Today was the day that Cillian would be officially divorced.

He woke up with a strange weight pressing against his chest, something dull and heavy, like a stone sitting at the bottom of a river. It wasn't grief, not exactly — he wouldn't miss the marriage itself. But there was something undeniably painful about knowing that a part of his life, something that had once been sacred, was now reduced to signatures on paper.

As he lay in Auden's bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted. How would Jenni act when he saw her? Would she be indifferent? Angry? Regretful? Would she pretend this didn't sting? He wondered how Charlie was doing, whether he sensed the shift in the world around him.

And then there was Auden.

She moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, making breakfast with the same routine she always did, but something about her was different. She kissed him briefly when he finally got up, but it felt rehearsed, something done out of obligation rather than ease. She asked how he slept, offered a small smile when he responded, but said nothing else.

He watched her closely, noting the way her shoulders held tension, how she deliberately avoided looking at him for too long. She was anxious. She had been since the holiday party, but every time he asked, she brushed it off.

Maybe she was waiting for today to pass, so that they could finally exist outside the shadow of his marriage. Or maybe she was realizing just how much space Jenni had occupied in his life, and that thought unsettled her.

Cillian wasn't sure what was worse: the idea of Auden doubting him, or the idea that she had a reason to.

He wanted to tell her everything — to pull apart the tangled mess of his past, to show her the frayed threads of who he used to be, to make her understand. But how could he?

Auden was young, still untouched by the slow erosion of love, the way it could start as something vibrant and consuming, only to wear down to habit and duty. She had never known what it was like to love someone for years, to build something together, only to watch it crumble, powerless to stop it.

"Why are you staring at me?" Auden's voice cut through his thoughts.

She didn't look up from her phone, absentmindedly stirring her yogurt.

Cillian blinked. He hadn't realized he was staring.

"Sorry," he muttered, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. His eyes shifted to Beans, who was happily munching on her breakfast in the corner of the kitchen, oblivious to the quiet storm in the room.

Auden finished her parfait, scraped her spoon across the bottom of the bowl, then stood to rinse it in the sink. For the first time that morning, she met his gaze.

Her green eyes were tired, darkened slightly at the edges from a lack of sleep. Her hair, normally falling in loose waves, was piled into a loose bun — almost like she hadn't wanted to deal with it.

Cillian felt his fingers twitch, the need to reach for her pressing against his skin. But he restrained himself.

"Good luck today," she said softly.

She turned back to face him, her lips stretching into something meant to be a reassuring smile, but Cillian could see the effort in it.

"Call me if you need anything later, okay?"

The tenderness in her voice undid something in him, but he didn't have the energy to address it.

Instead, he forced a smile, kissed her goodbye, and let her slip out the door.

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"You ready for this?" Tom, his lawyer, asked as they rode the elevator up to Jenni's lawyer's office.

Cillian let out a long exhale. "Not really."

Tom smirked, pressing the button for the fourth floor. "No one ever is. But hey, at least you're not getting taken to the cleaners."

Cillian shot him a look. "I don't give a shit about the money."

"Please don't say that in the meeting," Tom sighed. "The moment you tell a woman that, they bleed you dry."

Cillian rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to walk out of the elevator before the doors even opened. He didn't like Tom. His arrogance, his smugness, the way he spoke about women like they were all the same. But his manager had insisted that Tom was the best, that he would make sure Cillian left this marriage with what was rightfully his.

The only thing Cillian cared about keeping was Charlie.
Jenni could take the money, the house, everything else. But his son was non-negotiable.

As they entered the conference room, Cillian's gaze landed on Jenni.

His stomach twisted. She looked different.

There was a time when seeing her would have sent a rush of warmth through him, when she had been home, his safe place. Now, all he felt was nausea.

She looked up at him, her lips parting slightly, like she wanted to say something, but all she managed was a soft, "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, voice flat.

"How are you?" she asked.

Cillian shrugged. "Fine. You?"

"As good as I can be for something like this."

He said nothing, just looked down at the stack of papers between them.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered.

The meeting passed in a blur of legal jargon and signatures. His body went through the motions — nodding, signing, acknowledging details — but his mind was elsewhere.

He thought about Auden.

About the way she smiled at him in bed, her voice soft with sleep as she mumbled into his chest. About the way her body curled against his when they made love, how he felt completely consumed by her.

He thought about that night at the fundraiser, the way she had looked under the glow of the city lights, the way he had wanted her even then.

With Jenni, there had never been that pull. Not like this.

They had met in the Dublin art scene in the '90s — he was a failing musician, she was a starving artist. They had been young and reckless, rushing into a marriage because it felt like the right thing to do.

