I lowered my hand and didn't give Archie a single fuck.

"Archie," I said evenly, my voice low but sharp, "as long as I'm still her husband, you're just the shameless side piece. So tell me, what gives you the right to insult me?"

Right on cue, Margaux rushed over from the counter, probably having just picked up her order. She wrapped her arms protectively around him, her hands running over his face like she needed to check if I'd broken him.

Then she looked up at me, and her expression turned ice-cold.

"You hit him?" she asked, her voice tight.

"I did—"

A sharper, louder crack split the air of the hall.

Margaux's hand came down harder than his.

"That slap's a warning, Troy," she said, her tone steady, but every word sliced like a blade. "He's mine. Don't you dare touch him!"

She was trembling, but it wasn't fear that caused it. It was fury barely kept under control.

"Troy, seriously? You followed us here just to throw a tantrum like some jealous little boy?"

I wiped at the tear that had crept out of the corner of my eye and stood straighter.

My chin lifted, and I held my ground.

"Margaux, I wasn't raised to walk around town parading a side piece while I was still married," I said. "If he means that much to you, then sign the damn divorce papers. Or are you planning to keep playing the mistress for the rest of your life?"

She thought I was threatening her.

A cold laugh curled from her lips. "Divorce? You think you'd survive out there without me? Who the hell would want you?"

Then, she stepped in closer, her words coming fast, laced with pride and venom.

"Six years ago, my dad handed me off to you like some trade deal. For the rest of your life—dead or alive—you belong to me."

I let out a quiet yet bitter laugh.

"Margaux, I'm not some ghost leftover from the Davidsons," I said. "And I damn sure don't belong to the Haywood family either. Even if I drop dead, I'll only ever be my own ghost."

Seeing the shimmer of tears in my eyes, her tone softened for a moment.

"Alright, that's enough. Come home. I'll explain everything."

I shook my head.

"There's nothing left to explain," I said firmly. "I meant what I said. I really want the divorce."

I pulled the paperwork from my bag and placed it on the table right in front of her.

Margaux barely glanced at it before irritation colored her expression.

"All this drama because I didn't bring enough gifts for your dad?" she asked. "Fine. I'll give you an Amex black card. Buy whatever you want. Will that make you happy now?"

Her words almost made me laugh.

'That was her takeaway?' I thought.

So that's what she thought I cared about. Money. A few bottles of wine. A fancy credit card.

If I had wanted wealth, I would have fought for it back then. But I didn't. I gave it all up just to be with her and to be the best husband I could be.

She never understood.

She never really saw what she meant to me.

I loved her for eighteen years.

I remembered it all like it had just happened. The day I was brought back to the Davidsons as the unwanted bastard child. The day Gerard, my older brother, dragged me out to the pool and threw me in like garbage. I was barely conscious, gasping for air.

And she jumped in after me.

She pulled me out and stood there, soaked and shaking, facing down Gerard.

"He's your brother, Gerard," she said, her voice soft but firm. "A real man should show kindness. Don't take out your anger on him."

That moment lit something inside me.

Margaux became my light in the middle of all that darkness.

Because of her, my years with the Davidsons had at least a sliver of dignity.

So I gave her everything I had—my youth, loyalty, and heart.

I folded a thousand paper cranes for her so she could give them to Archie.

I ran her errands by delivering Archie's medicine and breakfast.

I did everything for her just to make her happy.

I stood in the shadows like a coward, guarding my feelings as if they were shameful.

I knew where her heart was. She never once said she liked me.

But I don't regret a damn thing.

She was ready to live and die for Archie. And I was the one who stayed.

I was the one who held her when she was breaking apart, and I was the one who promised, "I'll never leave you. No matter what."

Then one day, she showed up at my door with a withered rose and that hollow look in her eyes.

"Marry me," she said.

I didn't even blink. I tossed aside my pride, my last shred of self-worth, everything.

Because I loved her.

But now?

"No need, Margaux," I said, my voice low. "I'm really tired."

I turned toward the door, ready to leave it all behind.

Just then, the bar's front doors slammed open, and someone stormed in. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward with force.

"Troy, you feeling gutsy now?" Gerard's voice rang out as he shoved me hard toward her. "Talking divorce with Margaux like you actually have a say?"

"Apologize to Margaux right now. If you screw up this alliance, I swear, I won't let you walk away from it."

Gerard's words hit like a hammer, full of that smug authority he always carried like a badge. My older brother, the new head of the family, is cold-blooded and calculated, always thinking about the long game and never about the people caught in it.

I looked him straight in the eye with no fear and just a dull weight in my chest.

"Gerard," I said flatly, "is marriage just another business deal to you? Do you really think you get to decide who I stay with and who I sleep next to at night? How long do you expect me to keep selling myself for the Davidson name?"

As I spoke, my gaze shifted toward Archie, who hadn't said a word, just stood there like the smirking parasite he was.

"Now that her shining white knight's back in town," I added, "you're not really planning on keeping him in the shadows forever, are you?"

Smack.

