Chapter 3. My Ex-Wife Is a Goddess

William pressed his lips into a cold, flat line. “Grace, go home. Now.”

Grace let out a low chuckle, her tone light but laced with mockery.

“You really think I’m gonna listen to you just because you said so? We’re divorced, Will. I don’t have to take your orders anymore.”

William clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed. “That reason you put in the divorce papers… I’m giving you a chance to rewrite it.”

Grace’s smile widened, full of challenge.

“Did I get anything wrong though? You’ve been awake for six months, and in all that time, you didn’t even touch me once. You were in a coma for three years, and sure, your medical records say you're fine, but I had a strong reason to believe you had… mechanical issues, let’s say. So, as a thoughtful ex-wife, I wish you nothing but the best—hopefully you can get back to being a full-functioning man. Maybe try some herbal treatments. Who knows? Might help.”

William didn’t respond, but the vein on his temple was visibly throbbing, and his face turned red with rage.

This woman really had the nerve to provoke him like that?

“Grace, one day you’ll understand who you’re messing with.”

“Sorry, but you’re never getting that chance.”

“Grace!”

Beep. Beep.

The call ended. Grace had hung up on him.

William stared at his phone like he wanted to burn a hole through it. His grip tightened so much it was a miracle the thing didn’t crack in half.

“GRACE!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury.

* * *

Meanwhile, Grace was already lounging comfortably on the couch at her best friend Clara Duval’s apartment. As soon as she ended the call, Clara burst into laughter, clapping her hands and giving her a thumbs-up.

“You’re a damn queen, Grace! I bet William’s blowing a fuse right now.”

Grace let out a long sigh and sank deeper into the couch. That was the thing. She’d loved that man too much, for too long. She worshiped William like some kind of god and put him so high up, she could never reach him.

But now, she had to learn how to love herself first.

Clara crossed her arms, still fired up.

“Honestly? The second Camila found out William might never wake up, she dipped without even blinking. And now that he’s recovered, she shows up like nothing happened? And he still wants her? He’s either an idiot or completely insane. Honestly, girl, leaving him was the best decision you ever made.”

Grace quietly unwrapped a milk candy and popped it into her mouth. The sweet melted on her tongue, but it didn’t do much to soften the bitterness weighing down her chest.

“That’s the difference between being loved… and not.”

Clara glanced at the coffee table and noticed the growing pile of candy wrappers. She leaned over, grabbed Grace’s hand gently, and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright, that’s enough. No more sulking. So what if you lost one tree? There’s an entire forest waiting for you out there. And tonight, I’ve got something special planned. Eight male models, cold champagne, and a party that lasts till sunrise!”

Grace rolled her eyes, amused.

“You’re so dramatic, Clara.”

Clara laughed and, without warning, snatched Grace’s thick-rimmed glasses off her face and tossed them straight into the trash.

“My glasses!” Grace gasped and lunged to retrieve them.

“Hold it!” Clara stopped her with an outstretched hand.

“Grace, you’re beautiful, but your style screams insecure bookworm. Look at Camila. She knows how to show up and turn heads. Why can’t you? Honestly, Camila’s not even half as pretty as you.”

Grace paused. Her thoughts drifted to the past, back to their childhood filled with comparisons.

Her parents always saw her as the ugly duckling. Meanwhile, Camila—her stepsister—was the flawless swan.

And William? Maybe he saw it the same way.

Clara gave her a light pat on the arm and tugged her toward the front door.

“Tonight, we change everything. We’re going shopping for a whole new outfit, full makeover, nails, hair, makeup, the works. By the time we’re done, not just William, but the entire city of San Francisco’s gonna be shook!”

Suddenly, Clara paused and looked at Grace with suspicion.

“Wait… you sure you don’t want anything from the divorce?”

“I’ve got my own money,” Grace replied flatly.

Clara raised her eyebrows.

“So you’re just gonna let Camila walk away with everything William owns? Trust me, she’s probably celebrating already.”

Grace bit her lip but didn’t say anything.

“What about that card William gave you?” Clara asked again.

William was never cheap. During their marriage, he gave her a gold-plated black card—basically a symbol of unlimited access and insane wealth. But Grace had never once used it.

Slowly, she reached into her bag and pulled it out. The surface gleamed under the light, and her eyes settled on the name "William Donovan" printed elegantly in the corner.

