My Husband’s Sponsored Lover Asked Me for a Divorce

"Get up, now. We’re going to the office to sort this out. You’re gonna apologize to Jessica in front of everyone."

Tyler’s hand was on my arm, his grip firm, but his brow was furrowed with concern. "Why are you so hot? Are you running a fever?"

I didn’t say anything.

Right then, he quickly pressed his hand to my forehead, looking visibly worried, "You're so warm, Zoey. Let's get you to the hospital."

Before I could say a word, he slipped his arm around me to help me up. But I just stayed still, staring at him, trying to summon the strength to speak.

As if on cue, Jessica’s voice cut in. "Tyler, it’s obvious. Zoey knows she’s in trouble. She's just pretending to be sick so she can avoid you."

Faking a dramatic sob, she then sniffled. "Stop putting up with her! After the mess she caused in the office, I don’t even know how I can still show my face around here. If this keeps going, I’m heading back to Harrington. I can’t have anyone thinking I’m cheap. Let’s just end things here and not see each other again."

With that, she covered her face like she was some victim in a movie and turned to walk out.

Tyler gently set me back down and rushed after her. I could hear their voices rising, and I didn’t need to see them to know exactly what was happening.

"Tyler, I’m poor," I heard Jessica say. "I’m grateful for everything you and Zoey have done for me, but I love you for more than just money. I can’t let love be reduced to that."

"If there’s no equality, I’ll go back," she added, almost daring him to argue.

Tyler’s desperation was clear. He was trying to calm her down, but their voices were growing distant as the argument escalated.

Fifteen minutes later, Tyler came back, dragging Jessica along with him.

"Zoey," Tyler said, looking exhausted. "Jessica says she forgives you, but she wants you to apologize to her and promise you won’t hurt her or the baby."

I stood in front of her, the icy contempt in her eyes impossible to ignore. The way she sized me up, with that provoking, superior look, made something inside me snap.

Without thinking, I slapped her hard across the face.

"You manipulative slut," I spat, the words burning in my chest. "Go back to your country!"

I never regretted going to Jessica’s homeland five years ago. It was the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Tyler.

I remember that day so clearly.

Jessica had been standing out in the blazing sun, holding a basket full of cheap trinkets, begging tourists to buy them. Some people were outright disgusted, tossing what she handed them at her feet.

But she didn’t cry. She just kept pushing her items, forcing a smile, and trying to make a sale. Her golden skin glowed in the sunlight, and her big, timid eyes only added to the feeling of desperation that seemed to surround her.

When she reached me, I couldn’t help but notice how fragile she looked. I found out she was working to make money for school, so I handed her a hundred euros and casually took one of the trinkets, not thinking much of it at the time.

The next day, to my surprise, she had walked miles just to find us. She handed me some homemade food, clearly hoping to repay me.

That day, I noticed her shoes were falling apart, so I gave her mine.

She immediately tried to kneel and thank me, but I stopped her, not wanting to make a scene.

Amidst all, Tyler lightheartedly remarked, "Well, since we’re fated to meet, why don’t you come with us? We’ll sponsor your education."

It had been an easy decision. We took Jessica with us, without hesitation.

For just five hundred euros, her parents agreed to let me take her.

Back in her home country, women were treated as inferior and a commodity to society. However, in just a few years, Jessica became accustomed to wealth. She became arrogant, indulgent, and constantly preached about human rights and equality—ideas she’d never considered before.

As I replayed those memories, Jessica suddenly stumbled back, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

She clutched her stomach, letting out a dramatic cry. "Tyler, my stomach… it hurts!"

Tyler froze, his eyes widening. He rushed to her side immediately. "Jessica, are you okay?"

Without thinking, he slapped me across the face.

"Jessica’s right," he said, his teeth clenched in anger. "I’ve spoiled you so much, you’ve become reckless. You don’t even care about me anymore. Today, I’m going to show you just how big of a mistake you’ve made!"

He grabbed his phone and quickly dialed the police.

"There’s been a break-in at the office. A family heirloom emerald bracelet was destroyed, and someone was assaulted. Get someone here immediately."

The police arrived shortly after. They looked down at me, sitting on the floor, and then turned their gaze to Tyler, who stood nearby, his face like stone.

"Mr. Scott, are you sure you want us to arrest your wife?" one of the officers asked, his tone neutral.

Tyler’s eyes locked onto mine, hard and cold. "Business is business, and personal is personal. Even if she is my wife, if she commits a crime, she needs to face the consequences."

I felt the weight of his words, but they didn’t hurt like I expected.

At this point, I was numb.

The officer helped me to my feet, his grip firm yet polite. "Mrs. Scott, your husband claims that you caused damage to someone’s property and physically assaulted another individual. We need you to accompany us."

I remained silent as the ambulance pulled up, and Tyler acted quickly. He lifted Jessica as if she were fragile and helped her into the vehicle.

Meanwhile, I followed the officer to the police car, my feet dragging with each step.

As the car door slammed shut, I saw Tyler lean down and kiss Jessica on the forehead, offering her comfort.

Not once did he glance in my direction.

A part of me broke, but I didn't have the energy to fight back. Now I was completely awake—too awake.

I pulled my phone from my bag, my fingers shaking as I dialed the number I knew by heart.

"Dad, I was wrong," I whispered. "I want to come home. Please, come to the station to pick me up."