Too Late, Ex-Husband: You Can't Afford Me

Genevieve walked into her Georgetown home, expecting quiet. Instead, a rhythmic thumping echoed from the master bedroom, accompanied by muffled moans.

She approached silently, pushing the heavy oak door ajar.

Inside, the scene was a chaotic tangle of limbs and discarded designer clothes. Jaycob Alford, the man she had supported for thirteen years, was deeply entangled with a blonde woman on their marital bed.

"Oh, Jaycob, you are amazing," the woman gasped, her voice thick with lust, her nails trailing down his sweat-slicked back. "Are you this wild with Genevieve?"

Jaycob let out a cruel, dismissive scoff, his hips moving with vigorous rhythm. "I have never even touched her, Carlee. Not once."

"Really? Why not?" Carlee purred, arching her back.

"Because I do not love her," Jaycob murmured, kissing her neck. "My body and soul have always been waiting for my true love. And that is you."

Genevieve stood in the hallway, a bitter, ironic smile forming on her lips. Thirteen years of bleeding herself dry for his tuition and his family, and this was her reward.

"When are you going to finally divorce that boring, flavorless woman?" Carlee whined playfully, though there was a sharp edge of urgency in her voice. "I need us to get married. Soon."

"Very soon, baby," Jaycob promised, eager to please. "I cannot bear to see you suffer in the shadows. I will make her sign the papers today."

Listening to them, the pieces clicked together. Carlee Roman. The Roman family was incredibly wealthy and influential in Washington D.C. Jaycob was discarding her for a more useful stepping stone.

But Genevieve's sharp mind caught a glaring flaw. Why would a powerful, arrogant heiress like Carlee desperately need to marry a junior associate with no background and no money? Carlee's tone held a frantic undertone. She did not love him. She urgently needed a naive, pliable fool to cover up a mess. A scapegoat.

She pulled out her phone and opened a secure messaging app, typing a message to a blocked, highly classified number.

"I need a full background check on Carlee Roman. Fastest speed. Find out what she is hiding."

Message sent. Genevieve was done listening to them humiliate her. She switched her phone to the camera app, making sure the flash was on.

With a swift, hard kick, she slammed the bedroom door wide open.

"Smile for the camera," she announced coldly.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

The bright light cut through the dim bedroom. Jaycob and Carlee shrieked in absolute terror. Carlee scrambled frantically to cover her naked body with the messy sheets, her face contorted into an ugly mask of panic. Jaycob tumbled off the bed in his haste, landing heavily on the floor, his naked body scrambling pathetically, trying to hide his face behind his hands.

"Genevieve! What are you doing!" Jaycob screamed, his voice cracking in sheer cowardice.

Genevieve lowered her phone, looking at the two pathetic figures with absolute disgust.

"Get dressed and come out to the dining room," she commanded, her voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "We have a divorce settlement to discuss."

She turned and walked away, her posture straight and unbroken.

Ten minutes later.

"Genevieve, just sign it."

Jaycob pushed the thick stack of papers across the heavy mahogany dining table. The room had been cleared of its usual centerpiece. Just the cold, polished wood and the weight of what was about to happen.

He had assumed she would not be home yet. He had timed it perfectly for his little affair, but now the house felt like a trap. He wouldn't meet her eyes. His hair was still a messy nest, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Genevieve said nothing. She simply watched him, her hands resting calmly in her lap.

Across from her, Carlee tapped a perfectly manicured, blood-red nail against the table's surface. She had hastily thrown on her designer dress, but it was wrinkled, destroying her usual glamorous image.

"Honestly, Jaycob, what is there to discuss?" Carlee sighed, her massive diamond necklace glittering. "She's been living off your potential for thirteen years. It's time she learned to stand on her own two feet. Or are you going to let her keep leeching off you forever?"

Carlee didn't even look at Jaycob with affection. Her gaze held a thinly veiled contempt. To her, Jaycob was just a convenient, obedient tool, a stepping stone to solve her own hidden problems.

Jaycob cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound. "Carlee's right, Gen. You've done enough. It's time for both of us to move on." His fingers drummed nervously on the polished wood, a coward's rhythm. "This is a generous offer. More than fair."

