Divorcing the Billionaire Who Called Me Dirty

"Send me the report when it's done."

I thought that was the last hurdle before the wedding, that once I'd proven myself, he would finally love me the way I deserved.

Only later did I learn it was just the beginning of three years of humiliation.

"All right. Understood." I pulled my eyes back and turned again to the window.

Neal seemed pleased with how obedient I was.

For once, his tone softened. "Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll take you to buy that necklace you've been wanting."

"No need."

He didn't press. He dropped me at home and hurried off again.

Back inside, I took out my phone and called my assistant.

"Draft the divorce agreement for me tonight."

"And prepare my resignation from Henson Group while you're at it."

Eleven o'clock that night.

The lock on the villa door clicked.

Neal pushed the door open, Amber slumped dead drunk in his arms.

"She's wasted. It isn't safe for a girl to stay at a hotel alone, so I brought her home."

He laid Amber on the sofa, then turned to look at me where I stood at the foot of the stairs, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Go make her a bowl of hangover soup."

"We're out of hangover pills," I said.

His brows knit tighter, edged with reproach.

"Then boil some oatmeal porridge. Her stomach's bad. Isn't this the kind of thing you're best at?"

He shrugged off his coat and draped it over Amber, the movement gentle.

"And hurry. Don't leave her miserable any longer than she has to be."

I turned and walked into the kitchen.

After we married, I'd picked out every curtain by hand, every set of dishes, every scented candle.

I thought if I made this place warm enough, sooner or later Neal would come closer to me.

For three years I ate alone, worked overtime alone at the office, kept watch over this empty house alone.

And now a strange woman had moved in as if she owned the place.

By the time I carried the porridge out, Neal was crouched in front of the sofa, wiping Amber's face with a warm towel.

His touch was light, as if terrified of hurting her.

"Leave it on the table. Go to bed." He didn't so much as turn his head, every ounce of his attention on that girl.

I set the bowl down and went upstairs.

That night, I slept in the wide double bed of the master bedroom.

In the small hours, I woke to a thin thread of sound.

I got up and opened the door.

At the end of the hall, the guest room door stood ajar, dim yellow light spilling through.

"Neal, my head hurts so much."

"Easy now. Drink some water and it'll stop. I told you to go easy, but you wouldn't listen."

His voice was low and tender, carrying a patience and a doting I had never once heard.

I stood there until my legs went numb, then turned and went back to my room.

The next morning.

When I came downstairs, Amber was sitting in the dining room, eating breakfast.

She was wearing my silk pajamas.

The ones I'd bought just last month and hadn't even had a chance to wear.

"Morning, sis." She stirred the porridge in her bowl, smiling like she couldn't hurt a fly.

"My clothes got dirty last night, so Neal found me something of yours. You don't mind, do you?"

I walked over and poured myself a glass of warm water.

"Since you like picking up my castoffs, consider it charity."

Amber's face stiffened for a moment, then the smile came back.

Neal came out of the study, car keys in hand.

He glanced at me.

"Eleanor, go with Amber to the hospital for a checkup later. I have an important meeting this morning. I can't get away."

My fingers tightened slightly around the water glass.

"What checkup?"

Neal was silent for two seconds.