Michelle was sharp; she hadn't let me down.
"You care that much about this woman? It must be true love if you're finally revealing your identity and bringing her home," she teased over the phone. "I've already smoothed things over with Dad. Going public with your marriage won't be a problem."
"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..."
The irony was bitter. She was only standing on that pedestal because I had built it for her. I had planned to give her the world today, to reveal that the "delivery boy" was the king of Harbor City. Yet here she was, discarding me like trash because she thought I was poor.
"Were the last three years a lie to you?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Feelings?" She scoffed. "It was a performance, Ethan. You didn't actually think I loved you, did you? With my beauty and talent, I deserve a king, not a pauper."
The image of the dignified, loving wife I adored shattered.
"I helped you build your empire from the shadows," I said, fighting the tremor in my voice. "Now that you've achieved success, you're kicking away the ladder? Aren't you afraid of burning bridges?"
"Have success because of you?" She laughed—harsh, grating. "I built this with my own hard work. It has nothing to do with you. Stop trying to steal my glory."
Her smile, once my favorite sight in the world, now looked twisted and grotesque.
