Eric Ferguson Divorce Novels & Stories

James Ferguson's power extended to silencing the media and controlling the narrative. "I am the bride," I said, my voice clear and unwavering. "But James Ferguson and I have been secretly married for over three years. Today's wedding did not take place, and we are getting divorced. This is big news. If any media outlets you know want this headline, please ask them to hurry up and come." I hung up, ignoring Sister Jing's stunned silence. James Ferguson, sitting in the car, had heard every word. His face, already dark, turned a shade darker, his features contorted with a fury that made my blood run cold. The facade of composure had finally shattered, revealing the raw, unbridled anger beneath.

I fell to my knees in tears as I signed the papers and begged him to spare my family. But the next second, my parents were still hurled from the top of the drop tower ride. “No!” I screamed. When I woke up, I was back on the day Harry Forger had handed me the divorce papers. This time, I slammed both the divorce papers and my resignation letter on his desk. “As you wish.” Harry snorted as soon as I said that. “Anna Wesley, I asked for a divorce, and you hand me a resignation letter? Do you think quitting will make me feel sorry for you and that I’ll back down?”

"Stop joking around. I had a tiring day. I've told you Wesley is just a colleague of mine." I slammed my bowl and retorted, "What kind of colleagues share the same bowl of soup? Are there not enough bowls or something?" She stood up and glared at me as she shouted, "Stop being ridiculous, Ryan Wagner! We're married indeed, but you have no right to interfere with what I do. "I know you regret marrying me. You're impatient and frustrated because you want a divorce. The Wagners aren't as glorious as they used to be, huh? What a joke."

We had been married for three years, but Kit Rutgers still hadn’t made it official with me. Today marked his one-thousandth successful flight—a major milestone—and the seventeenth time he had promised to go with me to register our marriage. But during the celebration banquet, while his commanding officer pressured me into drinking, Kit sat across the table, feeding and clinking glasses with his female trainee, Katy Ferguson. Meanwhile, I fought through a high fever, drinking until I nearly blacked out, and he didn’t even spare me a glance.

Betty said contemptuously. Margaret cried her heart out. It was unfortunate that she was out of the right to divorce him; neither could he. Their marriage was a form of ‘debt agreement’ between their parents. Margaret's father, who incurred large debts from Ramson Shun's father, was left with no option but to give out his only daughter in marriage to Ramson Shun, with a condition of no divorce without a child. Depressed and heartbroken, Margret convinced her husband to relocate from California to New York but had her eyes on Betty all the time.

The last time we saw each other, things had ended badly, and ever since then, she’d treated me with nothing but cold indifference. She really knew how to play her games, didn’t she? “What’s with the sudden invitation?” Sean asked as he lounged comfortably on a barstool. I’d asked him out for drinks in the middle of the night. “I’m celebrating,” I answered before finishing the rest of the liquor in my glass. “Celebrating what? Did something happen?” “I’m getting divorced.” He let out a dramatic gasp. “She agreed?” he asked, disbelief written all over his face. “She was the one who brought it up this time.”

“Let’s not pretend otherwise.” Each word struck like a blade. What? Not real? “I’m choosing them,” he continued without hesitation. “Elise and my son. I want a divorce.”

I have been pretentious enough for years and I am tired of it. Patricia sighed. "Okay as you say so, but, just keep in mind that you have Thirdy, now. Helga, you are not alone anymore. He's doing his part unconsciously, at least do yours." With that, Patricia left the room. I took a deep breath as my eyes move back to my reflection. I rearrange the hairbrush and lipsticks and tidy them all up before I head downstairs. Three years have passed since our divorce happened. Right after spending the night with Martin, I flew back to Singapore with Patricia. She dragged me out of my misery and then found ourselves here.

If she was already burning bridges, then she might as well burn this one completely. Lifting her chin, she spoke calmly. “I’m not doing that.” Marcus stilled. His brows drew together, as if he hadn’t heard her properly. “What?” he asked. “I’m not apologizing to Evander,” she repeated, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. “And I’m not taking back my decision to divorce him.” She held his gaze. “Whether the company goes bankrupt or not… I’m divorcing Evander Hale.” For a moment, her father simply stared at her.