Not yours to lose, ex-husband.

Chapter 8

Roxanne's POV

Reese wants a divorce.

The words reverberate in my head, bouncing back and forth. Divorce, divorce, divorce.

“Roxanne?” Lennox crosses the island in seconds, his hands gripping my arm. “What happened? What did they say?”

I can't speak as my throat packs up immediately, trapping the words behind the lump forming there. All I can do is stare at the phone, at the screen that's now gone dark.

“Breathe,” Lennox orders, his voice firm but gentle. “Look at me. Breathe.”

I obey and force air into my lungs, once, twice, until the stars dancing in my vision start to clear.

“Divorce papers,” I finally whisper. “Reese filed for divorce.”

His jaw tightens, his grip on my arm becoming firmer. “When?”

“They're sending someone to deliver them today. They need my signature.” I laugh, but it sounds shallow and broken. “He didn't even wait twenty-four hours, Lennox. One night. Just one night with that woman, and he's throwing away three years of marriage.”

“That bastard,” Lennox groans. “So what do you plan to do?”

“Sign it,” I respond, my voice cold and distant.

*********

The courier arrived an hour later after I sent Lennox's address.

I watch from the kitchen's floor-to-ceiling windows as a man in a gray suit exits a black Camry, carrying a brown envelope. My heart starts to pound so hard I think it might burst right out of my chest.

The buzzer rings, and Lennox answers it, granting access. Minutes later, there's a knock at the door.

“I'll get it,” Lennox says, but I shake my head.

"No. I need to do this."

My legs feel lightweight as I walk to the door. I open it to find the courier standing there, tablet in hand, his expression neutral. It is just another day at work for him. Just another marriage ending.

"Mrs. Beaumont?"

I nod because my voice has abandoned me again.

“I have documents for you. Sign here, please.” He holds out the tablet, and I quickly scribble something that barely resembles my signature. My hands are shaking so badly the stylus keeps slipping.

After signing, he hands me the envelope and leaves without another word.

“Roxanne,” Lennox says softly behind me. “You don't have to open it right now.”

But I do. I need to see the words that seal the fate of my marriage. I tear open the envelope, my fingers shaking. Papers with the law firm stamp spill out, and I recognize the name now, one of the most expensive law firms in the city. Or course, Reese would hire the best.

My eyes search for the first page.

“PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.”

I pause, my hands tightening on the papers, then I continue to flip through the pages, each one another nail in the coffin of my marriage.

“Irreconcilable differences.” “No reconciliation attempted.” “Assets to be divided as per attached schedule.”

No mention of trying to work things out. No phone call. No conversation. Just his decision, made for both of us.

I reach the property settlement section, and my blood runs cold. The house, his. The cars, his. The art pieces I spent months curating, choosing each one carefully to make our house a home now tagged “marital property—husband’s assets.”

I get nothing. Absolutely nothing except my personal belongings.

My hands shake as I flip to the signature page. There, in Reese's neat and precise handwriting, is his signature. Already signed, like he couldn't wait to be done with me.

And then I spot something attached, a pale green sticky note stuck to the corner of the page. Reese's handwriting is bold on it: “sign these and return within 48hrs. My lawyer will be in touch about you removing your belongings.~R.B.”

Not even "Reese." Just initials, like it's a business transaction.

Something shifts inside me at that moment. This is different, and I know and feel it. It's the feeling of something hardening, morphing into something unforgiving.

“Roxanne?” Lennox's voice sounds distant, like he's speaking from a mile. “What does it say?”

I laugh, a bitter and wicked sound. “We had a fight last night, and this morning, I'm getting served divorce papers. Papers he signed yesterday. He had these already drawn up while I was bleeding on the floor.”

Lennox takes the papers from my hands gently, his eyes scanning the pages. His face grows dark as he reads.

“This is bullshit,” he says finally, his voice full of anger. “You're entitled to half of everything. The house, the assets, all of it. He can't just—”

“I don't care,” I interrupt, and I realize with shock that I mean it. “I don't want anything from him. I don't want his house or his cars or his money. I don't want any of it.”

"Roxanne—"

“Where's your bathroom?” I ask abruptly.

Lennox blinks, as if confused by my request. “Down the hall, second door to the—”

I'm already moving, the papers tight in my hands. I walk down the hallway briskly, pushing open the bathroom door. I reach for the drawers, searching through them.

"Roxanne, what are you looking for?" Lennox appears in the doorway, watching me with concern.

“Lipstick,” I mumble, opening yet another drawer. “You must have some here. From a date or something.”

"I don't really—"

“Found it!” I announce, pulling out a tube of red lipstick. It must be from some woman he dated, left behind and forgotten. But it is perfect for the job I need it for.

I march back to the kitchen, opening the lipstick as I go. Lennox follows closely behind, clearly flustered by my drama.

I place the papers on the table and flip to the signature page, where I'm supposed to sign legibly. Instead, I drag the lipstick across the page in bold red strokes.

“ROXANNE WHITNEY”

Not Beaumont, but Whitney—my maiden name. The name I had before I became Mrs Reese Beaumont, before I gave up everything to be his wife.

The red lipstick is contrasting against the white paper, and impossible to ignore. Not the neat and professional signature Reese is expecting, and it serves him right.

Next, I grab the sticky note with his note and turn it over, scribbling “I am not going to give you the liberty of thinking you still own me.~ R.W.”

Then I set the pen down, oh no, the lipstick, and stare at my handiwork with satisfaction.

"There," I say, my voice steadier than I expect. "All Signed."

Lennox is staring at me, a look of awe in his eyes. "Roxanne…”

I stare back at him, and I feel different and lighter, which is somewhat surprising. It feels like I've shed a skin that was too tight, too uncomfortable.

"Call your architect," I say, my voice firm. "Isaiah Reid. I want to meet with him today."

Lennox's eyes widen. "Are you sure?"

“I've never been more sure of anything in life.” I look down at the papers again, at my unusual signature. “Reese wants to throw me away like I'm nothing? Then fine, he can have his divorce. But I'm not going to disappear or shrink.”

I press my hand to my stomach. “If not for anything, but for my child. I'm going to build something out of this. Something that's mine. Something he can't wake up one day and decide to take away or claim as his. I'm going to paint again. I'm going to open that gallery. And I'm going to show him and everyone that I'm so much more than just somebody's wife.”

Lennox is already pulling out his phone as I keep talking, a proud smile appearing on his face. “Isaiah is going to love this,” he says, scrolling through his phone. “He's free this afternoon. I'll tell him to meet with you at three.”

"Make it two," I say quickly. "I don't want to wait."

He nods, typing rapidly. "Two it is."

"Lennox?" I call softly.

"Yeah?" He answers, looking up.

"Thank you for everything. For believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself."

"That's what best friends are for, Roxanne,” he says, his voice gentle. “And for the records? Reese is a goddamn fool. Fortunately, his loss is the art world's gain.”

I smile, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, it feels good.

My phone interrupts the moment with a ding, and I glance at it, expecting another message from the lawyers.

But it's not the lawyers, it's a text from Camilla.

“Reese is mine now. Stay away from him, or you'll regret it. Remember, I always get what I want,” the message reads, and attached to it is a photo.

A photo of her and Reese cozy on the couch. It was taken this morning, judging by the light, and she's wearing my favorite robe…