For Nine Years, My Wife Brought Her Ex Home,So I Filed for DivorceChapter 1
The year her ex-boyfriend posed as her husband for the ninth holiday season in a row, I asked for a divorce.
Greta James didn't even try to hide her irritation. "You have a title at the company, your name on the marriage certificate, a luxury car to drive, and a mansion to live in. What more could you possibly want?"
She crossed her arms. "Everyone back home looks down on you—some hick with a trade school diploma. If Melvin Gilbert hadn't been smoothing things over with my family for the past nine years, they would've thrown you out on the street a long time ago."
I stared at her, at the entitlement written across every line of her face, and felt something cold settle in my chest.
Maybe she'd forgotten.
Nine years ago, the James family was on the brink of bankruptcy. Melvin had fled the country overnight and cut all contact.
It was Greta—crying, begging—who came to me for help.
But for nine straight years, she had pushed me past my limits again and again. She assumed I'd stay no matter what, that my patience was infinite. She didn't understand that even the most devoted man needed something to hold on to. All she'd ever given me was bitterness.
——
When she saw that my expression hadn't changed, Greta faltered. A rare flicker of panic crossed her face.
"Honey, you're not serious, are you?"
She stepped in front of me, searching my eyes. "Let me make one thing clear—I don't do second chances. If you go through with this divorce, you will never get close to me again. Not in this lifetime."
"Think about it," she pressed. "You're not that long-lost heir everyone pitied anymore. Melvin already controls every asset in the Gilbert Group. Without me, you're nothing. Just some nobody with an empty name."
"Sure, when they first brought you back, the Gilberts felt guilty. They wanted to make it up to you. But what do you have now besides the surname? What connection is left?"
"Some people are born into fortune but never meant to keep it. Getting swapped at birth was just bad luck." She lifted her chin, smug and self-satisfied. "At least I never held it against you."
Greta was still beautiful—sharp brows, striking features, that imperious tilt of her jaw. But the sight of her stirred nothing in me anymore. Only exhaustion.
For nine years she had wielded my love like a weapon, saying whatever she pleased.