Seven Times I Said Yes Until I Finally Said No

I married and divorced the same man, Julian Astor, seven times.

The first time we married, he tattooed a pair of wings on my back, whispering in his low, husky voice, promising to carry me to eternity.

But when his first love, Chloe Sinclair, reappeared, Julian's tone soured. "Can't you just play along? Do you really have to make Chloe look like a homewrecker?"

The first time we divorced, I slit my wrists, hoping my blood could bind him to me. I was rushed to the emergency room, but he never once visited.

The third time we divorced, I gave up my art scholarship to Yale to become the design director at his startup, just to see him more often.

By the sixth time, I could calmly pack my bags and move out of our Boston penthouse on my own.

My hysteria, my groveling, my desperate obedience—it was all a part of his game. He’d remarry me on schedule, time and again, only to repeat the cycle of our ruin.

Until this time. After hearing Chloe was returning to Boston, I was the one who placed the divorce papers in front of him.

As always, he set a date for our remarriage, but he had no idea that this time, I was going to disappear completely.

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1

"Chloe Sinclair is back. Let's get a divorce."

My face a mask of indifference, I pushed the divorce papers I’d already signed across the table to my husband, Julian Astor.

His expression stiffened for a moment before he composed himself, signing his name on the document with practiced ease.

This was the first time I had initiated a divorce.

Yet, just as he had the six times before, he made a casual promise:

"After she leaves in a month, we'll get remarried at City Hall."

In the past, that single sentence would have sent me spiraling. I might have even forced him to swear on our matching tattoos or sign a written guarantee.

But this time, I felt nothing. I couldn't even be bothered to respond.

"Elara, are you listening to me?"

Julian’s frown deepened, his annoyance at my silence clear.

I had no choice but to nod. "Yes."

But my hands didn't stop, folding one haute couture gown after another and placing them into my suitcase.

When Julian said we would remarry, we would remarry.

In Boston's tech scene, his word was bond. There was no doubting that.

We were less a married couple than business partners, our contract periodically terminated and renewed with the signing of marriage and divorce papers.

We went through two such cycles a year. To date, I had signed twelve in total.

I still remembered what he told me at our first wedding: as long as our marriage lasted, he would never betray me.

And he did keep his word—after all, once we were divorced, he was free to be with whomever he pleased.

The price was that I became a laughingstock in Boston's high society, a plaything he could summon and dismiss at will.

My unusual behavior today seemed to unnerve Julian. After all, the memory of me losing control, even harming myself during our previous divorces, was still fresh in his mind.

He watched my movements, quicker and more practiced than the last time, his voice laced with displeasure.

"How about I move out this time..."

With a sharp click, I snapped the large Rimowa suitcase shut, cutting him off.

"I've already arranged it with Maya. I'll stay at her place for a few days."

A flicker of memory crossed Julian's face, and it instantly darkened.

"Don't go pulling any stunts, like pretending to be an intern to sneak into the company and spy on me."

He looked at me, his gaze sharp and dissecting. "Elara Vance, can't you have your own career? Can't you live without a man?"

I understood the subtext immediately—he just didn't want me disturbing him and Chloe at the office.

After all, Chloe's visits were rare, and Julian wanted her constantly by his side, inseparable.

After our second divorce, I joined his AI company as the design director. One day, I arrived at his office, his favorite coffee in hand, and pushed open the door, only to see him through the floor-to-ceiling window, kissing Chloe on a park bench below.

I lost control. I rushed down and lunged at Chloe, but Julian shoved me to the ground.

A crowd of onlookers gathered in the park. They all thought I was still Mrs. Astor, and their gazes at Chloe were filled with contempt.

To protect Chloe from criticism, Julian ignored my tearful pleas and snatched my Hermès handbag, emptying its contents onto the grass.

The divorce certificate lay on the grass like a public wound, announcing our split to the world.

From then on, every time Julian and I divorced, he would announce it on social media.

Everyone knew that Julian loved Chloe, and I was just the shameless woman who clung to him, refusing to leave.

Only this time, Julian's concern was misplaced.

I picked up my suitcase without a second thought. "Don't worry. I won't bother you two again."

Julian watched me suspiciously for a long moment. It wasn't until I had the doorknob in my hand, one foot already out the door, that he reminded me, a flicker of unease in his voice:

"We're remarrying on the 13th of next month. Don't forget."

My heart gave a little jolt.

What a coincidence.

My flight to New York was scheduled for the 13th.