Out Of Your League, Dear Ex-Husband

Carleen Johnson POV:

I sat stiffly on an overturned mop bucket, my knees pressed tightly together.

The utility closet inside the awards banquet hall was filled with the sharp smell of bleach and damp mildew. The cramped space made it hard to breathe, each breath coming short and uneven.

On the small TV mounted to the wall, the loud music from the NHL Awards ceremony played on, a cruel contrast to the silence surrounding me.

My mother-in-law, Cynthia Tillman, had openly looked down on my middle-class background since the day I secretly married her son. An hour ago, she had dragged me into this utility closet, her blood-red manicured nails digging into my arm. "Carleen, your appearance isn't suitable for the cameras today," she said coldly, her voice full of disdain. "Stay here. Don't embarrass your husband."

My fingers tightened around the hard-shell portfolio in my lap until my knuckles turned white. It was my third-anniversary gift for Armani, the man I had built my entire life around.

Inside were the complete storyboards for my new graphic novel, The Enforcer's Apprentice. It was meant to be a surprise, somethng only for him.

I pressed the portfolio against my ribs, trying to soothe the hollow ache in my chest. I didn't even have the chance to give it to him.

Before shutting the door, Kylie, my sister-in-law—a spoiled girl who treated me like her personal maid—tossed a plastic bottle of water through the crack. It rolled to a stop near my feet like an offering to a stray dog.

"Don't make a sound, and don't even think about coming out." Her voice was just as cold as her mother's.

On the screen, the host's voice boomed, amplified and electric. "Armani Tillman!" he shouted, announcing my husband as this season's MVP.

The flashbulbs erupted, a blinding storm of white light. I saw my husband, Armani, in a painfully expensive custom suit, looking as handsome as a god as he walked onto the stage.

My heart hammered against my ribs . Three years of a secret marriage, of giving up my career to cook his meals and manage his family's every whim, all for this moment. To see him at the pinnacle of his world.

I forced myself to ignore the radiant actress, Sloane Richmond, sitting at his table. The media called her his "official girlfriend." It's just a PR strategy, I told myself for the thousandth time, digging my nails into my palms.

Armani began his acceptance speech. He thanked his coach, his teammates, his family. His gaze swept over Cynthia and Kylie in the audience, a perfect, grateful smile plastered on his face.

I held my breath, waiting. For a hint, a signal, something only we would understand.

Nothing. His eyes never once darted toward the shadows.

His speech ended. The applause was thunderous. He never once glanced in the direction of my confinement.

I let out a shaky exhale, my shoulders slumping as the last spark of hope died out.

I don't know how much time passed before the lock on the closet door clicked open. Armani stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. I couldn't see his expression.

I stood up, my legs stiff and trembling, ready to hand him the portfolio, to say, "Congratulations, my love."

He spoke first, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Carleen, let's get a divorce."

The portfolio slipped from my numb grasp. It hit the concrete floor with a sharp crack, spilling my drawings everywhere.

My mind was a blank slate of white noise. All I could hear was the frantic pounding in my ears, and then his voice again, a blade dipped in poison, sinking precisely into my heart.

"I've had enough of this boring act for three years. Look at you. What can you do besides cook and clean?" He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a disgust so profound it stole the air from my lungs.

"You don't deserve me, Carleen. An MVP's wife shouldn't be someone like you.

I started to tremble, a violent shudder racking my frame. It was a chill seeping out from my core, freezing my veins.

"Divorce?" I finally found my voice. It came out raw and broken. "Today... is our wedding anniversary."

Armani paused for a moment before letting out a short, cold laugh.

"Anniversary? I forgot." His lips curled slightly. "How fitting. Consider this my final gift to you."

I stared at him. The man I had loved for three years. The man I had given up everything for. His face, once so familiar, suddenly looked like a stranger's.

Perhaps he noticed my silence, because his expression softened. He slipped into that same gentle tone he always used whenever he wanted me to give in. "Listen, Carleen. My career is at a critical point right now. I can't afford any imperfections in my public image."

He paused, watching my reaction before continuing. "We can have a fake divorce."

I froze. "A fake divorce?" I repeated.

"Yes." He looked at me as if he had just offered the most reasonable solution in the world. "We'll sign the papers, but we won't really separate. There won't be any announcement. No one needs to know."

His voice became softer, almost comforting. "To the outside world, I'll still be the successful, single star everyone expects me to be. But privately, nothing between us has to change. You'll still be my wife."

A fake divorce. That was what he called it. A way to erase me from his public life while keeping me in his private one. The irony was almost unbearable

He actually thought that after choosing his career over our marriage, after asking me to give up the title of his wife just to make his image cleaner, I would still believe he loved me.

He reached out, his fingers moving toward my cheek. I stepped back immediately, avoiding his touch.

"'Nothing has to change'?" I whispered. "Armani, you want the world to think you're single, but you still expect me to stay by your side like a wife when no one is watching?"

His expression darkened.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Carleen." His patience began to disappear. "This is the best solution for both of us. Sign the agreement, and I'll compensate you. I'll give you enough money to live comfortably."

My eyes fell to the scattered drawings on the floor. The storyboards I had spent countless sleepless nights creating for him were now being crushed beneath his expensive shoes.

A single tear slipped down before I could stop it, landing on the page and blurring the ink. Slowly, I knelt down and picked up my drawings one by one.

When I stood again, I looked directly into Armani's eyes. My voice was calm and steady. "Fine. I agree to the divorce."

A satisfied smile spread across his face, the expression of a man who believed he had won.

But my next words wiped it away. "Not a fake divorce."

His smile froze.

"A real divorce." I held his gaze. "And Armani Tillman..."

I tightened my grip on the portfolio in my hands. "Since we're ending this marriage, we'll settle everything properly. We'll divide our assets according to the law."

I looked him straight in the eyes.

"Don't worry, Armani. I won't take a penny more than what I'm entitled to."A pause."Half of your net worth."