Every holiday, it was always just me, showing up at the Garnett household with a smile, while my so-called siblings mocked me as if I were some discarded wife they pitied too much to kick out entirely.

Unloved. Unwanted. Unnecessary.

The memory stung. My eyes burned as I blinked hard, forcing back the tears that wanted to come. Instead, I hunched over my phone and kept typing the divorce agreement.

Sometimes, you only get clarity after crashing headfirst into a wall. That's when you realize that maybe your skull isn't as tough as you thought. Life doesn't just hand out second chances; it waits until you're bleeding and bruised to show you it was never worth it.

I hit send, firing the agreement off to Wesley's email.

Then, with a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, I dialed the person who never judged me.

My best friend, Nikki Doyle.

...

At the café, Nikki looked at me with that no-nonsense stare she always reserved for moments when I was about to make a final decision.

"You've really decided?" she asked, voice low. "Eighteen years, Jean. Are you sure you can let Wesley go?"

She was justified in questioning me. After all, she had been there from the start—our classmate, our third wheel, and the one who witnessed my private, heartbreak-filled love story firsthand.

I was the fool who followed him around like a lovesick puppy. I watched him fall for Shanice as if it were fate. I saw her leave him. I watched him spiral, drinking, losing himself, and even flirting with death during his darkest days.

And through all of that, it was always me. I was the one who held him together. Who whispered I'd never leave. Who promised I'd always be there.

Then Nikki said it, the thing I already knew.

"Shanice is back. Wesley went to pick her up from the airport."

The air around me turned cold.

Shanice.

That name alone was enough to set something off in me. Nikki knew exactly what it meant.

She wasn't a bullet to the heart. She was something slower, like poison. The kind that didn't kill you right away and just hollowed you out, piece by piece.

Even after six years of marriage, Wesley never truly let her go.

I knew because I'd seen it with my own eyes.

His private folder on his phone? Over a thousand pictures of her. I mistakenly found it a stupid lapse of judgment out of curiosity.

Truly, his reaction had been nuclear.

"Jean, have you no manners? Who told you that you could go through my personal things?"

After that, he ignored me for an entire week.

Wesley refused the meals I cooked and refused to wear the clothes I washed. At night, he took a quilt into the guest room.

And in the end, it was me who gave in.

I went to him, apologized, and admitted I was wrong, saying I'd never snoop again. Only then did he forgive me, though reluctantly.

Nikki's brows drew together, concern written all over her face.

"Jean, a divorce isn't some impulsive thing. This isn't just between you and him. Both families are involved in their businesses. Your father," she spoke quietly, as if the walls could hear.

"Don't stir things up if you're just gonna turn around and backtrack. Don't give Wesley another reason to hate you."

I gave her a bitter smile. One that didn't quite reach my eyes.

"I've eaten at the Petersons' table for twelve years and helped them rise from flashy money to actual power. I built the connections. Smoothed the social circles. That debt? It's paid."

...

Just then, thunder cracked outside.

The café door swung open, and two figures rushed in, laughing and dripping wet as they shook off the rain. The man hovered protectively over the woman, brushing water from her shoulders. She was dressed in white, light and breezy, like she didn't have a care in the world.

And then her eyes locked onto mine.

Time stalled.

Shanice didn't miss a beat. She straightened her dress, flagged down a waiter, and ordered a glass of wine as if she owned the room. Then she walked right up to me.

"Jean," she said, all smiles and smooth charm, lifting her glass. "Long time no see."

She took a sip slowly and then downed the rest in one gulp. That same glossy smile stayed on her face.

"Thank you for taking care of Wesley these past six years," Shanice added casually. "Oh, that fool! I heard that after I left, he fell apart and got depressed. He even tried to kill himself."

Then, she laughed lightly. "Such a silly man."

Rage boiled up inside me. 'She had the nerve to thank me? For taking care of my own husband?'

"Shanice," I said, my voice like ice, "caring for my husband is my duty. You're overthinking it."

Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"Six years apart, and look at you. Finally grew a backbone, huh?" Her tone stayed light, but the bite underneath was unmistakable. "Don't tell me you actually believe you're Wesley's wife? You were just filling in while I was overseas. I didn't mind. Better you than some stray off the street."

She tilted her head, pretending to be sweet. But her voice stayed sharp.

"Oh, and about that divorce you mentioned? Go for it. But just so we're clear—I can't stand mistresses who throw themselves at someone else's man. Once that paperwork's signed, stay away from Wesley. Just because you've shared a bed a few times doesn't give you the right to hang around. I, Shanice, don't tolerate even a grain of sand in my eye."