Then she glanced at Clara, a mischievous little smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ve never used it,” she said softly.

Clara gasped like she just won the lottery.

“Oh my God, Grace. We’ve got ourselves a new mission tonight!”

“Alright then,” Grace said, her smile turning sharp.

“Tonight, I’m gonna splurge… and William’s footing the bill.”

* * *

Later that night, at Bar Lumière.

This place was the hottest party spot in San Francisco—packed with trust fund kids, rich heirs, and attention-hungry socialites dying to drown themselves in lights, liquor, and chaos.

The dim lighting mixed with heart-pounding EDM created a wild, electric vibe. On stage, the DJ was hyping up the crowd, and people were dancing like crazy under strobe lights that flashed faster than the beat.

But upstairs, in the posh VIP area, it was a different scene. Velvet black couches circled a large glass table, and in the best seat of the house, William Donovan sat quietly.

His black dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a bit of chest, giving off that perfect mix of relaxed and powerful. His sleeves were rolled up neatly, showing off strong forearms and an expensive steel watch that sparkled under the bar lights.

His vibe was cold, refined, and just a bit cocky—enough to make every woman in the room glance his way at least once.

Next to him, Riley Ashford, heir to a massive real estate empire, was laughing it up with a bunch of other spoiled rich guys sitting around the table.

“Wait, wait, hold up. You’re telling me Grace was the one who filed for divorce?” Riley cracked up, nearly spilling his drink.

The others joined in, laughing like it was the best joke they’d ever heard.

“Come on, everyone knows Grace was obsessed with William! She stuck by him the whole time he was in that coma. And now she’s just out? Just like that?”

“I’ll bet you anything she’s crawling back by tomorrow.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“She probably already regrets it. Bet she’s texting you right now, trying to reconnect.”

William didn’t laugh. His face stayed cold and unreadable. His jaw was tight, and he stared down at the table like he was holding back something volcanic inside.

Without a word, he pulled out his phone. He opened W******p and scrolled to his last chat with Grace.

The most recent message was from last night.

A photo of a steaming bowl of bone broth, with a simple caption:

“Sweetheart, even if your bone density’s back to normal, you still need to drink this. Come home early tonight, okay?”

William stared at the screen for a moment. Then scrolled further up.

Dozens of messages. All from Grace.

Not a single reply from him.

Ding.

A notification popped up.

Riley’s eyes lit up.

“Told ya! She’s cracking already!”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

More notifications came flooding in.

The guys laughed louder, elbowing each other.

“She couldn’t even last a day, bro!”

“Bet she’s begging for a second chance!”

A small, almost invisible smirk crept onto William’s face.

He’d waited. Calm, like a king on his throne. Because in the end, Grace always came back. She always did. No question.

Confidently, he opened the messages.

And froze.

Riley peeked at the screen and read out loud without thinking:

“Dear SVIP customer, your card ending in 0975 has been charged $80 at Nail District SF.”

Silence.

The rich boys exchanged looks, suddenly unsure.

William kept reading.

“Your card ending in 0975 has been charged $2 at Gloss Atelier salon.”

“Your card ending in 0975 has been charged $86,000 at Chanel boutique.”

“Your card ending in 0975 has been charged $240,000 at Louis Vuitton.”

The room went completely still.

No apology.

No sweet message.

Nothing.

Just a series of absurdly expensive transactions.

Like Grace was throwing a party… for her divorce.

No one dared laugh now. The air had turned ice cold.

Riley swallowed hard.

“She… she went shopping?”

“Looks like she’s getting a makeover,” someone muttered weakly.

“Maybe she’s trying to look like Camila?” another guessed, not sounding convinced.

“Camila’s a red rose, man. She runs this town. Grace is just an average girl. Doesn’t matter how pretty she gets—she’ll never be Camila.”

“An ugly duckling’s still an ugly duckling,” one of them chuckled nervously.

But before the laughter could pick up again, a sudden commotion erupted downstairs. The music was still blasting, but the crowd had gone wild.

Their laughter stopped.

People on the lower floor were shouting and parting like waves.

Then a bold, loud voice cut through the chaos.

“Look at me! I’m a goddess!”

Everyone's head turned at once.

William stepped out to see what was going on, his eyes narrowing. And then he saw her.

His breath caught in his throat.