Divorced by Betrayal My Ex-Wife Sold Me Out, Then I Became a Billionaire Groom

"Roland, Mom and I genuinely wanted to pay our respects. No matter what anyone says, your mother did die because of us. I feel terrible about it."

Frederick's voice dripped with false sincerity.

"But I just graduated—I can't afford an expensive gift. So let me sing you a song instead. As an apology. Would that be alright?"

Before I could respond, he'd already darted to the karaoke machine.

The next second, an upbeat melody filled the room.

I went rigid.

On the anniversary of my mother's brutal death, he was going to sing me "Good Times"?

Frederick caught my eye and winked.

Winked.

The rage I'd been choking down erupted.

I grabbed the bottle from the coffee table and swung it at his head.

Crack.

Glass shattered. Alcohol sprayed.

Frederick shrieked and dove behind Rosemary.

"Rosemary! Are you okay?" He clutched at her arm, his voice pitched high with theatrical terror. "I didn't mean to—I swear I didn't pick that song! I must have been so nervous seeing Roland that I hit the wrong button—"

Rosemary stepped between us. Blood trickled down from her forehead where a shard had caught her, but the look she leveled at me held nothing but fury.

"Roland, what the hell is wrong with you?" She jabbed a finger at my chest. "He's your half-brother! How could you hit him?"

"With that temper of yours, no wonder Frederick was too scared to think straight."

"I actually felt guilty about keeping this from you. Now I see I was right. If you'd known sooner, you probably would've attacked him ages ago!"

Frederick wrapped his arms around her shoulders, gazing up at her with wet, grateful eyes.

"Rosemary, you're so good to me. Always protecting me."

She softened instantly, reaching up to ruffle his hair with an indulgent smile.

"What else am I supposed to do? You're soft as a little rabbit. If I don't look out for you, the big bad wolf will eat you alive."

Something cold pierced through my chest.

Those words.

A younger Rosemary had said those exact words to me once. Back when I was the one who needed protecting.

She'd probably forgotten.

I drew a slow breath. Steadied myself.

Then I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce agreement—the one she'd never finished signing.

"Rosemary." My voice came out flat. "Let's get divorced."

She let out a short, mocking laugh and scrawled her signature across the document without even glancing at it.

"Really, Roland? You couldn't make this stick last time, so you're trying again?" She shoved the papers back at me. "Fine. I'll sign. But I didn't cheat this time, so don't expect me to beg for forgiveness."

"One month. City Hall." Her smile was razor-thin. "You'd better still have this much backbone then. Don't come crawling back, crying and begging me to tear this up."

She was so certain.

Every time before, I'd forgiven her. Swallowed my pride for the sake of the alliance between our families. She believed—knew—I'd never actually go through with it.

She was wrong.

"Don't worry." I met her gaze without flinching. "I won't change my mind."

I turned and walked out without looking back.

I didn't go home.

I booked a hotel room for a month instead—long enough to wait out the mandatory cooling-off period.

In the days that followed, Rosemary didn't send a single message.

Word reached me through the grapevine: Frederick had mentioned wanting to learn to ski in Switzerland. Rosemary happened to own an estate there, so she'd whisked him away.

Louis Sullivan's voice crackled through the phone, seething with disbelief.

"What the actual hell is she thinking?"

"Everyone knows that estate was built for you. After she confessed her feelings, she had it constructed specifically to give you a belated honeymoon. It's only ever been open to you."

"And now she's taking her father's bastard there?" He let out a sharp, incredulous breath. "Is she at it again? Old habits die hard—is she cheating on you with him now?"

I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of my hotel room, staring at the divorce papers spread across the table.

I didn't know what to say.

These papers—Rosemary had drafted them herself. The last time I'd caught her cheating.

Back then, the humiliation had been suffocating. I'd called Louis and dragged him to a nightclub, determined to drink myself numb until dawn.

Rosemary had found out somehow.

She'd stormed in with an entourage, trashed the place, and beaten every woman who'd so much as glanced in my direction.