Tenth Anniversary, Getting Divorced

At the company's tenth-anniversary banquet, my husband's childhood sweetheart made an unexpected entrance. Without hesitation, she walked straight up to him, throwing her arms around him and handing him a bouquet of bright red roses.

To my disbelief, my husband didn't pull away—he hugged her back, tightly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The crowd erupted in cheers, calling for them to kiss, as if I was the outsider and they were the true couple.

My chest tightened; the pain unbearable. Without looking back, I turned and left the room. Goodbye, Zane. You didn't deserve my love.

——

Once again, Zane came home reeking of alcohol, the heavy scent filling the air as soon as the door creaked open. He staggered in like he owned the place, his posture demanding attention. "Bring me my slippers!" he barked, his voice laced with the entitlement of a king addressing a servant.

I sat quietly on the sofa, a half-full glass of champagne in hand, my gaze distant. The sound of him fumbling with his shoes reached my ears, followed by an annoyed huff. When I didn't move, he glared at me from across the room, his brow furrowing.

"You're just going to sit there?" Zane snapped, his voice cutting through the silence. "And you're drinking? At this hour?"

I glanced at him, my expression cool, the glass lightly tapping against my lips before I spoke. "You've got hands, don't you? Or did you suddenly forget how to use them?"

Zane's face hardened, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes. "What's gotten into you today? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

He stood there, looking genuinely perplexed, as though he had no idea what I was upset about. As if just a few hours ago, he hadn't blatantly disrespected me in front of everyone at the company banquet. He had wrapped his arms around Maeve, his childhood sweetheart, as if she was his wife, not me. The crowd had cheered like it was all part of some romantic comedy, leaving me standing there, a silent bystander. CEO or not, did that give him the right to treat me like I was invisible?

Ignoring him, I kept my focus on the bubbles rising in my champagne glass, their slow ascent oddly calming. Zane, undeterred by my coldness, placed a small, elegant jewelry box beside me. "Here," he said, his voice softening. "I got you something. Open it."

I set down my glass, opening the box with deliberate slowness. Inside lay a bold, gold necklace in the shape of a leopard—wild, aggressive and completely not my style. I glanced at it, unimpressed and closed the lid with a snap, pushing the box aside.

Zane shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. "What, you don't like it?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he'd brought me a bouquet of daisies and not a gaudy piece of jewelry worth thousands.

I met his gaze, my voice steady. "You know I don't like flashy designs like that. And it looks like a snake. I hate snakes."

Zane raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "A snake? It's a leopard. How can you confuse the two?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing the box toward him. "This wasn't even your choice, was it? Maeve picked it out, didn't she?"

Maeve Davenport was my husband's secretary and also his childhood sweetheart. The same woman who gave him a bouquet of bright red roses at the company's banquet.

His smirk faded and he averted his gaze, pretending to yawn. "She helped," he admitted, shrugging. "You know I don't understand these things."

Anger flared in my chest, but I kept my voice controlled. "You wash up and change on your own. I'm going to bed."

Zane's temper snapped, his voice rising. "Amy, seriously? You're giving me attitude over this?"

Without a word, I stood and walked to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it. Through the door, I could hear him muttering angrily. "Crazy woman!"

I collapsed onto the bed, my mind spinning. How had it come to this? Zane and I hadn't always been like this. Our relationship had started with a whirlwind of drama, but there had been moments of sweetness, moments when I thought I meant something to him.

I remembered the day we first crossed paths, when he was the golden boy of our university and I was just the girl helping her mom sell cotton candy after classes. It was a typical Friday and I watched from behind our little stall as Zane emerged from the campus gates, surrounded by a gaggle of adoring girls. He was handsome, rich and completely out of my league. Yet, despite the attention, he never seemed interested in any of the girls who fawned over him.

That day, one of them, a pretty girl with perfect curls, pointed at our stall and grinned. "Zane, I want the most expensive cotton candy. Buy it for me!"

Another girl chimed in; her voice playful. "Yeah, you can't just buy for her. We all want one!"

Zane chuckled awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable, but he approached our stall anyway. He bought five cotton candies—the most expensive ones, of course—and handed them to the girls. But when I went to give him his change, I realized I didn't have enough small bills.

Before I could say anything, Zane smiled and waved it off. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it from you next time."

Maybe it was the way he said it, the unexpected friendliness in his voice. The girls around him noticed too. Their playful giggles turned into jealous glares.

One of them, a snobbish girl named Jennifer, stormed over and kicked over our stall, yelling, "Stay away from him, you man-stealing fox!"

Without thinking, I leapt at her. We ended up in a brawl right there on the street, with cotton candy flying everywhere. Later, her parents demanded we pay thousands in compensation, money my family didn't have. We were on the verge of losing everything when Zane showed up, offering to pay the full amount.

"I can't let this fall on you," he had said, his voice steady. "This whole mess started because of me."

From that day forward, we were inseparable. Or so I thought. Now, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but wonder—was that the moment I fell into a trap?