I lowered my hand and didn't give Archie a single fuck.
"Archie," I said evenly, my voice low but sharp, "as long as I'm still her husband, you're just the shameless side piece. So tell me, what gives you the right to insult me?"
Right on cue, Margaux rushed over from the counter, probably having just picked up her order. She wrapped her arms protectively around him, her hands running over his face like she needed to check if I'd broken him.
Then she looked up at me, and her expression turned ice-cold.
"You hit him?" she asked, her voice tight.
"I did—"
A sharper, louder crack split the air of the hall.
Margaux's hand came down harder than his.
"That slap's a warning, Troy," she said, her tone steady, but every word sliced like a blade. "He's mine. Don't you dare touch him!"
She was trembling, but it wasn't fear that caused it. It was fury barely kept under control.
"Troy, seriously? You followed us here just to throw a tantrum like some jealous little boy?"
I wiped at the tear that had crept out of the corner of my eye and stood straighter.
My chin lifted, and I held my ground.
"Margaux, I wasn't raised to walk around town parading a side piece while I was still married," I said. "If he means that much to you, then sign the damn divorce papers. Or are you planning to keep playing the mistress for the rest of your life?"
She thought I was threatening her.
A cold laugh curled from her lips. "Divorce? You think you'd survive out there without me? Who the hell would want you?"
Then, she stepped in closer, her words coming fast, laced with pride and venom.
"Six years ago, my dad handed me off to you like some trade deal. For the rest of your life—dead or alive—you belong to me."
I let out a quiet yet bitter laugh.
"Margaux, I'm not some ghost leftover from the Davidsons," I said. "And I damn sure don't belong to the Haywood family either. Even if I drop dead, I'll only ever be my own ghost."
Seeing the shimmer of tears in my eyes, her tone softened for a moment.
"Alright, that's enough. Come home. I'll explain everything."
I shook my head.
"There's nothing left to explain," I said firmly. "I meant what I said. I really want the divorce."
I pulled the paperwork from my bag and placed it on the table right in front of her.
Margaux barely glanced at it before irritation colored her expression.
"All this drama because I didn't bring enough gifts for your dad?" she asked. "Fine. I'll give you an Amex black card. Buy whatever you want. Will that make you happy now?"
Her words almost made me laugh.
'That was her takeaway?' I thought.
So that's what she thought I cared about. Money. A few bottles of wine. A fancy credit card.
If I had wanted wealth, I would have fought for it back then. But I didn't. I gave it all up just to be with her and to be the best husband I could be.
She never understood.
She never really saw what she meant to me.
I loved her for eighteen years.
I remembered it all like it had just happened. The day I was brought back to the Davidsons as the unwanted bastard child. The day Gerard, my older brother, dragged me out to the pool and threw me in like garbage. I was barely conscious, gasping for air.
And she jumped in after me.
She pulled me out and stood there, soaked and shaking, facing down Gerard.
"He's your brother, Gerard," she said, her voice soft but firm. "A real man should show kindness. Don't take out your anger on him."
That moment lit something inside me.
Margaux became my light in the middle of all that darkness.
Because of her, my years with the Davidsons had at least a sliver of dignity.
So I gave her everything I had—my youth, loyalty, and heart.
I folded a thousand paper cranes for her so she could give them to Archie.
I ran her errands by delivering Archie's medicine and breakfast.
I did everything for her just to make her happy.
I stood in the shadows like a coward, guarding my feelings as if they were shameful.
I knew where her heart was. She never once said she liked me.
But I don't regret a damn thing.
She was ready to live and die for Archie. And I was the one who stayed.
I was the one who held her when she was breaking apart, and I was the one who promised, "I'll never leave you. No matter what."
Then one day, she showed up at my door with a withered rose and that hollow look in her eyes.
"Marry me," she said.
I didn't even blink. I tossed aside my pride, my last shred of self-worth, everything.
Because I loved her.
But now?
"No need, Margaux," I said, my voice low. "I'm really tired."
I turned toward the door, ready to leave it all behind.
Just then, the bar's front doors slammed open, and someone stormed in. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward with force.
"Troy, you feeling gutsy now?" Gerard's voice rang out as he shoved me hard toward her. "Talking divorce with Margaux like you actually have a say?"
