On Thanksgiving, my husband, Wesley Peterson, sent his ex-girlfriend’s dad ten cases of Dom Pérignon and another ten of Pappy Van Winkle.
Me? I got two tins of holiday cookies from a client and a fruit basket.
It felt a lot like our wedding day, actually. Wesley had only agreed to marry me with zero dowry. He hadn't even bothered to buy a ring, let alone jewelry.
But for his ex-girlfriend? He built a row of villas and gifted her a diamond necklace from the Queen's Auction. It's still sitting in a safe somewhere, untouchable at least by me.
I looked down at the rough, pitiful gift boxes before me and let out a quiet, cold laugh.
"Wesley, let's get a divorce."
His expression didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. But a flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"All this over a few gifts? Don't you think that's a bit much?"
Then, with his frustratingly casual tone, he said, "Shanice isn't here. What's the harm in me helping her out?"
Wesley reached over, grabbed two crates of Dom Pérignon, shoved them into my arms like some twisted consolation prize, and flashed his mocking grin.
"There. Happy now? Still want a divorce?"
"Yes," I replied evenly. "Divorce."
——
He let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Fine. Go home and talk it over with your brother. If you can get past him, then sure."
And just like that, Wesley turned away, waved at the bodyguards to move the rest of the liquor, and walked off without looking back.
I looked down at the bottles I was holding, then turned and dumped them straight into the trash.
"Attorney Maxwell," I said coolly, not missing a beat, "draw up a divorce agreement. I'll walk away with nothing."
The lawyer froze.
"Miss Garnett, are you serious about leaving with nothing? Does the young master know?"
He hesitated, brows pinched in concern. "You might want to talk to him first. Maybe you can negotiate for your own rights and interests."
Rights?
I almost laughed.
Did I ever really have any?
Since I joined the Garnett family, my father Bruce and my older brother Callum have treated me as nothing more than a strategic tool—a pawn for marriage alliances. That was my role.
And Wesley? He made it clear where I stood the day before the wedding.
Eight thousand dollars a month for household expenses.
Meanwhile, company dividends counted strictly as his personal premarital assets, none of which concerned me.
The villa we shared was, in fact, documented as separate property before we were married.
And me?
I accepted everything to show I loved him for who he was, not what he had.
Every humiliating condition. Every boundary he set.
But it wasn't until I saw what he'd prepared for his ex that the truth finally hit me like a freight train.
I wasn't a wife. I wasn't a partner. I was merely a stand-in, a placeholder, a convenient pawn caught in a grudge he couldn't release.
Six years passed.
And I didn't want to keep enduring any of it this time.
I unlocked my phone and began drafting the divorce agreement myself.
Just then, a breaking headline popped up on my screen:
[Riverton's richest man suspected a new romance spotted with a mysterious woman at the airport.]
I tapped on it.
The photos were crystal clear: Wesley, beaming, arm wrapped tightly around a woman I recognized in a heartbeat.
Shanice Fontana.
Their matching outfits shimmered with gold-embroidered roses, elegant and regal. They seemed fit for a magazine cover.
They looked like they belonged together.
And I? I was simply a country duck in the wrong pond, always feeling out of place and never welcomed.
A sharp burn laced through my chest like tiny needles. My throat felt parched and numb.
Then the car trunk opened.
Crates upon crates of lavish gifts were being loaded in.
The sight of them hit me like a gut punch.
And then I saw her social media post.
It was a photo of them standing in front of the car, pressed close like a perfect couple.
Wesley's arm was casually draped over her shoulders. His long, graceful fingers were completely bare, with no wedding ring in sight.
The caption?
[After all the twists and turns, you've always protected me.]
And just beneath it, Wesley's reply, "I will always be your way home."
And that wasn't even the end of it.
That same day, Shanice posted ten updates in a row.
They traveled to visit her family's ancestral home. Wesley sat in the place of honor, looking every bit the beloved son-in-law, while Shanice leaned into him as if she'd never left his side.
They raised a glass to the elders, visited her family's graves, and even knelt to pay their respects.
Later that day, they were on a boat ride across Lake Tahoe.
The sunlight fell gently on his face. His warm, easy, radiant smile was brighter than the sun itself.
When we got married, he'd never smiled at me like that.
Every time we went out, his eyes were locked onto his laptop. His face stayed blank, his attention elsewhere.
Even when I pulled on his arm, telling him little stories, hoping for a laugh or even a half-smile, all I ever received was a look of annoyance and one word:
"Childish."