The slap echoed through the café like a gunshot.

And I didn't regret it for a second.

My hand fell back to my side, slow and steady, as I locked eyes with Shanice.

Cold. Calm. Dead serious.

"Shanice," I said, voice sharp as glass, "as long as I'm still Wesley's wife, you'll always be the shameless mistress. What right do you have to humiliate me?"

Before she could even blink, Wesley came charging across the room like he feared she'd break in half. He wrapped himself around her like some knight in shining armor, though he'd long since lost the right to wear that title.

Then he turned to me, his face tight, furious. His eyes burned straight through me.

"You hit her?" he demanded.

"Yes—"

Wesley's palm cracked against my cheek so hard it rang through the room.

His gaze locked on me, his tone icy. "That slap is a warning. Don't ever lay a hand on what's mine."

He moved closer and said, his voice low and filled with rage. "Jean, did you really follow us here just to pitch a fit in public?"

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't let them fall.

I kept my chin high as I replied, 'My family didn’t raise me to flaunt an affair like it’s something to be proud of. If she means that much to you, then sign the divorce papers, Wesley. You can’t expect Shanice to stay your sidepiece forever, can you?

He believed I was attempting to threaten him. His lips curled into a cold smile.

"Divorce?" he echoed, mockery dripping from every syllable. "You really think anyone would want you if you left me? Six years ago, your wannabe-rich father handed you to me like a bargain deal. You belong to the Petersons whether you're breathing or in a grave, Jean."

I let out a bitter laugh that tasted like acid.

"No, Wesley. I'm not my family's ghost, and I'm not yours either. Even if I die, I'll still be my ghost. Just Jean's."

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. His gaze faltered when he saw the tears trembling on my lashes.

His voice softened slightly. "Alright. That's enough. Quit making a scene. We'll talk about this at home."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, steadier now, more sure of myself than ever. "Wesley, I want a divorce, and I mean it."

I stood up, reached into my bag, and pulled out the divorce papers I'd drafted. I handed them to him without blinking.

Wesley's eyes skimmed the pages, and his irritation surged.

It was all over his face.

"All this because the gifts I sent your father weren't up to par?" he snapped. "Fine. I'll give you a black card. Buy whatever you want. Will that shut you up?"

I almost laughed. 'This man still didn't get it. He thought this was about money? About gifts?'

If I'd ever cared about things like that, I never would've walked into this marriage empty-handed.

Maybe he never understood that I had loved him for eighteen years.

When I was brought back to the Garnett family as their illegitimate daughter, and when Callum pushed me into the pool and held me under until I was choking and my eyes rolled back from panic, it was Wesley who jumped in to save me.

It was Wesley who confronted Callum and said, "She's just a girl. A man should be kind to girls, not torment them."

At that moment, his warm smile had lit a fire in my heart.

Thanks to him, life in Garnett Manor wasn't completely unbearable. I invested everything in him and devoted my whole youth to our relationship. I folded nine hundred ninety-nine paper cranes in his honor and gave them to Shanice as a misguided gesture of devotion. I ran errands for him, delivered medicine, and brought breakfast for her.

Like a little thief in the dark, I watched them smile at each other, all while I loved him in silence.

Even though I knew his heart was always hers.

Even though he never once told me he liked me.

Even then, I had no regrets.

When he nearly died saving her, I was the one who held him, the one who stayed by his side and swore I'd never leave.

When he had given me a withered rose with a bleak expression and simply said, "Marry me," I didn't hesitate.

I nodded, desperate and willing, ignoring all reason and dignity, because I loved him.

But now…

"No, Wesley. I'm tired. Really tired."

I turned to leave.

But I didn't even reach the door before someone stormed in, grabbed my arm, and yanked me backward.

"Jean," the voice snapped, laced with disdain, "look at you. Since when were you bold enough to demand a divorce from Wesley?"

I knew that voice. I didn't even need to look.

It was Callum.

My big brother. My handler. My chain.

He didn't ask questions and didn't care what had happened. He just dragged me forward and tossed me like trash at Wesley's feet.

"Apologize to Wesley right now. If you ruin the Garnett–Peterson marriage alliance, I won't forgive you, Jean!" Callum ordered, his eyes seething in anger.

I turned slowly, locking eyes with Callum, the newly crowned head of the Garnett family.

Cold. Calculated. Completely heartless.