The slap came quickly and deliberately. Gerard didn't hesitate.

"Troy," he snapped, "when did you get so bitter? So damn petty?"

"Margaux is an extraordinary woman. She has two people she trusts. And what, huh? That makes you jealous? Insecure? Small-minded? Clearly, I didn't raise you right."

I didn't flinch. I didn't touch my cheek.

I just stared back at him, the sting crawling across my skin, but not my pride.

"I'm twenty-eight, Gerard," I said. "If you think you messed up raising me, it's a little late to fix it now."

His jaw tightened, and he scoffed like I'd spit on the family crest.

"So, a few days playing house as Mr. Haywood, and suddenly you've grown a spine? Margaux must've spoiled you rotten."

Then his expression turned meaner, colder. I knew that look too well.

"Well then," he said, "since you're done being reasonable, maybe it's time to let your aunt step in."

I froze mid-breath.

The words spilled out before I could stop them. "What are you planning to do?"

Gerard's voice dropped. Quiet, sharp, deadly. "What do you think? I'll dig her up. Let her remind you what it means to stay in your lane. To understand your place in the bigger picture."

My heart stopped for a second.

He wasn't bluffing. That bastard would really do it.

"Apologize to Margaux," Gerard said again, tone tightening. "Promise her you won't get jealous again. That you'll never upset her."

My fists clenched. I knew then and there that I couldn't let this marriage end as they wanted it to.

I turned toward Margaux. My arms felt heavy, my chest hollow.

"… I'm sorry," I said, dead inside. "I was petty. I didn't see the bigger picture."

Her lips curled, just slightly.

Her voice was light, as if none of this even mattered. "Alright, alright. Go home. Don't throw tantrums like this again."

I nodded once and turned to leave.

But Gerard wasn't done.

"You hit Mr. Branson," he said. "Apologize to him too."

I stopped cold. My blood boiled. But I held it down.

So this was what "family" meant to them.

I laughed, just once. Dry, bitter.

"Sure," I said. "Whatever you say, Gerard."

I turned toward Archie, forcing my voice into something even. "Archie, I'm sorry. I lost my temper. If you want to hit me back, go ahead."

Archie lit up like he'd just won the lottery. He grinned and reached out like we were old college buddies.

"Troy, come on now," he said with that fake charm. "We're classmates, right? Just a misunderstanding. Why would I ever hit you?"

He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear—his breath stank of smug.

"What a weakling!" he sneered, "You even brought your brother, Gerard, just to put on a little show for me? If you don't want the divorce, just say it."

He chuckled softly.

"Let me make it real simple for you. Margaux told me, clear as day, that if I'm willing to take her back, she'll never lay a hand on you again. You were just a warm body—a bed-warmer. You're useless now. You want to know why she never spent a dime on you? Because she promised me her money would only go to the man she loves. And you? You don't even come close."

It hit like a gut punch.

My lungs tightened, and for a second I couldn't breathe. My chest burned and my hands trembled, but I kept still.

Just like that, Archie straightened up. Replacing his sneer, he let out a radiant smile.

"Troy, that's all settled then," he chirped. "Margaux's throwing me a homecoming party. Big one. All the top names in Metropolis will be there. You should come. I've got a gift just for you."

I glanced past him toward Gerard, who was now laughing with Margaux as if none of this had happened and as if they hadn't just cheered while my dignity was stomped into the floor.

Holding myself back, I forced myself to nod. "Sure."

We stepped outside, and the evening air felt too cold for the season.

Kenneth followed close behind, his voice tight with anger. "Troy, they've crossed every line. You're really going to let them walk all over you like that?"

I gave her a small smile, patting the back of his hand.

"Kenneth," I said quietly, "I spent ten years on the street. You think I'm the kind of guy who lets things slide? They said they've got a gift for me. That's fine. But at Archie's homecoming party?"

I met her eyes.

"I'll bring one of my own."

...

Later that week, the night of the homecoming party finally arrived.

Starlight Heights was overflowing with people. The estate's driveway was packed with luxury cars—Bentleys, Maybachs, and Rolls-Royces lined up like a damn auto show.

Inside, the grand hall buzzed with high society chatter, champagne clinks, and fake laughs.

An eighteen-meter crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, glimmering like a spiral galaxy. The polished marble floors looked like still water beneath them. Satin banners swayed from the tall walls, catching the breeze from open glass doors leading to a candlelit terrace.

And right in the center of it all, bold and gaudy as hell, a wide red banner stretched across the hall:

[Welcome Home, Mr. Archie Branson. Congratulations on Your Triumphant Return!]

“Congratulations to Mr. Archie Branson on returning home after completing his studies abroad.”

Margaux navigated through the crowd, arm in arm with Archie, looking the perfect host in a dark, intricately patterned gown. The chandelier above them cast a gentle glow that illuminated the matching rings on Archie’s finger—rings from the Queen’s Auction. Rare. Exclusive. Priceless.

And not meant for me.

Even though I had already accepted that her love was never truly mine, a dull pressure still tightened in my chest. It was an old wound, but seeing that ring brought the ache back as if it had never left.