And for a while, it had worked.

She had encouraged him, even when his band fell apart, even when he pivoted to acting. He had connected her with Charles, had been proud of the way she built her gallery from nothing. She was cunning, independent, and annoyingly — to the detriment of most men she met — self-sufficient. 

He felt the cracks early. Jenni had always been restless, and he couldn't always be there to keep it at bay. Their friends encouraged them to start a family, citing stupid ideas about how it only brought couples closer.

But she hadn't wanted kids. Her career had fulfilled her in a way that a child, at least then, never would. He respected it. He never pushed. And Charlie had been an accident. A happy one, but an accident nonetheless.

Cillian could still remember the night Jenni told him she was pregnant. It had been late — he had just gotten home from a long shoot, exhausted and wired all at once. Jenni had been waiting for him in the kitchen, perched on the counter, a half-drunk glass of wine next to her that she hadn't touched.

That should have been his first clue.

"I'm pregnant."

No preamble. No soft buildup. Just those two words, spoken in the flat, emotionless tone she always used when she didn't quite know how to process something.

Cillian had blinked, his brain struggling to catch up. And then, his heart had leaped in his chest, faster than his thoughts. "Fuck," he had whispered. A slow smile crept onto his face. "Are you serious?"

Jenni had nodded, her expression unreadable. "Yeah."

He had crossed the kitchen in three long strides, cupping her face, kissing her — thrilled in a way he hadn't been in a long time. This would fix things, he had thought then. This would anchor them, bring them back together.

But Jenni hadn't kissed him back. Not really.

He should have noticed the way her body tensed, how her fingers curled against his jacket but never pulled him closer. Instead, she had pulled away, searching his face like she was trying to memorize him before everything changed.

"I don't know if I want this," she had admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian had laughed, breathless. "What are you talking about? This is — this is huge. This is us, Jen."

"I know," she had said. But something about the way she said it — like she was already preparing to disappear —made him uneasy.

Still, he had convinced himself it would be fine. That she just needed time to adjust. That once she held their son in her arms, all of her fears would dissolve, and they'd finally have what they had lost.

But it hadn't worked like that.

Charlie was born screaming, a perfect mess of black curls and soft skin. And Cillian loved him instantly, so much it terrified him. But Jenni — Jenni had stared at him like he was something foreign, something she didn't know what to do with.

She tried. He knew she did.

But somewhere in the sleepless nights and the crying that never seemed to stop, something inside her fractured. She had always been independent, always needed space. And suddenly, that space was gone. Cillian was away more than he was home, filming in places she had never been, leaving her to handle a life she had never asked for.

When he came back, the distance between them was suffocating.

She stopped touching him first. Stopped waiting up for him. She would sit on the couch with a glass of wine, scrolling through her phone, barely looking up when he walked in the door. He would kiss her, press his lips to her temple, her cheek, her mouth, but it was like kissing a ghost.

And then one day, she stopped pretending.

She started staying out later. Ignoring his calls. The first time he found a wine glass that wasn't hers left out on the counter, something inside him had cracked — but not shattered. He had still believed they could fix it.

Until the night he walked in on her and Patrick.

It had been an early wrap day on set, a rare stroke of luck. Cillian had driven home buzzing with anticipation, thinking maybe he and Jenni could go out for dinner, reconnect. Maybe they could still salvage something from the wreckage of their marriage.

He hadn't expected to find another man in their bed.
Patrick's bare back, his arms caging Jenni beneath him. The way Jenni's head had snapped toward the door at the sound of it creaking open, her eyes widening in horror.

Cillian had stood frozen in the doorway, staring. He had been gone too much, yes. But this? This wasn't something you came back from.

Jenni had scrambled up, grabbing the sheets to cover herself, mouth opening and closing like she was searching for words that didn't exist.

"Cill —"

He had walked out before she could finish.

The next day, he called his lawyer.

When he finally surfaced from his thoughts, Tom was nudging him.

"It's done," he said. "You're a free man."

Cillian looked at the now-empty room. He hadn't even realized everyone else had left.

"Right," he muttered. "Thanks."

As Cillian stepped out of the conference room, the weight of finality settled over him like a dense fog. It was done. He was no longer a married man. The title of husband had been stripped from him with a few signatures and a handshake. But the truth was, he had stopped being a husband long before today.

He didn't expect to feel lighter. He didn't expect to feel anything at all.

And yet, when he spotted Jenni standing near the elevator, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her nails digging into her skin, he felt something tighten in his ribs.

She must've been waiting for him.

