Her New Lover Made Me Sign the Divorce Papers

Aveline’s face darkened as she lunged toward the pond to pull Laurent out.

But before his hand could reach hers, the brick in my grip slammed into his wrist. He yelped in pain, splashing back into the water.

Her teeth clenched, eyes blazing.

“Gideon, must you really force me to fight you?”

I smirked.

“Fight? Your little lover will be bones before we finish a round. If he wants to climb ashore, he brings the beads up with him. You know me—I never bluff.”

The piranhas circled closer. Laurent’s shrill cry broke the night.

“Aveline! I’m scared! I don’t want to be torn apart!”

The next second, Aveline leapt into the pond. Blood streamed from her wounds, drawing the fish to her as she shielded him.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered, voice trembling with tenderness. “I’ll always protect you.”

That look on her face—concern, devotion—dragged me back to another night.

Outnumbered, iron rods swinging, it had been just the two of us. She had clutched me to her chest, taking every blow herself.

“Gideon, don’t be afraid. I’ll always protect you.”

But that was then.

Now she surfaced, dragging him with her, legs torn raw, the beads clutched in her hand. She threw them at my feet.

“Are you satisfied? Touch him again, and I’ll fight you to the death.”

She had said it once before—when it was me she wanted to bind herself to. Two madmen, she claimed, destined to love and hate until death.

Now she said the same words—for him.

I bent down, scooped up the beads, and sneered at Laurent’s unconscious form.

“Aveline, how stupid. To protect trash like this in front of me.”

At the gate, I gave one final glance at the villa that had once held our brief happiness. Then I ordered my men, “Blow it up. Make it a doghouse. Dogs should live where they belong.”

She never came back.

She spent her days nursing Laurent and mourning their stillborn child. He was given a funeral so lavish the cremation lasted seven days.

Alone, I bought a quiet plot of land, good consecration, and buried the beads there—my child’s only grave.

The day after the funeral, my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered, and Laurent’s laughter poured through the line.

“So what if you blew up the villa? Aveline gave me something better.”

His voice dripped with triumph.

“Why do you think she honored my baby, but loathed yours? Because she thinks you’re filthy. See for yourself.”

An email arrived.

The moment I opened it, my chest tightened.