I remembered the day I once tried it on.

The ring had barely slid onto my finger before Margaux’s eyes locked onto me, her face twisted in outrage. She stormed over, grabbed my wrist like she’d just caught me cheating, her grip so tight her hand shook.

“Take it off. Now,” Margaux snapped.

Startled, I fumbled to pull it off and placed it carefully back in the safe.

My voice came out defensive and confused. “I was just trying it on. That’s all.”

Her expression didn’t soften at all. In fact, it got colder. “Haven’t I told you not to touch my things? Try it again, and don’t blame me when I lose it.”

After that day, the safe’s password and the lock on her office door were changed. Back then, I couldn’t understand it. It was just a ring, right? We were married. Why couldn’t I wear it, even for a second?

But I get it now.

That ring was never mine. It had always been meant for someone else.

It had been waiting for him. For Archie.

That ring wasn’t a symbol of our marriage. It was her promise to him.

And now, it had finally found its way to where it was always supposed to be.

...

The music faded, and Margaux led Archie up to the ceremonial stage. They moved in sync, effortless, like they’d been rehearsing their whole lives.

She took the mic with a practiced smile.

“Today marks Mr. Archie Branson’s return after completing his studies abroad. I’m pleased to officially announce that he will be stepping into the role of Vice President at Novastar Group, with a twenty percent equity stake.”

She paused, letting the crowd soak that in before she continued, “And as a gesture of appreciation for his decision to join the company, I’ll also be transferring ownership of Starlight Heights to him.”

Exactly as expected, a hostess approached with a silver tray. Margaux extended her hand, removed the black silk cover, and unveiled a property deed—a rich crimson folder shining under the stage lights.

The room buzzed like a kicked beehive:

“Miss Haywood is insane. A company stake and a luxury villa? That’s real power.”

“Starlight Heights alone is worth billions. She’s not just generous—she’s making a statement.”

“Come on, everyone knows Miss Haywood’s heart was always with Archie. This just seals it.”

The comments rippled through the crowd like wildfire.

I could feel the weight of a hundred stares landing on me.

Some were pitiful, some amused, but most of them just wanted a good show.

Just in time, Gerard entered, his jaw tight.

He fixed me with a look and spoke low: “See that? He walks in and leaves with billions. You’re still here talking about divorce. If you’ve got energy to sulk, spend it getting Margaux back. When she kicks you out, don’t come crawling to us. We don’t carry dead weight.”

I just smiled faintly and looked down at my phone.

A video had just come in.

“You’re right, Gerard,” I said. “I stand corrected.”

Meanwhile, on stage, Margaux and Archie looked at each other with the warmth and longing I once dreamed she would show me. She handed him the deed and leaned in for a kiss.

The moment felt soft and intimate. It didn’t seem staged and appeared genuine.

As Archie mentioned, a woman’s spending often follows where her love resides.

He had hardly landed back in the Metropolis when she already presented him with equity and property worth billions. If he stayed longer, Novastar Group might also become his.

But then, none of it had anything to do with me.

Six years of marriage got me nothing. No shares. No assets. Not even a house key in my name. Just a bed to sleep in and cold leftovers on the table.

When the ceremony ended, Archie strolled over, looking relaxed, while carrying a black gift box, smiling like we were all old friends.

“Troy,” he said, light and breezy. “Thanks for showing up to my homecoming party. I got you something.”

I took the box. Part of me was just curious. If he’d walked all the way over here himself, it had to be deliberate.

I flipped it open.

My heart skipped a beat.

Inside, there was a used condom. It was still wet. The stench hit me immediately—sharp, sour, and disgusting.

It was vile.

Archie leaned in, close enough for his breath to hit my ear. His voice dropped, smooth and mean.

“Troy… last night, Margaux just couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

He chuckled softly.

“I had no choice. Had to do what a man’s gotta do. You should’ve seen her like an animal, like she hadn’t had real meat in years. She almost tore me apart.”

Then he pulled back, tilting his head with a smirk, that same smug, gleaming look that made my fists curl.

His eyes sparkled with victory, as if he was waiting for me to snap... waiting to see me burn.

"Go ahead, Troy. Cry, scream, hit me again if you want," Archie sneered. "I slept with your wife. What are you gonna do about it?"

I stared at him momentarily, calm as ever, then slowly closed the gift box lid.

The smile on my face didn't waver.

"Branson, thanks for the gift," I said coolly. "I really like it."

Then I turned and walked up the steps to the stage. My steps were slow and deliberate, and every move was measured. I picked up the mic with a steady grip and looked out at the sea of guests.

"Tonight," I said, my voice echoing through the hall, "Mr. Branson gave me a very special present. It seems only fair that I return the favor. I hope he likes mine just as much."

The velvet curtains behind me parted with a soft, theatrical sweep.

The LED screen illuminated brightly, displaying a large, crystal-clear image that covered the entire display—impossible to miss and even more memorable.

It was Archie, naked and tangled with a French woman in what was clearly a hotel room.