Cillian exhaled sharply, already exhausted, already wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Can we talk?" Jenni asked, her voice unusually small, uncertain.

He dragged his gaze over her — messy dark hair, no makeup, loose-fitting clothes. This wasn't the Jenni he knew.

Jenni always put herself together, always made sure she looked like she was in control. He recognized the shirt she wore. He had bought it for her years ago in Paris, a small boutique tucked away near Montmartre. She had loved it then. Did she wear it now to remind him of something? Or was it just something she threw on without thinking?

"About what?" he asked, his patience fraying at the edges.

Jenni hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she sighed. "I just... I wanted to make sure you're okay. You barely said a coherent sentence in there."

"I'm fine," Cillian replied flatly, his voice carrying no warmth. "Is that all?"

"No," she said quickly, almost desperate to keep him there. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Um, when do you leave again? For Peaky Blinders?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Beginning of February. Anything else?

Jenni nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hands trembled slightly, and that was the first thing that truly unsettled him. Jenni didn't shake. She never let her emotions manifest physically.

"Is she going with you?" she asked, forcing casualness into her voice, but failing miserably.

Cillian scoffed under his breath. "So this is actually about Auden."

"I was just wondering."

"Well, I haven't told her yet. But if she wants to, she's more than welcome to."

Jenni inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. She was trying to keep her composure, but it was slipping through her fingers.
Then, softly, almost pleading, she asked, "Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Cillian?"

Something inside him snapped.

"Jesus Christ, Jenni." His voice was sharp, clipped. "Can you fucking move on already?"

Her face twisted with something raw — pain, frustration, regret, he couldn't tell. But it was the first time he had seen her truly falter. Her usual poise was gone, replaced with something unguarded, something human.

"I'm just trying to make sure you're making the right choice for yourself," she said, but her voice wavered, betraying her.

"Thank you, but I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions," Cillian bit out.

Jenni shook her head, exhaling a bitter laugh. "Really? Because you're dating a woman who is nearly half your age."

Cillian clenched his jaw, trying to rein in his temper, but Jenni kept going.

"Do you even know what she wants in life?" Her voice was quiet now, almost fragile. "She's a young girl. Do you remember what it was like when we were that age? All the dreams we had?" Jenni's dark eyes bore into his, searching for something, pleading for something. "What if she wants kids? Is that something you're willing to give her at this point in your life?"

Cillian froze.

It was a sharp, brief pause. Because for the first time, Jenni hit something real. Something he hadn't let himself consider. But he refused to let her see that.

Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, schooling his face into indifference. "You're a hypocrite," he said, voice laced with venom.

Jenni blinked, her mouth parting slightly. "What?"

"What about Patrick?" Cillian pressed, stepping forward. "He's just as young as Auden. Do you think about the long term with him?"

Jenni's jaw tightened, and for a split second, she looked like she might break. "That's different."

Cillian let out a humorless laugh. "You're right, Jen. It is different. I didn't fuck Auden for almost two years while we were married."

The words landed like a slap.

Jenni sucked in a sharp breath, her whole body tensing. Her eyes glistened, but she blinked rapidly, forcing back tears. For years, she had always been the one in control, the one who dictated the terms of their relationship — even in its demise. But now, she had no control over him. And it was killing her.

She swallowed thickly, her voice cracking when she spoke. "Just because I cheated doesn't mean I don't still love you."
Cillian stared at her, unflinching. "It's complicated," she whispered, barely audible now.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, razor-sharp. "Well, here's something that's not complicated." He leaned in slightly, his breath fanning over her cheek. "I am not in love with you anymore."

Jenni's breath hitched, her entire face crumbling for just a second.

And then she turned on her heel and shoved past him, nearly slamming into the elevator doors as she jabbed at the button.

Cillian stood there, watching as she wiped furiously at her eyes, her shoulders trembling slightly. He should've felt nothing. Should've walked away without a second thought.
But as the elevator doors slid open and Jenni stepped inside, she lifted her gaze one last time. And for the first time in years, he saw her for what she truly was.

Not the polished, untouchable woman she always pretended to be. Not the selfish, cold-hearted cheater he had convinced himself she was. But just Jenni. The girl he had met in a crowded bar, dancing like the world was hers. The woman he had built a life with, for better or worse.

And now, a woman completely lost.

As the doors shut between them, Cillian exhaled slowly. The sting of guilt lingered, but he forced himself to push it away.
He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to be cheated on, to have his marriage implode, to be standing here now, newly divorced and trying to figure out what the hell came next.

But one thing was certain.

Jenni may have shattered everything they built.

But in doing so, she had made room for something new.

For Auden.