I Signed My Divorce and Gave My Heart to His Brother

I still carry the memory of that night from years ago—the first time Victor decided to learn sign language for me. It was long past midnight. The house was quiet, wrapped in sleep, except for the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. Victor sat at the desk, shoulders squared, eyes focused, repeating the same hand movements again and again with unwavering concentration. I had written something on a small notepad and slid it across the desk, resting my fingers lightly over his. You don’t need to do this, I told him. I can handle it. I’ve lived this way my whole life. He lifted his gaze and smiled at me—the kind of smile that always made me believe he meant every word he said. “Isabelle,” he signed slowly, deliberately, “you’ve already endured enough. You spent years unable to hear anyone, carrying everything alone. I hate the thought of you facing that world by yourself. Let me be the one who understands you. Let me speak for you when you can’t. Let me be the place you feel safe.” Those words shattered something inside me—in the best way. I cried that night, helpless and raw, like a child who had finally been seen. Because for the first time, someone was willing to step into my silence just to reach me. Not Julian. Not my parents, who always treated me as nothing more than Bianca’s lesser reflection. And certainly not Bianca herself—the very person who had stolen my hearing from me. That memory came rushing back like a waking nightmare. I was thirteen then. Bianca and I had been standing outside the Sterling estate after school. I clutched my sketchbook tightly against my chest, a small, hopeful smile on my face when I saw Julian’s car approaching from the road. But Bianca’s expression shifted the moment she noticed it. I recognize that look now—the same one she always wore right before taking something away from me. “Isabelle, get out of the way!” she yelled, yanking hard on my wrist. Before my mind could even catch up to her words, she shoved me forward with force. My feet lost balance, my body pitching ahead—straight into the path of the oncoming car. Everything blurred. I remember the blinding glare of headlights, the screech of tires, the horn screaming into the air. Then the impact. My head struck the ground first—right by my ear. Pain detonated through me, white-hot and consuming. Then the world dissolved into darkness. When I finally woke up days later in the hospital, the silence was unbearable. I couldn’t hear my mother’s voice. I couldn’t hear the doctors explaining what had happened. I couldn’t even hear myself when I tried to scream. All I saw were Bianca’s tears as she sat beside my bed, her lips moving gently, her hands clutching mine as if she cared. But I knew better. I knew that push hadn’t been a mistake. She had wanted me gone. She wanted Julian all to herself. That was the day sound disappeared from my world. And that was also the day I learned how easy it was to become invisible. For a long time, I believed Victor was different. I thought he was my refuge—my safe place. But now, watching his hands move so fluidly in front of me, all I felt was bitterness. The same gestures that once felt like protection had become proof of deception. He had hidden behind my silence, murmuring his devotion to Bianca while I sat beside him, smiling like a fool, unaware of every cruel word. “Love,” he signed casually, “we should start getting ready. Bianca’s birthday banquet is about to begin. If we arrive late, people will start talking.” His eyes brightened when he signed her name. Not mine. Not ours. Hers. Something twisted painfully in my chest. Still, I raised my hands and responded slowly, carefully. Give me a moment, I signed. I’ll go change first. I fled upstairs. The second I shut the bedroom door behind me, my strength collapsed. My shoulders trembled as tears streamed down my face, completely soundless. It was the kind of crying that didn’t make noise—the kind that drained you until there was nothing left inside. After a long while, I forced myself to breathe again. I wiped my swollen eyes, smoothed my hair, and slipped into a simple yet elegant gown. I refused to give Bianca—or anyone else—another reason to look down on me. As I headed back downstairs, a thin beam of light spilled from Victor’s study. The door was slightly open. In three years of marriage, I