My husband Brandon married me eight times, and divorced me eight times for the woman he truly loved, but there wouldn't be a ninth time today.

“Let’s divorce. Your first love is here.”

I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, right over his keyboard.

Brandon didn’t even blink. He just picked up his pen, signed his name with a lazy flick of his wrist, and tossed the document back to me.

“We’ll get married again once she leaves after a month,” he said, his eyes already back on his screen. “For now, just go on a vacay. Buy yourself something nice.”

It was always like this. Paula was a free spirit who despised the idea of marriage and being tied down. She preferred to travel the world, living completely carefree. But whenever she grew bored or lonely, she would return to the city, and Brandon would immediately clear his life for her—which meant divorcing me.

Then, once her wanderlust kicked in and she abandoned him again, he would summon me back to resume my role as his convenient, legally-bound placeholder.

I didn’t say a word.

I just turned around, walked into our master bedroom, and pulled my suitcase from the closet. I started packing my clothes.

Usually, this was the part where I cried. The part where I begged him to look at me, to choose me, to explain why I was never enough.

Today, the room was dead silent.

Heavy footsteps suddenly stormed into the room. Before I could fold my last shirt, Brandon grabbed my arm and yanked me around to face him.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his jaw clenched tight. “Aren’t you gonna say a word to me? Aren’t you jealous? Paula is here.”

I gently pulled my arm out of his grip and turned back to my suitcase. “Well, yeah.”

Brandon stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“What is wrong with you?” he barked, stepping into my space. “Are you cheating on me? Is that why you don’t care?”

My hands paused on the zipper. I let out a short, dry laugh and looked him dead in the eye.

“Cheating?” I repeated. “Brandon, it’s not like you love me.”

He flinched, but I didn't stop.

“From the very beginning, it has always been business with us. We aren't husband and wife. We just have contracts and deals.”

It was the ugly truth. I had agreed to his terms years ago because I needed money to support my mother’s medical life in the hospital. I hadn't actually thought I'd fall for him, but I did, only to be disregarded ever since. But after everything, I finally knew I would never love him again.

Brandon’s face darkened. His possessive anger flared.

“If you dare betray me and have another man,” he warned, his voice dropping into a lethal, cold whisper. “I swear, your mother will die.”

I looked at his handsome, furious face.

“Okay,” I said softly.

He didn't know. He had been so busy preparing for Paula's arrival that he hadn't even noticed my swollen eyes. He didn't know the hospital had called me three days ago.

My mother was already dead.

I snapped my suitcase shut, cutting off the conversation. “I’m leaving now. I’m just gonna stay with my friend.”

“Don't get any ideas about ambushing us at the company,” he warned, his lip curling in disgust. “I won't tolerate you throwing another hysterical fit in front of my staff just to get my attention.”

I knew exactly what he was referring to. Paula was only in town for a short while, and Brandon intended to parade her around the executive floor as his rightful partner.

The memory of our third divorce flashed in my mind. Back then, I had been foolish enough to think I could fight for my marriage. I had rushed to his office to deliver a crucial document he had left at home, only to find Paula sitting in his CEO chair, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. When I lost my temper and demanded she get away from my husband, Paula had squeezed out a few fake tears.

To protect his precious first love from the judgmental whispers of the senior executives gathering outside the glass walls, Brandon hadn't just told me to leave. He had called security.

As two guards grabbed my arms to drag me out, Brandon had coldly tossed our freshly stamped divorce decree onto the floor at my feet.

“She isn't my wife,” he had announced loudly to the entire floor, ensuring everyone heard him over my sobs. “She’s just an ex who doesn't know when to quit.”

Since that day, his PR team made it a point to leak our divorce status to the social pages every single time Paula returned. They painted Paula as his innocent, destined muse, and me as the delusional, clinging woman who was obsessed with his wealth.

But this time, his threats meant nothing.

“You don't have to worry,” I said, walking past him without a second glance. “I have zero interest in interrupting your time with Paula. You two deserve each other.”

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read my face. He was clearly unsettled by my lack of tears, but his massive ego quickly covered it up.

“Just make sure you're back by the second week of next month,” he ordered. “We have a wedding to schedule.”

I didn't turn around, but a quiet, genuine smile broke across my face.

“Okay,” I whispered to the empty air.

