His Secretary Wore My Nightgown—So I Walked Out of the Marriage
Chapter 3
“If you don’t want a divorce, it’s simple. Fire Lauren immediately and promise me you’ll never have any contact with her again. Can you do that?”
His expression froze.
He let go of my hand and took a half-step back, his brows drawn tight.
“You want me to fire someone crucial to the company just because she is my secretary?”
“Crucial?” I let out a cold laugh. “In the six months since she started, she hasn’t handled a single case on her own. She’s still here only because she clings to you like a shadow.”
“Richard, you’re not stupid. Don’t act like a child.”
His face flushed with anger.
“You’re being petty! Lauren is diligent and responsible. Without her, this merger wouldn’t have—”
“Wouldn’t have what?” I cut him off. “Wouldn’t have worked? That’s a joke.”
“You didn’t need her to get your job done but you chose to involve her in every part of our life.”
“On our wedding anniversary, you brought her along.”
“During our dinner dates, she sat one table over.”
“Even during our private conversations in bed, you defend her.”
His chest heaved with frustration.
“You don’t understand,” he insisted. “This is how the company operates. I need her help.”
My voice rose, sharp and unwavering.
“I’m not here to negotiate, Richard. Either she goes, or I do. There’s no third option.”
He stared at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore like he couldn’t believe I was serious.
Then suddenly, a ringtone shattered the tension.
He rushed to the bedside table, glanced at the caller ID and stiffened.
I didn’t need to ask, I already knew.
Lauren.
He answered and his expression quickly shifted from concern to panic.
“What? You fell? Is it bad?”
“…Okay. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up, grabbed a jacket and moved to the door, still in his pajamas.
“Richard.”
My voice was calm.
“If you walk out that door tonight, this marriage is over.”
His hand paused on the doorknob.
The room fell into silence.
Three seconds. Five.
He turned slowly and in his eyes, I saw something unfamiliar.
“Amanda, don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Lauren’s really hurt. This isn’t her hometown, she’s alone here with no one to take care of her. It’s pitiful...”
“So what?”
I stood up straight.
“This hotel has doctors, staff, emergency services. They can call an ambulance if needed.”
“She’s not a toddler and you’re not her father.”
“Is she really so helpless that only you can take care of her?”
He tried again. “But she was working overtime—”
“Make a choice, Richard.”
I cut him off, firm and final.
“Right now.”
His lips trembled. Something flickered in his eyes, panic? Guilt? Something else I couldn’t place.
Then he let out a long breath, like he’d just made the hardest decision of his life.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”
The night wind swept through the room, taking with it the last bit of hope I had left.
I pulled out my phone and made a call.
“Mr. Johnson? About the divorce agreement, let’s discuss the details tomorrow when I return to the country.”
Richard didn’t come back that night.
At four in the morning, my phone vibrated.
Bleary-eyed, I opened Instagram.
Lauren had just updated her InstaStory.
In the photo, she sat on a lounge chair on the hotel terrace, her knees wrapped in bandages, holding a glass of champagne.
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