had never stepped inside. Victor always told me it was his personal space, and I respected that boundary. I believed it was his way of separating work from home. But that night, something urged me forward. I reached out and pushed the door open. What I saw stole the breath from my lungs. The walls weren’t lined with business documents or family photographs. They were covered—completely covered—with images of Bianca. Bianca as a child. Bianca as a teenager. Bianca laughing, crying, smiling. Every version of her, preserved and framed like something sacred. There wasn’t a single photo of me. Not even our wedding picture. My legs wobbled as I moved closer. On the desk sat a stack of letters tied neatly with ribbon. My hands shook as I picked one up. The first line read: To Bianca, my nine hundred and ninety-ninth love letter. Every word overflowed with longing. Confessions. Promises. Obsession. It was never me who occupied his thoughts during those long nights. It was always her. Beside the letters lay a document. My heart pounded as I read the title: Transfer of Ownership: Durant Crown Holdings. Durant Crown Holdings—the empire Victor had spent his life protecting. His family’s legacy. Everything he stood for. And he was prepared to hand it over to Bianca without hesitation. The hours he spent locked away in this room weren’t for work. They were for her. And me? I was nothing more than a stand-in. A convenient name. A barrier he used to keep her just out of reach. The truth hollowed me out until I felt erased. --- By the time we arrived at the Sterling estate near the lake, I barely recognized myself anymore. I moved like a shadow. The mansion shimmered beneath crystal chandeliers, its halls alive with music and laughter. Guests in tailored suits and glittering gowns drifted through the space, champagne flutes in hand, as if the night belonged to them. At the center of it all stood Bianca. She was radiant in a custom-made gown, every sequin catching the light. Her beauty was undeniable—commanding, effortless. She looked like she belonged at the center of attention, as though the spotlight had always been hers. My parents hovered close, eyes filled with pride as they touched her hands, her arms—afraid she might disappear again if they let go. They used to look at me that way. I remembered it clearly. I had once been their treasured daughter. But everything changed after Bianca vanished… and then returned. Fifteen years ago, when we were only twelve, they finally found her after two weeks of being missing. I ran toward her with open arms, believing we could finally be sisters again. Her first words destroyed that hope completely. “R-Isabelle,” she cried, tears streaming down her face, “what did I do wrong? Why… why did you let them kidnap me? Why did you let them take me away?”

All it took was a single sentence from Bianca to destroy everything I had. That lie ripped my world apart without mercy. In one breath, I lost my parents’ trust, their affection, their pride in calling me their daughter. From that day on, I stopped being Isabelle Sterling in their eyes. I became the cause of Bianca’s suffering—the stain on our family name. My mother looked at me with open revulsion, as if my very presence offended her. My father said nothing at all, but his silence cut deeper than shouting ever could. The love they once gave me vanished overnight, replaced by cold, unyielding gazes that never softened, not even as the years passed. So when I stepped into the grand hall during Bianca’s birthday banquet, it felt less like an invitation and more like walking straight into a snare. She noticed Victor and me the moment we appeared. Draped in gold, she glided toward us beneath the chandeliers, her gown shimmering as though the light itself favored her. Her smile was radiant, practiced—like she had always belonged at the center of every room. “Isabelle! Victor! You finally made it!” she said brightly, reaching for my hand with exaggerated warmth. Then she paused, eyes widening as if struck by sudden concern. “Oh dear… I almost forgot. You can’t hear me, can you?” She let out a soft laugh. “I really should’ve learned sign language, but I never got around to it. You don’t mind, do you?” Her tone was sweet enough to fool anyone else. Her eyes were not. My mother stepped forward before I could react, her voice sharp and merciless. “Why would she blame you? Don’t be