wrinkled, her dark hair tangled from a night James didn’t want to imagine. Faint marks, love bites, dotted her collarbone, a mark of betrayal.

She paused in the doorway, her eyes narrowing at James in the shadows, the cigarette glow revealing his face. “God, James, you look pathetic,” she said, her cold.

She tossed her purse onto the couch, ignoring the cake as if it were trash. “What’s with the smoking? Trying to play the tortured artist now?”

He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling between them. “Happy birthday, Sophia,” he said calmly. She rolled her eyes, kicking off her heels with a clatter.

“Don’t start with that,” she snapped, crossing to the kitchen. She grabbed a glass of water. “I told you I hate these celebrations. They’re a waste of time.”

James's lips curved into a bitter smile. “not birthdays,” he said evenly. “Just celebrating them with me.”

She froze, glass halfway to her lips, then laughed scornfully. “You’re so dramatic.” She set the glass down, hard, and leaned against the counter, her phone already in her hand.

She dialed, her voice softening as the call connected.

“Simon, hey,” she purred, her tone dripping with irony compared to the venom she’d spat at James. “Yeah, I’m home. Last night was… incredible.” She giggled, twirling a strand of hair, her eyes flicking to James with disdain, as if daring him to react.

He didn’t. His heart pounded, but he stood still, the cigarette burning down to his fingers. She walked back and forth, her voice cozy, intimate, as she spoke to Simon. “No, don’t worry about him,” she said, glancing at James. “He’s just… here.” The word dripped with contempt, reducing him to nothing.

James stood slowly. He crossed to the desk in the corner, pulling open a drawer. Inside were the divorce papers he’d prepared weeks ago, when Sophia’s late nights and cold silences had become unbearable. He’d signed them already, his signature a jagged scar across the page. 

Next to them was the bank card her parents had given him years ago, when they’d arranged their marriage—a transaction to ensure their paralyzed daughter wasn’t left alone. He’d never touched the money, not once.

He walked back to the table, holding the papers and card, and set them down with a soft thud. Sophia, still on the phone, barely glanced up. “What’s that?” she asked, her tone bored, one hand cradling the phone against her ear.

“Divorce papers,” James said, firmly. “Sign them.”

She froze, her eyes flicking to the papers, then back to him. A smirk curled her lips, and she laughed. “Whatever, James,” she said, snatching a pen from the table. She scribbled her signature carelessly across the page without reading, as if signing a receipt. “There. Happy now?” She slid the papers back to him, her eyes already back on her phone. “Simon, hold on a sec,” she said, then turned to James, her voice dripping with scorn. “Since I pay for everything here, make yourself useful as a stay-at-home husband. While you’re at it, do my laundry. It’s piling up, and I’m not your maid.”

James stared at her, the papers trembling in his hands. Did she even know what she’d signed? The finality of it, the end of their marriage, seemed to mean nothing to her. She was already back on the phone, her voice soft again, laughing with Simon as if James were invisible. “Yeah, baby, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, turning away, her heels clicking toward the stairs.

He stood still, the divorce papers firm in his grip, the bank card cold against his palm. The cake sat untouched. He could hear Sophia’s laughter from upstairs. Do her laundry? After she’d signed away their marriage without a second glance? The audacity of it, the sheer cruelty, hit him like all at once.

His eyes burned, not from the smoke but from the burden of her indifference. He looked at the papers, her signature a messy scribble, and knew she’d underestimated him—but not for long.