Because the second week of next month was exactly when my one-way flight was scheduled to take off. And Brandon would never find me again.

In the past, during our first few divorces, I was pathetic. I used to follow Brandon and Paula around the city like a masochist. I would sit in my parked car outside expensive restaurants, watching through the glass as he showered her with the kind of tender love and affection he never gave me.

He would buy her entire boutiques, kiss her forehead, and look at her like she hung the stars. It broke my heart into a million pieces, but I swallowed the pain.

I was willing to stay, willing to endure the humiliation, just for the scraps of his attention.

But everything changed a few months ago, on his birthday.

I had just found out I was pregnant. Overjoyed and terrified, I bought a custom cake and went to his private club to surprise him with the news. I thought a baby might finally make us a real family.

Instead, I got the surprise of my life.

I was standing outside the VIP room, my hand hovering over the doorknob, when I heard him talking to his best friend.

"I don't care about Victoria," Brandon’s voice drifted through the crack in the door, cold and annoyed. "She’s just a placeholder. Honestly, by our ninth marriage, I'm going to dispose of her and cut off her mother's medical funds for good. Paula told me she’s finally getting tired of traveling. She wants to settle down soon, and when she does, I'm going to propose to her."

The cake slipped from my hands, ruining the icing on the carpet. I ran out of the club and stumbled into a cheap bar, drinking until I couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet.

I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.

But the nightmare was just beginning. On my way home, walking through a dark street, a group of thugs dragged me into a filthy alley. I was terrified.

As they tore at my clothes and hit me, I managed to dial Brandon’s number, praying he would come save me.

The phone rang and rang, until he finally rejected the call.

Later, I found out he was busy picking Paula up from the airport because she had decided to make a surprise visit.

I was beaten, robbed, and left in the dirt. I had to drag my own bleeding body to the hospital. I lost my baby that night on a cold linoleum floor, all alone.

So right now? I didn't care anymore. The woman who loved Brandon died in that hospital.

After dropping my suitcase at my friend’s apartment tonight, I decided to go to a high-end lounge downtown. Not to drown my sorrows, but to finally celebrate being untied from him.

I ordered a strong cocktail and drank, letting the burn soothe my throat.

"Celebrating something?" a deep, smooth voice asked.

I turned to see a strikingly handsome man sitting on the stool next to me. I didn't know it yet, but this was Vaughn—the ruthless CEO of the rival corporation that had been giving Brandon hell in the business world for the past year.

"My freedom," I replied, clinking my glass against his.

We talked and drank, the conversation flowing easily. For the first time in years, I felt like a normal woman.

I was so engrossed in the conversation that I didn't even realize Brandon and Paula had walked into the lounge.

"Victoria? Hi!" a sickeningly sweet voice chirped.

I turned around. Paula was standing there, clinging to Brandon's arm.

Brandon looked at me, his brows furrowed in deep displeasure, clearly shocked to see me out drinking instead of crying at home like I usually did.

"I'm so sorry," Paula continued, offering a fake, apologetic smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But I actually just paid for this entire bar to be closed off so Brandon and I can celebrate my return privately. Would you mind going out?"

Brandon crossed his arms, his posture arrogant.

He was waiting for my usual meltdown. He expected me to throw a drink, to scream, to beg him not to kick me out.

I just set my glass down and grabbed my purse. "Sure."

Brandon's arrogant expression faltered. He looked completely stunned, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at my calm face.

Before the silence could stretch, the man next to me stood up, adjusting his expensive suit jacket. He looked down at me with a charming smile, completely ignoring Brandon and Paula.

"Well, what about coming with me, lady?" Vaughn asked, offering me his hand. "We can continue celebrating your freedom somewhere much better."

I smiled up at him. "Sure."

I took Vaughn's hand and we walked right past them, leaving Brandon frozen in place.

We stepped out into the cool night air and walked toward Vaughn's sleek black sports car.

I was just about to reach for the passenger door handle when heavy, furious footsteps approached from behind.

A strong hand clamped down on my wrist, yanking me back so hard I crashed into a solid chest.

Brandon pulled me close, his fingers digging into my skin.

His eyes were blazing with a dark, terrifying possessiveness as he glared at Vaughn over my head.

"No," Brandon snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. "You're mine. You're not coming with him."

I let out a loud, genuine laugh, staring at the hand gripping my wrist. I shook my head, looking up at his furious face.

