Too Late, EX-Husband: The wife He Never Wanted

"I want a divorce. Draw up the papers." I sat across from the city's top divorce attorney, my voice steady and sure.

The attorney hadn't expected this. After all, I was the woman the tabloids called "the most pathetic trophy wife in America," and here I was, asking to leave my husband of my own free will.

Because according to the rumors, I was the woman so desperate to keep her husband's attention and hold on to the title of Mrs. Delgado that she'd personally groom his mistresses for him.

Other wives spent their energy guarding assets, managing their husbands, raising children.

Me? I devoted myself to training women who suited Malcolm Delgado's tastes, then delivered them straight to his bed.

I caught the shock on the attorney's face but felt no urge to explain.

What he didn't know was that the Hensons' real daughter, Lillian, had recently resurfaced, and I'd been exposed as the imposter all along.

The irony was that Malcolm had fallen for Lillian, so completely that he'd cut off every single one of his mistresses for her.

Those women came crashing into our home in tears. One of them even slit her wrists right there in the foyer, just to force Malcolm to show his face.

He never came. I was the one who cleaned up the mess, handing each of them a ten-million-dollar severance to make them go away.

Three years. I was done. The Hensons' real daughter was back where she belonged, and it was time for me to leave.

When I got home, Malcolm wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hands slipping under my clothes, his voice carrying that lazy, intimate warmth. "Babe, you've spent three years keeping those women in line for me. That's hard work. Tell me what you want as a reward."

I kept my expression blank, pulled the doctored paperwork from my bag, and handed it over. "I've had my eye on a penthouse downtown."

Malcolm signed without so much as a glance.

He was like everyone else. Convinced I'd never leave him. Convinced that the woman who loved him so deeply also craved his money too much to walk away.

But Malcolm didn't know that this time, I was truly done with him.

1

Malcolm scrawled his name on the divorce agreement disguised as a real estate contract, then pulled me into his arms.

"A penthouse isn't nearly enough of a reward. You've been working hard for three whole years, babe."

His hands slid beneath my clothes, unclasping my bra, his voice thick with desire.

"Let's have a baby to keep you company. It's about time I had an heir anyway."

I closed my eyes. A dull ache bloomed behind my ribs.

A baby?

Had he forgotten that three years ago, I'd miscarried because of his affair?

My gaze landed on the smear of lipstick on his collar, vivid as a wound, and my throat went so dry I could barely speak.

"It's late. You're tired. Let's just get some rest."

But he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek, brimming with confidence.

"I'm not tired. Your husband might not be what he was on our wedding night, but three or four rounds? Still got it."

Malcolm let out a low laugh.

"What, you think just because Lillian's back, I'm going to toss you aside?"

"She's a good girl. Just treat her like a little sister. Even if she is the Hensons' real daughter, you'll always be my wife."

"I'm going to shower. Wait for me in bed."

I wanted to tell him I truly didn't care about being Mrs. Delgado.

The truth was, I'd wanted a divorce the very first time Malcolm cheated, three years ago.

I'd fled to my parents' house and hid there for three days. He knelt outside their door for all three of those days, begging me to forgive him, swearing he'd never do it again.

I refused to forgive him. But then the Hensons sat me down and told me I wasn't really their daughter.

They said they'd raised me for over twenty years, and now it was time to repay the debt.

They wanted a hundred million dollars to settle the account for every resource they'd ever spent on me.

They wanted me to remain the chairman's wife for three more years, extending the Hensons' business partnerships with the Delgado Group. That, they said, would square us on the debt of raising me.

With no other choice, I demanded a hundred million from Malcolm as my condition for taking him back, and I went home with him.

Overnight, the whole world decided I'd stayed for the money. Even Malcolm believed I'd changed.

Whatever guilt he'd carried vanished in an instant, and he began sending women to me without restraint, expecting me to polish them to his liking.

But after watching me tend to his mistresses for three years without complaint, he started to feel sorry for me. He decided I must love him so desperately that I'd endure anything.

So every time he sent a new woman my way, he'd reward me with ten million dollars, or a house, or designer bags.

For three years, I devoted myself to cultivating women better suited to Malcolm Delgado's tastes.

