I just walked away, and grabbed the keys to the Maybach, and drove straight to the divorce lawyer’s office. The receptionist gave me a look that said you again?, but I ignored her and walked in.
Attorney Rosario was sitting behind his polished mahogany desk. His tie was crisp, his smile tight.
“Mrs. Green,” he greeted carefully. “I received your message. But I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Cut the formality,” I said, placing the unsigned divorce documents on the desk. “I want this done. Today.”
He cleared his throat. “Thalia… this isn’t just anyone. We talked about this already. Troy Green’s family—his father owns a third of the east-side properties. His name opens doors. He has connections that could bury me.”
I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “And I’ve lived two years of silence. Two years of cold rejection. Two years of pretending my marriage wasn’t a farce. There’s no love here. There never was. Just a man obsessed with someone who isn’t me.”
He shifted, uncomfortable. “Still—”
“I’m not asking for your sympathy. I’m begging you to do your job. Get me out of this cage.”
He stared at me, then finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll file it. It’ll take a few days. But once it’s in, it’s done… and if he says no, I don’t have any say on it.”
My throat tightened. I nodded. “Thank you.”
I walked out with a weight off my shoulders and a new one building in my chest.
Next, I headed to the embassy. Filled out the necessary forms. Submitted the paperwork. I was done being a citizen of Troy’s world. Soon, I’d be gone. And this nightmare would be nothing but a memory I wouldn’t visit again.
By the time I stepped back outside, the sun was warm on my face. My chest still hurt—but for the first time, the pain wasn’t sharp. Just dull… survivable.
That’s when I remembered Troy’s credit card. I never used it—not once. Never asked for gifts, jewelry, nothing. I’d been the perfect wife on paper and an invisible one in practice.
So I opened my phone and started swiping.
Designer coats. Cashmere dresses. Heels so tall they looked like weapons. A sapphire clutch I didn’t need. Everything I saw—I bought.
Screw it.
I deserved this.
For every night I sat alone in that freezing marital bed. For every time I cooked him dinner and watched him throw it away untouched. For every rejection, every bruise my heart collected in silence—I deserved this.
And of course, Troy noticed.
Halfway through the fifth store, my phone buzzed.
TROY: “What’s going on with the card?”
I smirked and texted back without skipping a beat:
ME: “You said do something that makes me happy. This is it. Are you going to stop me now?”
A moment later, his reply came. Just one word.
TROY: “Fine.”
I laughed softly. Victory had never tasted so sweet. I stepped into another boutique, arms already full of bags. The cashier stared at me like I was royalty.
And that’s when she walked in.
Bianca. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. A beauty mark under her left eye.
She stopped mid-step when she saw me—and all the shopping bags surrounding me.
“What the hell is this?” she hissed. “You gold-digging bitch—are you trying to make my brother go broke?!”
I didn’t even flinch. “I’m not a gold-digger. I’m his wife. So I deserve this.”
“Deserve?” she scoffed. “No, you don’t. You’ll never deserve anything from him. You stole this life. That bag,” she pointed, “that dress. I want it. It’s mine!”
I rolled my eyes. “You want the dress? Buy your own.”
She stormed over, grabbing the same cream Dior gown I had in my hand. “Let go!”
“No.”
We yanked at the fabric, both of us tugging until it tore straight down the middle with a loud rip.
Silence fell.
Bianca’s face twisted. “You bitch,” she spat. “You’re the reason Troy doesn’t talk to me anymore. Ever since he married you, he never visited me again, never looked at me the same way. You ruined our relationship! I should have said this before but I was thinking of my brother but I really hate you!”
I blinked. “So what? That’s not my fault he married me. You are just his stepsister.”
“It is your fault! You took him away from me!”
And before I could react, she yanked a stiletto off one of the display mannequins and swung.
The heel struck the side of my head. I stumbled, stunned. Warmth bloomed down my temple. I reached up—and my fingers came away red.
“Die!” she screamed as she hit me again and again. “Die! Die! Die!”
