My Last Twelve Hours as His Wife

On the day I decide to divorce Evan Beckett, I still make lunch and deliver it to him in person.

After he takes a sip out of the soup, he widens his eyes in surprise.

"The soup's pretty decent! I'll have it again tomorrow!"

I nod in response.

"Sure thing. I'll teach the housekeeper how to cook it later."

That's when Evan lifts his head to look at me.

"You got something going on tomorrow?"

"Let's get a divorce, Evan."

I sound very calm; so calm that everyone, including Evan, thinks that I'm throwing another tantrum.

But what they don't know is that I'll be traveling to the ends of the earth with a research team, where we'll be based in for eternity, in 12 hours.

After hearing that, Evan Beckett didn't even lift his gaze. "Since you're free tomorrow, you should cook for me. I'm not used to the food Maria makes."

"In that case, you should hire a housekeeper whose cooking you can get used to." Right after saying that, I pulled the divorce agreement out of my handbag and handed it to him. "I've already signed it. Now, it's just missing your signature."

Evan didn't reach out. He just locked his eyes on me, studying me for a long while. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips. "This is the 18th time, but this is your most convincing attempt yet."

I knew exactly what he meant.

Before this, every single time his affairs with starlets and socialites made the tabloids, I would lose my mind, throw a tantrum, and demand a divorce. He would then use my hysteria as a pretext to move out and stay at his office. Inevitably, fear would consume me, and I'd swallow my pride and beg for a reconciliation.

We had repeated this vicious cycle a whopping 17 times.

Little did he know, yesterday, I overheard a conversation between my team members.

"Did you see the news? Ms. Jennings' husband was caught checking into a hotel with another starlet again!"

"It's the talk of the town; you'd have to be living under a rock to miss it."

"I seriously don't get what Fiona sees in her husband. What is she even getting out of a marriage like that?"

"What else? Money, obviously. Oh, and let's not forget that she's a total doormat..."

As their voices faded into the distance, I stood frozen in the bathroom stall. I had bitten my bottom lip so hard that it was bleeding.

With trembling fingers, I dialed Evan's number. The call was answered only moments before it was about to go to voicemail. "What is it this time?"

"Didn't you promise me that you wouldn't make the headlines again? Do you have any idea how my coworkers are looking at me right now?"

"That's what this is about?" His tone was brimming with impatience. "If you can't handle the way people look at you, quit your job and stay home. Fiona, there are plenty of women who would love to be the lady of the Beckett family. If you're tired of the title, I can easily replace you."

Before I could utter a word, a woman's saccharine voice drifted through the line. "Evan, I want to be the lady of the Beckett family, too!"

"Sure, I'll marry you once Fiona's out of the picture…" The call was cut off amidst heavy panting.

As I listened to the mechanical beeps of the dial tone, I realized my colleagues were right; I had been a pathetic doormat.

Shaking off the memory, I said softly, "Don't worry. Even though you're the one who committed infidelity, I won't take a single dime of your family's assets. I've left all the jewelry you bought me on the vanity table—"

"That's enough!" Evan hurled his spoon back into the bowl. "We're at the office. If you want to make a scene, do it at home. I can't afford to be humiliated here!"

I pressed my lips together and fell silent, gazing at him calmly.

After what felt like an eternity, he seemed to surrender. "Look, Charles will have that jewelry set you took a fancy to last time delivered to our house tonight. As for Astrid—"