Reclaiming His Wife

Chapter Three: The Final Straw

Jessica stared down at the engagement ring and wedding band on her finger, the diamonds winking up at her under the soft bedroom lights like a cruel joke.

They sparkled with elegance, with promises never kept—glittering reminders of a dream she’d been clinging to far too long.

For years, she'd told herself that their marriage could become something real. That Mark would eventually look at her not as part of a deal but as a woman. As his woman. That, against all odds, love might find them after all.

She had held onto the good moments—their laughter, the late-night conversations, the way they once moved through life like true partners. She’d clung to those scraps like lifelines, trying to convince herself it was enough. But tonight had made everything perfectly clear.

The final blow wasn’t an argument or a cruel word. It was Veronica.

The dinner party was meant to celebrate Mark’s acquisition of yet another lucrative property. He was in his element—center of attention, dazzling his guests, working the room like the empire he built depended on it.

And Veronica, his flawless, flame-haired personal assistant, had been glued to his side.

Jessica had watched her—tall, poised, sleek red hair catching the light as she leaned in too close, laughed a little too loudly, touched his arm a little too often. She draped herself around Mark like a designer accessory. And what cut the deepest was that he allowed it.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t shut it down.

He welcomed it.

Rumors of an affair had been circling for months. At first, Jessica hadn’t paid them much attention. After all, their marriage wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t physical. If Mark had a lover, it wasn’t unexpected. Their arrangement left room for that. What mattered was that he respected her, respected them.

He always had—until now.

The situation with Veronica felt different. Jessica had seen the way his gaze followed her. The subtle shifts in his posture when she entered a room. The way he listened to her in a way he hadn’t listened to Jessica in months.

And Veronica? She had clearly sensed it too.

Jessica had feared this exact outcome when they first agreed to marry. She had accepted, deep down, that he might eventually fall for someone else during their five-year contract. She had just foolishly hoped it would be her.

But it wasn’t.

It was Veronica.

Maybe it wasn’t even love. Maybe it was just lust. But Jessica saw the writing on the wall.

What hurt the most was how Mark had pulled away long before tonight. It started over a year ago. Small changes—he’d stopped seeking her opinion on deals, stopped watching shows with her, stopped laughing at her jokes. One day, she looked around and realized she was sharing a home with a man who didn’t even see her anymore.

At first, she blamed herself. Maybe she’d changed. Let herself go. She’d scrutinized everything—her hair, her wardrobe, her routines. She tried new styles, new diets, new makeup. She tore herself apart, trying to win back the attention of a man who’d already checked out.

Tonight, she pulled out all the stops. Hours of grooming, of dressing and primping—everything tailored to him.

Her gold strapless evening gown hugged her curves, the high slit showing off her toned thighs with every confident stride. Her strappy heels accentuated the fullness of her hips, and her hair was swept into an elegant chignon that showed off the graceful slope of her neck. Her makeup was flawless, highlighting the warm tones of her mocha skin.

She looked in the mirror and, for once, felt powerful. Beautiful.

She walked into that party with her head high, smiled at her husband across the room, silently asking, “do you see me now?”

He looked right through her—then turned back to Veronica and laughed.

That was when Jessica knew.

Mark didn’t see her.

He hadn’t in a long time.

And she was done.

Somewhere along the line, she’d stopped being Jessica Thomas. She’d become “Mark Thomas’s wife.” A title with no power, no meaning. Just a mask.

And it was suffocating her.

She had been drowning in him. Loving him. Supporting him. Trying to be enough for him. She had forgotten what it felt like to simply be herself.

Well, no more.

She lifted her chin and looked at him now, her decision burning behind her eyes.

“I’m leaving you, Mark,” she said evenly, her voice calm but firm. “I want a divorce.”

The room stilled.

Mark’s expression didn’t change at first. But his body reacted—he went still, then took a slow step toward her, crowding her space until she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

“What did you just say?” he asked, low and controlled.

“You heard me.”

For a moment, silence reigned. It stretched between them like a chasm. Jessica could feel the tension shift, the disbelief rolling off him in waves. His jaw flexed, and the air around him seemed to darken as the weight of her words settled in.

“You’re serious,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she said simply.

That one word hung there, sharp and unmoving.

Jessica stepped back, needing space. She turned toward the suitcase and resumed packing, her fingers shaking only slightly. She had already made arrangements— a cab to the airport, an early morning flight to Guyana. She wasn’t just running away. She was going home. She was going back to herself.

Then, unexpectedly, Mark’s voice cut through the silence.

“I won’t stop you.”

Jessica paused, startled by how quiet he sounded.

“But you’re making a mistake,” he continued, his tone flat, too composed. His blue eyes locked on her, steel and fire. “I don’t lose, Jess. Not in business. Not in life. And not you.”

Her breath caught. That old part of her—the one that had once hung on his every word—almost flinched.

But not anymore.

She turned to face him fully, her voice quiet but clear. “You have already lost me, Mark. You just didn’t notice.”

He stared at her, but said nothing.

Jessica bent and zipped one part of her suitcase, her heart pounding in her ears. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

She had chosen this path. And she was walking it. Alone.

Without another word, she resumed packing—each folded item a step further away from the life she had sacrificed herself for.

This time, she wasn’t looking back.