I taught his mistresses piano, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Etiquette and horseback riding. The art of managing a man. They mastered it all.

Every one of them was better at pleasing him than I ever was, and he lavished his affection on them, one after another.

Until Lillian, the Hensons' long-lost real daughter, appeared.

Malcolm's heart snapped shut without warning. He cut off every last one of his flings for her.

He never came. I was the one who cleaned up the mess, handing each of them ten million dollars to make them go away.

I remembered one woman in particular who refused to leave, screaming at me until her voice broke.

"Are you proud of yourself, Prudence Henson? No matter how many women cycle through Malcolm's bed, your seat never budges!"

"Too bad it won't last. The real Henson daughter is back, and Malcolm's in love with her. Your days as Mrs. Delgado are numbered!"

Listening to the water running in the bathroom, I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"I never wanted to fight anyone for that seat."

My three-year agreement with the Hensons had expired. It was time to go.

After his shower, Malcolm kissed me.

His palm settled on my waist, fingertips pressing in with familiar warmth.

Instinct told me to push him away, but if I resisted too hard, he'd know something was off.

Let it go. Just this once. The last time, I told myself.

So I closed my eyes and endured it, tears trapped behind my lashes.

I couldn't understand why Malcolm, whose heart had already moved on, still insisted on performing this charade of devotion.

Faithless and false.

Even though every part of my soul was exhausted by the man in front of me, my body still remembered his warmth with a familiarity I couldn't erase.

After the first time, Malcolm reached for me again.

But his phone rang. The caller was Lillian.

Her voice came through, tearful and trembling:

"Malcolm, I... someone was awful to me. I'm so scared..."

His brow snapped tight. Without a second's hesitation he was out of bed and pulling on his clothes, every trace of laziness gone, replaced by something hard and urgent.

"It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm on my way."

Before, no matter what happened to any of his mistresses, he'd send a bodyguard. He never went himself. He certainly never left in the middle of the night to comfort anyone.

Now, for Lillian, he shattered that rule without blinking.

Malcolm leaned down and brushed a light kiss across my cheek. "I'll be right back, babe."

"Our anniversary is in a week. This year, I promise I'll spend it with you properly."

I watched his back disappear through the door. I'd thought I was past the point of hurting, but bitterness still rose from somewhere deep.

I shook it off quickly, pulled the divorce agreement from my bag, and sent it to the attorney.

His reply lit up my screen almost instantly: "Seven days, tops. I'll have everything finalized."

After closing the conversation, I swallowed the contraceptive pill I'd prepared.

Three years ago, I'd been pregnant too. At six weeks, I walked into the parking garage and caught Malcolm kissing one of his employees in the back seat of his car.

I lost control completely. His mistress shoved me, taunting me as I stumbled, and I miscarried right there.

I never considered carrying Malcolm Delgado's child again after that.

The memory of the procedure surfaced unbidden, pain so sharp it had felt like an execution.

I forced myself to breathe, slow and deep, until the trembling stopped, and began packing the things I'd take with me.

But when I opened the closet and saw the white dress tucked away at the very back, my heart clenched before I could stop it.

Seven years ago, when Malcolm and I first fell in love, the Delgado family wanted nothing to do with a small-town merchant's daughter.

Malcolm stood before his entire family and swore he'd marry no one else in this lifetime.

The Delgados cut off his resources. So he took my hand, and we started over from a tiny rented apartment, building everything from nothing.

During that time, he never once made me feel like I was suffering. Every bit of money he earned went toward little gifts for me, dresses he'd picked out himself.

Eventually the Delgados couldn't bear watching their heir struggle and grudgingly approved the marriage.

The day I entered the Delgado household, I knelt in the family chapel for twenty-four straight hours with a porcelain bowl balanced on my head, never letting a single drop of water spill, until his mother was finally satisfied.

I had walked into that marriage because of his love. Fearlessly. Without looking back.

Now that the love was gone, there was no reason left to stay.

I tossed every dress and every gift from those rented-apartment days into the trash without a shred of hesitation.

Once the divorce was finalized, I'd move abroad and start over.

And I was never coming back.