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

“Are you stupid?” he roared, the sound bouncing off the mahogany walls. “You couldn't even check the damn flash drive before you plugged it in? You just cost me three of my biggest investors!”

“I didn't put that video there, Brandon, and you know it,” I said, my voice dead. “But I don't care anymore. Keep the company. Keep Paula. I just want to leave.”

“Leave?” Brandon sneered, his grip tightening. “You think you can just walk away after what you’ve done? After you ruined my quarterly meeting? No. You are staying right here until I fix this. You aren't going anywhere until we get married again and fix this PR nightmare.”

“I’m not marrying you—”

My words were cut off by the sharp ringing of Brandon’s phone.

He snatched it from his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. “What?” he snapped.

He listened for a second, and all the color drained from his face.

“What do you mean she had an accident?” Brandon demanded, his voice dropping into a panic. “Where is she?”

He hung up the phone and glared at me with pure hatred. “In her hysterics over what you did, Paula tripped and crashed through the glass display in the lobby. Her arm is shredded. The paramedics are saying she might need a skin graft.”

He didn't hesitate. He yanked me toward the door. “And you’re going to give it to her.”

I dug my heels into the carpet, fighting against his iron grip. “No! Are you insane? I will not do that!”

“You will do it!” Brandon shouted, his eyes wild with desperation for his first love. “You’ll do it for the sake of Paula, because you’re the one who ruined our family’s image today! You caused her to panic! If you don't do this, Victoria, I swear to God, you will never see the light again!”

I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.

I stopped fighting. I let him drag me into the private elevator, into his car, and straight to the VIP wing of his family’s private hospital.

When I woke up hours later, the side of my thigh burned with a stinging, agonizing pain. The hospital room was dark and completely empty.

I laid there staring at the ceiling. Brandon didn't come to check on me. Not that night, and not for the next three days as I recovered in absolute isolation. I was nothing but spare parts to him.

On the fourth night—the eve of our supposed wedding—the door finally opened.

“I’m leaving,” he announced coldly, checking his luxury watch. “Paula is traumatized by everything you’ve put her through. She decided to go back to London, and I have to go to the airport to stop her.”

I sat up slowly, the pain in my leg a dull throb. “Tomorrow is the day you told me we were filing our marriage papers.”

“I know,” Brandon snapped. “I can't come. I’m sending her home, so you need to go to the civil registry and file the paperwork yourself. Consider marrying me a punishment for making Paula leave again. Make sure you file it. Got it?”

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me in the dark once again.

I didn't reply. I just listened to his fading footsteps, a slow, quiet smile spreading across my face.

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly over the city.

I wore a simple, elegant white dress. I limped slightly as I walked up the marble steps of the civil registry, but I had never felt lighter in my entire life.

I pushed open the heavy double doors. Standing at the end of the aisle, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black suit, was Vaughn.

He smiled when he saw me, stepping forward to gently take my hand. “Ready to disappear, Victoria?”

“More than ready,” I whispered.

We stood before the magistrate. We signed the papers. And with clear, unwavering voices, we exchanged our I dos.

Miles away, at the international airport terminal, Brandon was standing at the boarding gate, holding Paula’s luggage.

His phone buzzed in his pocket with a priority notification from the city's legal registry—an automated alert he had set up to ensure I filed our marriage certificate.

He pulled out his phone, a smug, satisfied smirk on his face, fully expecting to see his own name asserting his permanent ownership over me again.

Instead, he stared at the official digital document glowing on his screen.

CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE

Husband: Vaughn Hugh.

Wife: Victoria Hugh.