"Callum," I said, keeping my tone level, "is marriage a family asset now? Or is it still my life? How much longer are you planning to pimp me out for the Garnetts' gain?"

My gaze drifted deliberately to Shanice as I continued, "His first love is back. You don't really expect her to play the mistress forever, do you?"

Right then, another slap landed across my face, the sound sharp enough to hush the air.

"Jean, when did you become so sharp-tongued and spiteful?" Callum's voice cut through the tension like ice breaking. "Wesley is successful, admired. Having two women chasing him isn't rare. But you—jealous, irrational, blind to the big picture. Clearly, I didn't discipline you enough."

I held my cheek and stared straight at him.

"Callum, I'm twenty-eight. Whatever 'discipline' you think I missed? It's too late to fix now."

His face twisted, a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. "So proud of yourself, huh? Just because you've been Wesley's wife for a few years? Looks like he's spoiled you too much."

Then he leaned in, voice low and sharp. "If you're not gonna learn the easy way, maybe it's time I drag your slut of a mother out of the grave and let her teach you what real family values look like."

I froze as my body locked up before the words left my mouth. "What are you planning?"

Callum sneered and retorted, "What else? Dig that whore out of the grave, of course. Let her personally show you how to put the family first."

The shock hit me like a blow. I knew Callum. This madman was absolutely twisted enough to do it.

"Apologize to Wesley," he ordered coldly, "and promise you'll stop with this childish jealousy. Swear you'll never make trouble for him again."

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

At that moment, I realized that I could not walk away from my marriage to Wesley.

I turned stiffly toward Wesley.

My voice came out flat, drained. "Sorry. I was petty. Narrow-minded."

A flicker of smug amusement flickered in his eyes. He waved dismissively, as if brushing off a gnat.

"Alright, alright. Just go home. Don't throw another tantrum like this."

I turned to leave, but Callum stepped in my way, blocking me like a brick wall. "You slapped Miss Fontana. You owe her an apology, too."

I stared at him, stunned. 'This was my family? This was the support I was supposed to lean on?'

Right then, I couldn't help but let a bitter laugh escape my lips. "Fine. I'll do as Callum says."

I turned to Shanice, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

"Miss Fontana, I'm sorry. I was impulsive," I said. "You're welcome to hit me back."

Shanice's face lit up instantly with a bright, fake smile.

She reached out, took my hand, and clasped it like we were old sorority sisters.

"Oh, Jean! What are you saying? We were classmates! It was just a silly misunderstanding. How could I ever hit you?"

Then, Shanice leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper in my ear. "Pathetic bitch. Is this your little act? Dragging Callum in to play the heavy? If you're that desperate to stay married, just admit it. Let me give you a reality check. Wesley told me that as long as I want him back, he'll never touch you again. You're just a warm body he doesn't need anymore."

Her voice dropped lower, sweeter, more venomous.

"Ever wonder why he never gives you money? It's because he promised me everything. Every dollar he earns? It's mine. You're not even worth the loose change in his pockets."

My chest tightened, and heat surged through my veins. My eyes widened as I looked at Shanice, struggling to contain the rage bubbling up.

But Shanice stepped back effortlessly, slipping back into her sunny, polished self like nothing had happened.

"Jean, it's settled then. Wesley's throwing a welcome banquet for me. We've invited all of Riverton's finest. You have to come. I even picked out a little gift for you."

Across the room, I glanced toward Callum, now casually chatting with Wesley like none of this mattered.

My teeth sank into the inside of my cheek.

I forced out one word as I said, "Fine."

The second we stepped outside, Nikki exploded beside me.

"Jean, this is absolute crap! They're humiliating you. Are you seriously just gonna take that?"

I reached over and gave the back of her hand a soft pat, a faint smile pulling at my lips.

"Nikki, I spent ten years around people who treat misery like a morning cup of coffee. You really think I'm that easy to knock down?"

My eyes sharpened with a familiar fire.

"If they're dying to give me a 'gift' at that party, I'll make sure they get one in return."

...

Moonview Manor.

The driveway resembled a luxury car showroom, jam-packed with high-end imports. The estate buzzed with wealthy chatter and sparkling laughter from Riverton's elite.

Inside, a towering eighteenth-meter crystal chandelier spiraled down from the ceiling, reminiscent of palace grandeur. Gold and silver streamers shimmered in graceful folds from the rafters, resembling a regal coronation.

A large red-and-gold banner unfurled overhead in the center of the grand ballroom:

[WELCOME HOME, SHANICE FONTANA!]