3.75
Chapter 4
So that was it.
He couldn’t wait to prove his masculinity through another woman.
Funny–he used to say the thing he admired most about me was my sharp edge, my decisiveness, my refusal to back down.
Now that same strength made me too much. Too cold. Too loud. Too hard to love.
I guess he got bored.
But instead of just saying it–he found a noble excuse to make me the problem.
I got out of the car without another word, watched the black Maybach disappear around the corner, its taillights bleeding into the night.
I’d given him chances. More than he deserved. But he didn’t want them.
I pulled out my phone and hit the first name in my favorites.
“Samantha,” I said, voice flat. “Draft me a divorce agreement.”
Thadn’t wanted it to come to this.
The Lanes and Fords were old–money families, entangled for generations.
Xavier and I grew up side by side–childhood sweethearts with matching surnames on our family estates.
Then he went off to study abroad. We lost contact for almost a decade.
We reconnected at an arranged engagement dinner orchestrated by both families.
He was polished, poised–charming enough to silence even the most judgmental family members, the kind who could sniff out a flaw
from across the room.
And me? When I wasn’t handling Lane Enterprises, I was stress–burning through underground nightclubs, blowing off steam with
designer heels and disposable men…
We should’ve been awkward after so many years.
But in private, he wasn’t just Xavier Ford the corporate golden boy.
He was warm. Witty. Unexpectedly disarming.
Something old sparked again between us.
And before long, we were engaged.
We married quickly.
We co–owned shares.
Ford International and Lane Enterprises merged like dynasties.
Which, of course, made divorce a logistical nightmare.
When I got home, I showered, brushed my teeth, and drank a warm glass of milk.
That night, I got a text.
[Goodnight, Avery, love you.]
Xavier always followed protocol–even during a cold war,
The next morning, I headed to the office.
Chapter 4
5,000
Right outside the building, I was nearly knocked over by some jittery twenty–something with badly bleached hair, fake designer shades, and the chaotic energy of someone two days behind on rent.
My Himalayan Birkin hit the pavement with a sickening thud, scraping the leather.
His latte arced through the air like a damn stunt shot, splashing straight onto the hem of my cream cashmere coat.
The two security guards stationed by the door immediately rushed over, shouting at the guy for not watching where he was going
He looked completely panicked.
Snatched my bag off the ground, cradling it like a relic, and pulled tissues from his pocket to dab at the coffee stain on my coat.
The leather couldn’t be salvaged.
And neither, apparently, could my patience.
He went pale, dropped to his knees on the freezing pavement, and begged for forgiveness.
It was midwinter.
He was in a thin jacket, sunglasses crooked on his face, and dark bruises were barely hidden under his eyes.
I didn’t even look at the coat
My brows pinched as I inspected the scuff on my bag–my focus entirely on the damage.
I didn’t see Xavier until the last second
He was standing across the street, just outside Ford International’s entrance Watching
Expression blank.
Jaw sel
In his eyes, for the first time, I didn’t see warmth.
I saw disgust.
He thought I was humiliating someone weaker than me. Acting entitled. Arrogant.
He was wrong
But I didn’t care enough to explain myself.
Instead, I stepped back, raised a hand to stop the guards, and helped the young man off his knees.
“I don’t know what you’re going through,” I told him quietly. “But never kneel like that again. You can lose a lot of things in this life, but dignity? That’s yours. And no one can take it unless you give it away.
He scrambled to clean up the mess, mumbling apologies and thanks as be backed away.
He turned the corner in a hurry, then suddenly glanced back over his shoulder.
There was a strange little smile on his lips–calculated, unreadable.
