Sorry, Ex-Husband, There would be no Ninth Marriage

In the past, during our first few divorces, I was pathetic. I used to follow Brandon and Paula around the city like a masochist. I would sit in my parked car outside expensive restaurants, watching through the glass as he showered her with the kind of tender love and affection he never gave me.

He would buy her entire boutiques, kiss her forehead, and look at her like she hung the stars. It broke my heart into a million pieces, but I swallowed the pain.

I was willing to stay, willing to endure the humiliation, just for the scraps of his attention.

But everything changed a few months ago, on his birthday.

I had just found out I was pregnant. Overjoyed and terrified, I bought a custom cake and went to his private club to surprise him with the news. I thought a baby might finally make us a real family.

Instead, I got the surprise of my life.

I was standing outside the VIP room, my hand hovering over the doorknob, when I heard him talking to his best friend.

"I don't care about Victoria," Brandon’s voice drifted through the crack in the door, cold and annoyed. "She’s just a placeholder. Honestly, by our ninth marriage, I'm going to dispose of her and cut off her mother's medical funds for good. Paula told me she’s finally getting tired of traveling. She wants to settle down soon, and when she does, I'm going to propose to her."

The cake slipped from my hands, ruining the icing on the carpet. I ran out of the club and stumbled into a cheap bar, drinking until I couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet.

I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.

But the nightmare was just beginning. On my way home, walking through a dark street, a group of thugs dragged me into a filthy alley. I was terrified.

As they tore at my clothes and hit me, I managed to dial Brandon’s number, praying he would come save me.

The phone rang and rang, until he finally rejected the call.

Later, I found out he was busy picking Paula up from the airport because she had decided to make a surprise visit.

I was beaten, robbed, and left in the dirt. I had to drag my own bleeding body to the hospital. I lost my baby that night on a cold linoleum floor, all alone.

So right now? I didn't care anymore. The woman who loved Brandon died in that hospital.

After dropping my suitcase at my friend’s apartment tonight, I decided to go to a high-end lounge downtown. Not to drown my sorrows, but to finally celebrate being untied from him.

I ordered a strong cocktail and drank, letting the burn soothe my throat.

"Celebrating something?" a deep, smooth voice asked.

I turned to see a strikingly handsome man sitting on the stool next to me. I didn't know it yet, but this was Vaughn—the ruthless CEO of the rival corporation that had been giving Brandon hell in the business world for the past year.

"My freedom," I replied, clinking my glass against his.

We talked and drank, the conversation flowing easily. For the first time in years, I felt like a normal woman.

I was so engrossed in the conversation that I didn't even realize Brandon and Paula had walked into the lounge.

"Victoria? Hi!" a sickeningly sweet voice chirped.

I turned around. Paula was standing there, clinging to Brandon's arm.

Brandon looked at me, his brows furrowed in deep displeasure, clearly shocked to see me out drinking instead of crying at home like I usually did.

"I'm so sorry," Paula continued, offering a fake, apologetic smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But I actually just paid for this entire bar to be closed off so Brandon and I can celebrate my return privately. Would you mind going out?"

Brandon crossed his arms, his posture arrogant.

He was waiting for my usual meltdown. He expected me to throw a drink, to scream, to beg him not to kick me out.

I just set my glass down and grabbed my purse. "Sure."

Brandon's arrogant expression faltered. He looked completely stunned, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at my calm face.

Before the silence could stretch, the man next to me stood up, adjusting his expensive suit jacket. He looked down at me with a charming smile, completely ignoring Brandon and Paula.

"Well, what about coming with me, lady?" Vaughn asked, offering me his hand. "We can continue celebrating your freedom somewhere much better."

I smiled up at him. "Sure."

I took Vaughn's hand and we walked right past them, leaving Brandon frozen in place.

We stepped out into the cool night air and walked toward Vaughn's sleek black sports car.

I was just about to reach for the passenger door handle when heavy, furious footsteps approached from behind.

A strong hand clamped down on my wrist, yanking me back so hard I crashed into a solid chest.

Brandon pulled me close, his fingers digging into my skin.

His eyes were blazing with a dark, terrifying possessiveness as he glared at Vaughn over my head.

"No," Brandon snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. "You're mine. You're not coming with him."