The Billionaire's Discarded Wife

Georgia stood beside him.

She straightened her back proudly, showing off her fair neck covered in fresh red marks. "Sis, so you were home too. I thought you missed curfew last night and couldn't make it back—figured you'd gone somewhere else."

I ignored her provocation.

I walked toward Wyatt and held out the papers. "This is the divorce agreement I prepared. The money I owe you, I'll pay back slowly. Every cent."

"Pay it back?" His lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "You don't even have a job. With what—yourself? Planning to sell yourself one more time?"

The smile never reached his eyes.

So he knew. Three years of no work, no income—he'd noticed after all.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. "How I pay it back is my business. You don't need to worry about it."

Before Wyatt could respond, Georgia snatched the papers from my hand.

She read them and burst out laughing. "Sis, the electronic version you sent last night was full of typos. Didn't you notice? Where'd you find a lawyer? So unprofessional."

I didn't have money for a lawyer.

I'd typed this agreement myself last night, sitting in the doorway, copying from an online template word by word.

When I sent it to him, I saw he'd accepted the file this morning. I thought he understood how serious I was about ending this marriage.

I didn't expect my desperation would become a joke he shared with another woman.

"Alice, have you made enough of a scene?" Wyatt's gaze swept over me—contempt, disgust. "You think bringing up divorce will get my attention? Put away those low-class tricks of yours."

He didn't give me another chance to speak.

He wrapped an arm around Georgia's waist and walked into his room, leaving me standing there.

Just like our wedding night—when I begged him to stay and he walked into his study without looking back.

Once again, a single door shut me out.

But this time, I didn't knock.

I turned around and went back to my room.

After that, I started looking for work again.

This time, I didn't send resumes to companies. Instead, I chose a high-paying position as a server at the Velvet Lounge.

Working here didn't require a background check. No one knew my identity. No one mocked me for being a gold digger.

Until half a month later.

Following the shift lead's instructions, I carried the liquor order for Room 304 and pushed open the door.

My whole body went rigid.

"Well, well—Mrs. Sanchez herself. Even in a server uniform, you're still a looker."

"Right? Look at that figure. No wonder she could embarrass the Sanchez family and still charm Mr. Sanchez into marrying her."