ridiculous, Bianca. If it weren’t for Isabelle, you would never have been kidnapped at all. She’s the embarrassment of this family. Deaf and completely useless.” I lowered my head instinctively. I had heard those words too many times to count. They never grew dull—but they never hurt any less either. Before I could sign a response, Victor intervened. He placed a reassuring hand on Bianca’s shoulder and smiled. “Isabelle doesn’t hold grudges,” he said gently. “There’s no need to worry. She understands.” Then, as if to seal the moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. He offered it to Bianca with a reverence that made my chest tighten. “Happy birthday. I hope you like it.” Her face lit up instantly. “Victor… you always know exactly how to make me happy.” As she lifted her wrist, the ballroom lights caught on the jewelry she wore. My breath stalled. The bracelet. The Durant Crown Holdings heirloom. The same one Victor once told me had gone missing. The same one I had quietly hoped he would give me after we married. I remembered asking him about it back then, hesitant, almost embarrassed. His smile had faltered for just a second before he kissed my hand and said, It’s just an old piece. What matters is that my heart belongs to you. Now the truth gleamed cruelly beneath the chandeliers. The bracelet was never lost. It was never meant for me. It had always belonged to her. Pain spread through my chest, sharp and hollow at once. My fingers trembled, but I forced myself to steady them. I refused to let anyone witness my breaking point. “I… I need some air,” I murmured, slipping away before the tears could betray me. The music and laughter faded as I pushed through the crowd, desperate for the night’s cold to numb what was tearing me apart inside. --- The garden was bathed in soft golden lights, their reflections stretching across the lake like fragile threads. The cool air brushed my skin, but inside I felt trapped—burning, suffocating. I wasn’t surprised when she followed. Bianca never missed an opportunity to hurt me. When she stepped outside, the sweetness vanished from her face. The polite smile she wore indoors disappeared completely. What stood before me now was her true self—sharp-edged, smug, merciless. “I really don’t understand you,” she said quietly, her voice cutting. “How do you still have the nerve to show your face here? No one wants you, yet you keep pretending you belong. It’s almost amusing how shameless you are.” Her words sliced through me, but I kept my gaze fixed on the dark water. If I looked at her, I knew the tears would fall—and I refused to give her that satisfaction. She moved closer, her perfume filling the air, sweet and suffocating. “Do you even know why Victor married you?” she continued softly. “Poor Isabelle. He never loved you. He only married you so you wouldn’t stand in the way between me and Julian. He told me everything—on your wedding night, of all days. He said I was the one he truly wanted. He’s obsessed with me. You were just convenient. He married you to stay close to me. Never for you.” The world tilted, but I forced myself to breathe through it. She laughed under her breath, the sound brittle and cruel. “Look at you. Truly pitiful. A deaf wife who couldn’t even keep her husband’s heart. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother living anymore.” Her words drove so deep I could barely inhale. My silence must have pleased her—because without warning, she suddenly moved. Before I could react, Bianca hurled herself into the lake. Water erupted violently around her, the splash tearing through the night. “Help me!” she screamed, flailing as if drowning. “Someone help me! Isabelle—she pushed me! Please—help!”

I never imagined the night would collapse the way it did. One moment, the garden was alive with music and laughter. The next, Bianca’s scream tore through the air, sharp enough to silence everything. People surged toward the lake in a rush of panic. In an instant, Bianca was thrashing in the dark water. Victor reacted without pause—he tore off his jacket and dove in, moving with the urgency of a man playing the hero. He wrapped his arms around her as if she were made of glass, lifting her against his chest like the most precious thing he had. I couldn’t move. My heart slammed painfully as I watched. By the time he pulled her onto the soaked grass, Bianca was shivering