[ Volume 1] Chaper 5- A challenge.

And so, when they told her that she still belonged, that she always would—something in Ruby shifted. They had given her the strength to reclaim herself. They had made her see that she was more than a discarded wife; she was a force, a presence, a leader. And they had given her the power to stand for the position of village chief.

It was called a village, but that word hardly did it justice. It was vast—immense—with over thirty smaller villages falling under its domain. Each had its own identity, its own people, yet they all moved under the same rule. Why it was still called a village, no one truly knew. It was not poor, not a forgotten place lost in time. It thrived, standing on the edge of something greater, waiting for someone to push it into the light.

And that was what Ruby had done. It had only taken minimal effort to bring this place forward, to make sure it was acknowledged by the government, to demand that it take its rightful place in the world.

Seven months ago, she had been a woman drowning in grief. But now, she was the woman who rose from it.

Soon, her grandmother, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa, interrupted the silence. Ruby, her voice gentle yet filled with a quiet gravity, spoke up, her tone laced with warmth and an underlying seriousness that Ruby couldn't ignore.

"Ruby," her grandmother began, catching her attention. Ruby turned her head slowly, her gaze landing on her grandmother's face, searching her expression for any sign of what was coming.

"Yes, Grandma?" Ruby asked softly, her voice betraying a slight hesitation, a sense of anticipation growing in her chest.

Grandma's eyes softened, and after a pause, she continued. "I've contacted a lawyer. He said it will take a little more time—about two months—before your divorce is finalized… forever."

The words landed heavily in the room, and Ruby felt the air around her still. Her body froze for a moment as if the life within her had suddenly been put on pause. Her heart gave a painful, sharp thud in her chest, and a strange emptiness spread throughout her.

The world seemed to slow down, the weight of the impending reality crashing over her like a wave. The finality of it all—it wasn't just the divorce itself that stung, but the realization that everything she had once hoped for was slipping through her fingers, out of her control. Two more months. Two more months before everything would be officially over.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. There was nothing left to say. She had expected this, knew it was coming, but hearing it aloud felt like the ground beneath her feet was suddenly unstable.

Normally, a divorce would take about three months if both parties were in agreement.

But the delay had nothing to do with Ruby's wishes. No, it was because her grandmother had quietly held onto a faint glimmer of hope—that Edward, her grandson, would return. That he would come back, admit his mistakes, and acknowledge the wrongs that had been done. But the days had passed, and no such return had come.

Edward, who had made it clear that he wanted a divorce, had not sent any official papers or taken any steps to finalize the separation. He had been too absorbed in his own life—his studies, his work—and Ruby was left to wait in silence.

As for Edward's father, Ruby's father-in-law, he had grown increasingly resolute in his desire to sever all ties with his unfilial son. For him, this divorce wasn't just about Ruby and Edward parting ways.

It was about erasing the stain Edward had left on the family. It was about making sure that Edward, who had abandoned his responsibilities, would never benefit from the wealth and property he had been entitled to. This divorce wasn't just a separation—it was a final act of cutting him off completely.

Ruby knew, in that moment, that this was about more than just her and Edward. This was a line being drawn, one that Ruby could never erase. The divorce was final, but the scars it would leave behind would linger far longer than the paper it was written on.

The ache in her chest deepened. Would it ever stop hurting? Would she ever feel whole again?

.

.

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Far away in the city, inside a well-kept government office, the air carried a quiet authority. The room was furnished simply yet carried the weight of its purpose—dark wooden desks, black leather chairs, and neatly stacked files on the side. The large windows overlooked the bustling city, but inside, everything was calm, controlled.

At the center of the room, behind the main desk, sat the governor, a man in his sixties. His black suit was crisp, his red tie neatly in place, and his sharp eyes held years of experience. His fingers were lightly tapping against the polished surface of his desk as he observed the man standing in front of him.

The younger man, about twenty-eight, stood tall, his serious expression unwavering. He wasn't just anyone—he was the county executive, a man who had carved his way up with precision and discipline. Dressed in a simple yet sharp suit, with only a blazer over his shirt, he exuded quiet authority. His gaze was direct, his presence demanding respect without the need for words.

The governor leaned back in his chair, his fingers still lightly tapping against the desk. His gaze was steady as he finally spoke.

"Mr. Alaric Hawthorne, I know this might be tough and may even sound like I'm making excuses," he began, his voice firm yet measured. "But you are the only one capable of handling this job. You see, Willomere has just been declared a district, and I want you to be its first county executive."

Alaric Hawthorne remained silent, his sharp gaze fixed on the governor. His posture was straight, controlled, the very image of a man who carried both authority and discipline. He had expected something demanding when he was called in, but this?

Willomere. A newly declared district. A place that, despite its growing significance, was riddled with political complications and administrative chaos. And now, the responsibility of shaping it from the ground up was being handed to him.