"Considering everything?" Genevieve repeated, her voice soft but carrying a razor's edge. "You mean considering that I worked double shifts to keep you fed while you studied? Considering that my parents drained their savings to pay your tuition? Considering that, Jaycob?"

Carlee let out an exaggerated sigh, examining her nails with elaborate boredom. "Oh, here we go. The martyr routine. Let me be very clear with you, Genevieve. Jaycob is going places. He needs a wife who can move in those circles. Not a waitress's daughter from nowhere."

Jaycob flinched at Carlee's words, but he didn't defend Genevieve. Instead, he straightened his tie with trembling fingers and nodded along with pathetic obedience. He was perfectly willing to sell his soul and his dignity for a shortcut to the top.

Genevieve's deep green eyes finally moved to the papers. She didn't read them. They were a legal document designed to nullify thirteen years of her life in exchange for a sum that wouldn't cover a down payment on a decent apartment. He was wiping the slate clean and keeping every penny he would earn for himself.

"The suit you wore to your Yale Law School graduation, Jaycob. Who paid for it?"

The question landed in the sterile quiet of the room, heavy and undeniable.

Jaycob's face began to flood with color. A deep, ugly red crept up from his neck.

Carlee tossed her head back. "Are we really going to do this? The cheap sentimentality? You should be thanking him. Now it's time for him to be with someone on his level. Not a charity case. Take the deal. Because if you try to fight this, my family's lawyers will make sure you walk away with less than nothing. You'll be paying his legal fees for the next decade."

A faint, ironic smile touched Genevieve's lips. "His future?" She let the question hang. "His future was paved with my past. With my savings. With thirteen years of my life."

Her gaze locked onto Jaycob, pinning him down.

"When your father passed away, who covered the funeral expenses because you were a broke student?"

A muscle in Jaycob's jaw twitched violently. He looked utterly pathetic, but he didn't speak. He couldn't.

"When you were applying to law school, who stayed up for three nights straight editing your personal essays? Who paid the full tuition so you wouldn't have to take on loans?"

Carlee's smug expression faltered. This wasn't the tearful, pleading wife she had imagined.

"When you first made associate and couldn't afford a decent apartment, who gave you the keys to the house her parents left her, while she went and rented a small studio for herself?"

With each question, Jaycob shrank in his chair. His shoulders slumped. He was a small man, a hollow shell filled with nothing but greed and cowardice.

"Enough!" Carlee slammed her hand on the table, making Jaycob flinch with jerky panic. He cringed reflexively, proving exactly who held his leash. "You just want more money! Is that it? Name your price! How much will it take to make the little charity case go away?"

Genevieve turned her full attention to the other woman. The calm at the center of a hurricane.

"Money?" she repeated softly. "No. I'm not here for a handout."

She rose from her chair. Her posture was impeccable, commanding the space. She walked slowly around the table. Jaycob recoiled as she approached, looking utterly defeated.

Genevieve stopped beside him. She twisted the simple gold band on her ring finger once.

"I'm here to collect a debt," she said, her voice carrying an edge of steel. "A thirteen-year debt."

She picked up the divorce agreement. Without giving it a single glance, she held it up and, with a slow, deliberate motion, tore the thick stack of papers directly in half.

The sound of ripping paper was violent in the silent room.

Carlee let out a strangled gasp. Her mask of arrogant superiority finally cracked. Jaycob stared at the torn halves in pure shock.

Genevieve let the pieces flutter onto the table like discarded trash.

"This agreement," she said, her voice sharp and freezing, "is an insult to my investment."

She looked directly at Carlee.

"You want him? Fine. You can have him. Take the man who can't even look his own wife in the eye while he discards her. Take the man who needs a woman to speak for him because he's too much of a coward to speak for himself. You two deserve each other. A spineless parasite and an arrogant heiress looking for a gullible fool."

Jaycob's face went ashen gray. Carlee's jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a furious line.

"But you will pay back what he owes me. Every last cent."

Carlee was speechless. The sheer, unexpected force of Genevieve's will had stunned her.

Genevieve turned and walked toward the door. There was no trace of a retreat in her stride. At the threshold, she stopped and looked back.

"Miss Roman, your family is very powerful. But let me offer you a piece of advice. Some things can't be bought with money or influence. Things like a conscience."

She smiled a chilling smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. He doesn't have one of those."

And then she was gone, leaving the wreckage of their expectations behind her.