3

“So you called a lawyer because of this?” 

Maxwell asked, his voice tight with anger.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his jaw looked like it could crack from how hard he was holding it. The funny thing was that he looked offended, like I had done something unforgivable, like I was the one who betrayed him.

I should have been excited today. I should have been holding my pregnancy test in my hands, smiling like a fool, waiting for the perfect moment to tell my husband that I was carrying his children. Twins. Two tiny lives that had already started growing inside me without anyone’s permission.

But instead of joy, I was standing in front of him with divorce papers on the table, while his mistress sat comfortably in my home like she belonged there.

What else did he expect me to do?

I had suspected his cheating long before today, but I kept lying to myself because I didn’t want to believe the truth. It started with calls from friends who sounded excited and happy for me, telling me how lucky I was.

“Ariana, you and Maxwell looked so good together.”

I would freeze and ask, “What are you talking about?”

“At that hotel. You both looked like newlyweds. He’s so romantic.”

At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then the messages started coming in. People congratulating me. People praising my “perfect marriage.” People telling me how my husband took me out to expensive restaurants while I was at home cooking his meals or sitting in his office organizing his files like I was his unpaid assistant.

The worst part was that they weren’t lying. Maxwell was doing those things. He just wasn’t doing them with me.

One day, my friend sent a picture. It was Maxwell stepping out of a hotel lobby with a woman by his side. They were wearing matching scarves like it was some romantic couple thing. My whole body had gone cold as I stared at the screen.

If that wasn’t you, Ariana, then I guess your husband is a cheating bastard. He’s been visiting this hotel for months now.

I had read that message again and again until my eyes burned. Still, I tried to convince myself there was another explanation. Maybe he was meeting a client. Maybe it was business. Maybe it was nothing.

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

And now he didn’t even bother hiding it anymore because he had brought her into the house. Into my space. Into the home I once believed we were building together.

Divorce was the only way forward. But it wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to happen on his terms.

The lawyer left minutes later after Maxwell agreed to my conditions, and I knew he didn’t agree because he respected me. He agreed because he feared what would happen if I stopped being quiet. He agreed because he cared about his reputation more than he ever cared about my heart.

“Never knew there was this side of you,” Maxwell said after the lawyer left, dropping the pen in front of me like it disgusted him. His lip curled as he looked at me. “I never expected you to be a gold digger.”

Gold digger.

That word nearly made me laugh, but my chest felt too heavy for laughter. I didn’t even have the strength to argue with him because I had spent too many years arguing for a marriage he was already destroying behind my back.

A wave of nausea rolled through me, sharp enough to make me grip the edge of the table. 

My hand moved to my stomach instinctively as discomfort spread through my body. I hadn’t gone back to the hospital after the doctor revealed I was two weeks pregnant, and I still hadn’t fully processed that I was carrying twins for this arrogant man.

This wasn’t how I imagined my life. This wasn’t how I imagined love.

A week passed after the divorce papers were drafted, and the house stopped feeling like his. I moved differently. I breathed differently. I no longer hovered around him, waiting for crumbs of attention like a starving dog. I no longer asked about his schedule, or stayed awake pretending I cared when he came home late smelling like another woman.

I lived like someone who already had one foot out the door.

Maxwell noticed the change, of course he did. Men like him always noticed when a woman stopped begging.

One afternoon, he walked out of his office with his coat in hand, his face calm like he wasn’t the reason my world had cracked open.

“I’ll be home late,” he said casually.

I looked up from my laptop, my expression calm even though my heart wasn’t. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?”

He froze mid-step like he didn’t expect me to speak. Slowly, he turned back, and I saw surprise flash across his face before it twisted into irritation.

“And how does that concern you?” he asked coldly.

Then he stepped closer, like he wanted to intimidate me into silence. “Why? What do you want now?”

I closed my laptop slowly and stood up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “We’re still legally married,” I said flatly. “So you’re not bringing your whore here, you’re not to be seen with her publicly, and you’re not going to humiliate me in front of your father and my friends before this divorce is done.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or who I can see.”

“I do,” I replied calmly. “Until the divorce is finalized.”

He stared at me like I was a stranger, like he was searching for the woman who used to lower her eyes and swallow her words. That woman wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

His phone rang then, cutting through the tension like a knife.