Missy’s POV
I knew him. Derrick—the bastard son of the Carmichaels. He groped my hand at a charity gala once. I slapped him across the face in front of everyone.
Now, his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked at me with that same greedy gaze.
I was shaking. My stomach churned violently.
“It’s mine!” I said, my voice trembling.
The auction room went dead silent for a beat. Then—laughter. Explosive, mocking laughter.
“Holy shit!” Micah’s buddy Aries Cavendish nearly fell off his seat. “Didn’t you just buy one last month, Missy? Micha’s rich, sure, but not ‘burn-money-for-fun’ rich.”
He snorted and leaned back, eyes dripping with contempt. “Come on. Let the others take a look. It’s not like you’re giving away your dignity. That ship already sailed.”
More laughter. They caught the scent of blood. Micah didn’t even look at me. Didn’t defend me.
They could all see it—I meant nothing to him.
“Acting like some pure saint? Bitch, weren’t you grinding on camera?”
“Micah doesn’t even give a damn. What the hell are you playing at?”
“Maybe this is his kink—humiliation in high def.”
I bit down hard on my lip. Blood flooded my mouth.
The auction assistant handed me the confirmation slip, hesitant. “Miss, are you sure you want to place the bid?”
“I’m sure.” I signed without hesitation.
“Missy!” Micah shot to his feet, his prayer beads tightening in his hand as he stormed toward me and gripped my wrist hard. His eyes were dark, swirling with rage. “You’re coming home. Now.”
Becca trailed after him with that fake little laugh. “Missy, Micah hates losing face. Do you really need to humiliate him like this?”
She blinked those fake-innocent eyes. “Besides, you’re using his money to buy it anyway. Letting someone else win that disc is a better investment for the company!”
I ignored her.
“Ohhh,” she said, louder this time. “So is it someone else’s money? Got a sugar daddy funding your little rebellion, huh? I mean, it’s not like Micah ever even touches you…”
She smiled sweetly. “Tell you what, if it’s really that big a deal, I’ll pay for it myself.”
Micah’s face darkened. “My money isn’t for you to blow like this.”
I looked at him—at that face I loved for eight years. All I saw now was disgust.
“Charge it,” I said, shoving him aside and handing over the card.
They gave me the disc. A thin, shiny little circle with my humiliation pressed into its grooves.
“Micah,” I whispered, tracing its edge. “Do you even remember why I fought for that prayer beads the last time?”
His brows furrowed slightly.
“It was the last thing my father ever made before he died,” I said. “I told you that. More than once. But you never listened.”
That night, when I parked in front of the Abbotts's place, my hands were still shaking on the wheel.
“Missy…” Barbara, Micah’s mother, came out, wrapping my frozen hands in hers. “You look pale. Did he hurt you again?”
“I want a divorce.”
His father Rudolph slammed his newspaper down. “What did that little bastard do this time?”
I pulled out my phone. Played the clip from the auction.
“Son of a bitch,” Rudolph muttered, his face livid. “How the hell did we raise a kid like that?”
Barbara squeezed my hand. “You’re a good girl. This family owes you far too much.”
By sundown, the lawyer delivered the divorce papers. Two crisp copies on the coffee table.
That’s when the door slammed open.
Micah walked in—with Becca on his arm.
I stood up so fast the fruit knife clattered to the floor.