violently, water streaming from her dress. She clung to him, small and fragile, her lashes wet with tears. She looked helpless—perfectly, heartbreakingly so. “W-Victor…” her voice quivered as she clutched his shirt. “Why would she do that to me? If I upset you, Isabelle, you could have said something. You know how scared I am of water… after what those kidnappers did. They almost drowned me for fun. Why would you push me?” A stunned gasp rippled through the crowd. My mouth opened to deny it—but before I could utter a word, my father’s voice sliced through the chaos. “Isabelle!” he roared. “How could you hurt your own sister?” He shoved me without hesitation. My heels slid on the slick grass at the lake’s edge, and the next second, I was falling. The water swallowed me whole. I can’t swim. The cold hit like knives, crushing the air from my lungs and dragging me down into the dark. I flailed desperately, limbs heavy, panic tearing through me as the lake pulled me deeper. Above the surface, sounds blurred together—shouts, murmurs, maybe even laughter. I fought my way up, coughing violently as my head broke through the surface. Water burned my throat. My chest screamed as I gasped for air. Through my blurred vision, I saw them. My parents stood on the shore, arms crossed, staring at me like I was something filthy that had washed up by mistake. “Stop pretending, Isabelle,” my father said coldly. “You’ve been nothing but bad luck to this family. Letting Bianca get kidnapped wasn’t enough for you? Now you try to drown her? We should have abandoned you the day you were born.” The words hurt more than the freezing water ever could. My gaze shifted to Victor. Surely—surely he wouldn’t let me die. He knew I couldn’t swim. Even if he didn’t love me, I wanted to believe he wasn’t completely cruel. Then he spoke. “Do you even realize Bianca is pregnant?” His voice was tight with fury. “You nearly killed her—and my child. How could you be so vicious?” I shook my head wildly, trying to speak, but the lake stole my voice. My body trembled violently, my lungs aching for oxygen. Victor’s expression hardened. “Stay there tonight. Maybe suffering will teach you something.” And with that, he turned away. He carried Bianca from the shore, her wet hair pressed against his shoulder. She clung to him like she belonged there, casting me one final glance—triumphant and satisfied. One by one, the guests drifted away. My parents left without looking back. Soon, the garden was empty, the silence thick and suffocating, broken only by the slow ripple of water against the bank. I kicked weakly, arms burning, but my strength faded fast. The cold seeped deeper, dragging me toward darkness. My body began to surrender. Then—suddenly—a splash. Strong arms wrapped around me, hauling me upward through the black water. Who was it? Who pulled me back from the edge? --- When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile ceiling of a private hospital room came into focus. My entire body felt unbearably heavy, as if I’d been turned to stone. Even breathing hurt. I turned my head slowly—and froze. Victor was sitting beside my bed. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, as though he hadn’t slept all night. The moment he noticed I was awake, his face lit up, playing the role of a devoted husband perfectly. “Isabelle—thank God,” he said quickly, gripping my hand. “I’m so relieved you’re awake. I’m sorry I had to leave you last night. I didn’t want to, I swear. But Bianca wasn’t well, and Julian was out of town. I had to bring her to the hospital. She’s carrying the Durant heir, sweetheart. I couldn’t take any chances.” He sighed softly, lowering his voice as if confiding in me. “You understand, don’t you? If something happened to that baby, the family would’ve blamed you. Even your parents wouldn’t forgive you. I did what I did to protect you too.” His gaze softened, almost begging me to accept his excuse. I just looked at him. My chest ached, but I refused to cry. I wouldn’t give him that anymore. For a brief moment, his smile faltered. Then he tried again, brushing his thumb over my hand gently. “Please don’t be angry with me. You’re my wife. I do care about you. Truly.” I said nothing. I simply turned my head toward the window, staring at the sky beyond the glass, letting the silence stretch between us until it swallowed everything he tried to pretend we still had.