“I’m not yours,” I said, pulling my arm. His grip was like iron. “In fact, I don’t even know you.”

Brandon’s expression darkened. Before he could snap, Vaughn stepped between us, effortlessly breaking Brandon’s hold.

“Yeah, she’s my date tonight,” Vaughn said, his tone light but his gaze sharp. He placed a hand on the small of my back. “Do you have a problem with that, Brandon?”

Brandon’s hands curled into fists. He opened his mouth, fully prepared to cause a massive scene right there on the pavement.

But then, a piercing scream echoed from inside the lounge.

“Brandon!” Paula shrieked.

Brandon froze. The possessive rage in his eyes vanished, instantly replaced by panic. Without throwing a single backward glance in my direction, he turned and sprinted back inside to his precious first love.

I stood on the sidewalk and laughed. It was a hollow sound, but it felt incredibly freeing. He couldn't even pretend to care about me for a full minute.

“Well,” Vaughn murmured, opening the passenger door of his sports car. “Shall we?”

I slid into the plush leather seat. As Vaughn drove us away, the city blurred past the windows.

“Hmm, interesting,” Vaughn said, breaking the silence. He tapped the steering wheel, glancing at me with a playful smirk. “I know of him, obviously, but I don’t know who his girl is. Are you really not his girl?”

I leaned my head against the cool window. “I’m no one’s.”

Vaughn chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “Is that so? Maybe you should be my girl, then.”

I just laughed it off, closing my eyes and letting the exhaustion wash over me.

The next morning, I was dead asleep on the sofa bed in the apartment when violent banging jolted me awake. The doorbell rang incessantly.

I dragged myself up and peeked through the peephole. Standing in the hallway were two massive men in tailored black suits—Brandon’s security detail.

I cracked the door open, leaving the chain on. “What do you want?”

“Ma'am,” the lead guard said stiffly. “Mr. Sterling demands that you come back to the estate immediately.”

I rolled my eyes. “If he wants me, he has to come and take me himself.”

I slammed the door in their faces and locked the deadbolt.

Less than twenty minutes later, the banging returned. This time, it was louder, accompanied by a voice I knew all too well.

“Victoria! Open this damn door!” Brandon roared.

I sighed, undoing the chain and pulling the door open. Brandon stood there, his chest heaving with barely contained rage.

“Get your things,” he demanded, stepping into the doorway. “You’re coming home right now.”

I crossed my arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No, I will not. We are divorced, Brandon. We are not married anymore.”

“I don’t care about a piece of paper!” he snapped.

“Why are you throwing a tantrum?” I asked, offering him a mocking smile. “Is it because you love me? Or is it because you’re just jealous that I can finally replace you?”

Brandon’s eyes flashed. He stepped into my space, backing me up against the entryway wall. A dark, arrogant grin spread across his face.

“No,” he whispered, his voice dripping with toxic confidence. “You can never replace me. You’re mine.”

He grabbed my wrist. “And you’re coming home.”

“If you don’t come willingly,” he added, his voice dropping into a lethal threat, “I will force you. And I will make sure your mother’s hospital funding is cut today. She will die, Victoria.”

I stared at him. He was using a dead woman to blackmail me. He didn’t even bother checking if she was still alive?

I wanted to scream, to spit in his face. But fighting him now would only complicate my escape.

I let out a heavy sigh, dropping my shoulders. “Fine.”

I grabbed my suitcase and followed him to his car. The ride back to the sprawling Sterling estate was silent.

When we finally walked through the grand double doors, Brandon turned to me, his authority restored.

“You’re going to stay here until we get married again,” he ordered.

I looked around the empty foyer. “What about you? Are you going back to Paula?”

“Yes,” he admitted without an ounce of shame. “But I will surely come back for you. I’ll buy you everything to make up for this little rebellion. What do you want?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “I want an island.”

Brandon paused, surprised, but then a smug smile touched his lips. He thought he had bought my obedience once again.

“Okay,” he agreed smoothly. “I'll buy you an island. As long as you stay right here.”

I nodded obediently. “I will.”

I watched him walk out the door to return to the woman he truly loved. I stood alone in the massive foyer, pretending I was going to wait for him.

But as the heavy oak doors clicked shut, I smiled.

A few more days, bye Brandon.