My Wife Toasted Her First Love, So I Filed for Divorce

The atmosphere in the room shifted to something strange.

Monica took a deep breath, glanced at the papers, and said, "Put those away."

"Don't pick a fight with me right now."

Her sister heard and immediately stepped in. "Come on, it was just a game. Don't take it so seriously."

"You two have been married for ten years. There's no need to ruin things over something so small."

"Put it away."

Her sister stuffed the papers back into my hands.

Then everyone around us started chiming in. "You're a man. Be the bigger person. Don't be so petty."

"Stop joking around."

My fingertips went white. I was so angry I almost laughed.

It was always like this. At our engagement party, Monica had shaken me off in front of everyone and danced with Dillon. At our wedding, she had ridden in the same car as Dillon to the church and left me standing on the side of the road.

Afterward, I confronted her in a fury.

Everyone stepped in to tell me the same thing: "Come on, Monica already married you. No need to ruin things over something so small."

After all these years, I'd had enough.

"I'm not joking. Divorce."

I adjusted my cufflinks and swept a cold gaze across the room. "You all think these are small things. We've been married ten years. At every important Family event, she refused to touch a drop because she 'hated the smell of alcohol.' She never once cared how it made me look. Tonight, the truth was finally impossible to miss."

"She didn't hate alcohol. She just hated me."

The moment the words left my mouth, every eye in the room turned to Monica.

Monica's face went white. She shot to her feet and hurled the half-glass of wine from the table straight into my face. "Shut up!"

She turned away with a cold smile. "I already told you it was a penalty for losing a game. What are you even doing right now? This is just about your pride, isn't it?"

"I don't like the smell of alcohol, but I can take a game."

She spoke with absolute conviction, pinning every bit of blame on me for being unreasonable.

For years, our liquor cabinet had stayed empty because Monica hated the smell of alcohol. Even coming home from a Family banquet meant following her rules.

I had to air myself out until every trace of alcohol was gone before I could set foot inside.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

At my succession as Don—the most important occasion of my life—she still refused to touch a single drop.

Yet today, in front of the entire room, she broke that rule without a second thought.

She shared a lovers' toast with Dillon.

I suddenly had no desire to argue with her. I lowered my eyes to the papers and gave her one last reminder.

"Don't forget to sign them."

I gathered my things and stood to leave. The moment I got up, Dillon stretched an arm out to block my way.

He gave a light smile. "I didn't realize you were this petty. Still jealous of Monica and me after all this time."

"Since I took over the Family, I've been based in Southeast Asia. I'm rarely back in Sicily. The one time we finally get to see each other, you have to make a scene?"

"Besides, she doesn't like the smell of alcohol. We hadn't seen each other in years, and she had a couple of sips because she was happy. You can't even tolerate that much of a friendship between us?"

There was a deliberate edge of provocation in Dillon's voice.

Everything he said boiled down to one thing: their bond was the one that mattered most.

I smirked.

I walked past him and out of the banquet hall.

In the car, I lit a cigar, smoke curling around my fingertips.

Monica had texted me.

[What exactly did Dillon and I do to upset you? You had to humiliate us in front of everyone?]

[If there were really something between us, would you have gotten the chance to marry me? He finally comes back once, and you can't stop making a scene?!]

I read the messages and didn't reply.

Those words severed the last thread of attachment I'd clung to for ten years.

I used to love Monica, so I tolerated her calling out Dillon's name while she was in bed with me. I tolerated her swapping my suits and ties for the colors Dillon always wore.

Now, I was done enduring it.

I picked up my phone and booked a flight north, then called my lawyer.

"I'm filing for divorce."