He threw money on the bed after our one-night stand.
I threw it back in his face at his own inauguration.
By sundown, we were engaged. By the week's end — married.
Franklin Flemington needed a wife to secure his empire. I needed a miracle to save my family. For two years, we played our parts flawlessly — the golden couple the whole city envied.
Behind closed doors, I was invisible to him.
When the two years were up, I handed him divorce papers without blinking.
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "I've given you everything a husband should. What more do you want from me, Octavia?"
I smiled, signed my name, and walked out.
I thought that was the end. I thought I'd finally won.
I forgot one thing — Franklin Flemington has never lost anything in his life. And he has no intention of starting with me.
Game on.

By the time my birthday actually arrived a few days later, the tally of Franklin's ignored attempts to reach me had climbed into the dozens. My phone was a graveyard of notifications I had no intention of resurrecting. 


My mind was a mess, a jagged collage of that magical night on the beach spliced with the high-definition betrayal of those photos. How could he run so fast into the arms of another woman? Why did it feel like my life was a recurring cycle of people offering me a hand just to pull it away when I reached for it?


I didn't want to wallow. I refused to let him ruin the day I turned twenty-nine. I started the morning with a quiet breakfast in Soho with my parents. It was a strange, peaceful contrast to the chaos of my marriage. My father gifted me a ticket to a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden for the end of the month—a peace offering I actually looked forward to. My mother gave me a beautiful new leather-bound journal and a set of fine china.


Chapter 82 - ~ 82