That night, the hospital room felt unbearably still. The silence pressed against my ears as I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Bianca had just sent me a photo. My fingers trembled as I opened it. It was Victor. He was bent over her hospital bed, pen in hand, his expression soft and focused—so careful, so intimate—like he was writing something precious. The caption beneath the photo stabbed straight into my chest: Your husband is unbelievably gentle. He’s written me hundreds of love letters and stayed awake the entire night for me. The nurses said he only left when they told him you had finally regained consciousness. The pain in my chest grew so intense it felt hard to breathe. Before I could even lock the screen, another message appeared. Isabelle, you will never win against me. Save yourself the humiliation and give up now. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. I wanted to respond—wanted to scream, to deny it—but my hands wouldn’t move. My fingers hovered uselessly over the screen. Then the door to my hospital room opened. A tall man dressed in a crisp black suit stepped inside. He didn’t spare me a glance. His eyes went straight to Victor, who stood by the window with the ease of someone who believed the world already belonged to him. “Mr. Durant,” the man said politely, “everything is prepared. The press conference is scheduled. The transfer of Durant Crown Holdings to Miss Bianca will be finalized tonight.” Cold spread through my body, slow and merciless. I turned my head toward Victor, clinging to a fragile hope that I had misunderstood. But he smiled—relaxed, pleased—like everything was unfolding exactly as he intended. “Excellent,” he replied smoothly. “If my wife asks about it, inform her the company collapsed financially. She doesn’t need further explanation.” Then he turned to me. His expression softened instantly, his voice shifting into that gentle tone I used to trust. He approached and brushed his fingers lightly over my hand. “Baby, I just received bad news. The company’s in trouble, and I need to deal with it immediately. Stay here and rest, okay? Don’t stress yourself. I’ll handle everything.” If I were still deaf, I would have believed him without question. He looked convincing—like a devoted husband carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But I had heard every word. There was no room left for lies. I simply nodded, too exhausted to argue, and watched as he walked out without turning back. The door closed with a soft click. The silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at the empty space he left behind, my hands slowly curling into fists. That was when it truly sank in. There was nothing left to save. No affection. No trust. Not even a shadow of love. I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce papers I had hidden there for weeks. The pages were slightly creased, worn from being folded and unfolded so many times. I placed them neatly on the bedside table. Then I picked up my phone. I erased everything. Victor. Bianca. My parents. Each name vanished from my contacts one by one, like cutting threads that had been tightening around my throat for years. For the first time in a long while, I felt a strange sense of lightness. --- The press conference looked more like a celebration than a corporate announcement. Reporters crowded the hall, cameras flashing nonstop. Victor stood confidently on stage—with Bianca right beside him—his smile wide, proud, flawless. I stayed near the back of the room, half-hidden among the crowd, my face concealed behind a mask. My eyes never left them, even when it hurt, even when Fiona clung to Dillon like she belonged at his side. I told myself I was done caring—but my heart hadn’t caught up yet. “This marks the beginning of a greater future for our family,” Victor announced into the microphone. Thunderous applause followed. The clapping seemed endless, as if the entire world was celebrating his triumph. My parents sat in the front row, smiling brightly, applauding as though Bianca’s success was their own victory. When it ended, Victor stepped down from the stage and immediately offered to drive Bianca home himself. She slipped her hand around his arm, glowing—radiant, like a bride being escorted away after her wedding. I thought the sight would destroy me. Instead, I felt numb. They were nearly at the exit when someone suddenly stepped into their path. Damien. His gaze shifted between Victor and Bianca before settling back on Victor. “Long time no see,” he said lightly. “Taking your sister-in-law out again? Strange—you didn’t bring your wife. I was hoping to ask her something… about her hearing. I wanted to know if she’s still struggling.” The room went painfully quiet. Victor stiffened. The smile drained from his face, replaced by something tense and dark. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, his voice low. His eyes flicked around anxiously. “Isabelle… she can hear now?” Damien frowned. “Yes. Didn’t she tell you? Her hearing came back yesterday. She was excited to share the news.” That was it. That was the moment everything ended. I turned away before anyone could see the tears spilling over. My grip tightened on my bag, my fingers brushing against the edge of my passport inside. It felt like the only thing I still owned—my proof of escape. I walked out without looking back. My steps were unsteady, but they carried me all the way to the airport. Tears streamed down my face no matter how hard I tried to stop them. At the counter, when it was time to book my flight, my voice cracked. “One ticket. First available flight. Paris.” I handed over my passport, clutching my bag so tightly it hurt. And deep in my heart, I whispered the promise burning inside me. You will regret everything, Victor.