"Thanks, Sis. I owe you one."
Just then, a servant jogged in, breathless.
"Sir, Madam requests your presence at home immediately. She says it's urgent."
Perfect. I had something urgent to discuss with Delia too.
With Michelle backing me and Delia's skyrocketing status in the business world—a status I had secretly orchestrated—the Ashford family would have to accept her. Even if they turned their noses up at her background, they couldn't deny her success.
I hopped into the assistant's car, adrenaline humming through me. I needed to get back to the villa. I needed to tell her the truth.
Once she knew I was the heir to the Ashford empire, she would be thrilled.
The car pulled into the courtyard. I didn't wait for the driver—I rushed out and headed straight for the living room.
The scene froze the blood in my veins.
Delia sat on the sofa in a dress that clung to every curve—far too revealing for a casual afternoon at home. Beside her sat a middle-aged stranger. They were sitting close. Too close.
A cold knot tightened in my stomach.
"Who is this?" I asked, stepping into the room.
"Ethan." Her voice held no warmth. "This is the court's divorce decree. As of today, we're finished."
She tossed a stack of documents at me. The papers slapped against my chest before scattering across the floor.
I stood rigid, my mind reeling. My gaze dropped to the papers, then snapped back to her face. The tenderness I was used to seeing was gone—replaced by utter contempt.
Was this the same woman who had been gentle as water only yesterday?
"Delia, is this a joke?" My voice came out low.
"Look at yourself," she sneered. "I am one of Harbor City's wealthiest women, a tycoon worth hundreds of millions. And you? A delivery driver. Do you honestly think you belong in my world?"
She wasn't joking. She was ashamed of me.
A heavy weight settled in my chest. We had been happy—or so I thought. Had she used her connections to fast-track this divorce behind my back without a word of warning?
I stepped forward, reaching for her hand. "Delia, wait—"
She recoiled as if I were contagious, slapping my hand away.
"Don't touch me!" Her face twisted in disgust. "Look at you—poor, shabby, reeking of sweat. You don't have a single valuable thing on your body. Keep your filthy hands off me."
"Delia..."