He Asked For Divorce, I Said Yes & Revenged

Chapter 1

I came back to life the moment Victor brought up divorce for the 8th time.

His weary voice drifted into my ears, "There's no love left between us. Dragging this out will only wear both of us out."

In my past life, I'd been consumed by bitter resentment, clinging stubbornly to my title as his wife and refusing to let go.

I held on until his illegitimate child was born. I blew up and made a huge scene, only for him to have me locked up in a psychiatric ward.

He didn't bother showing his face until I was on my deathbed, to see me one last time. "If I'd known you were this unhinged, I never would have married you in the first place."

So in this life, why would I cling to any stupid, self-destructive obsession when my life is on the line? Nothing is worth dying for.

"She's pregnant. Other than the title of Mrs. Cross, you can have whatever you want." Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "If we can't work this out today, we can talk again next time. Until you're willing to—"

I cut him off mid-sentence. "No need to wait for the 9th time. I agree to the divorce."

The second the words left my mouth, Victor's eyelashes fluttered in obvious shock.

He sat across from me, that same exhausted, long-suffering expression plastered on his face. It was the look he always wore, like I’d been the one throwing nonstop tantrums for three whole years, and he’d been the poor saint forced to put up with all my nonsense this entire time.

Now he'd finally gotten the answer he'd been pining for.

"Glad you finally came to your senses." He gave a small nod, his voice carrying a faint note of relief he didn't even realize he was letting slip. Then he pulled a pre-written agreement out of his briefcase and slid it across the table to me. "Three properties, twelve percent of the company's shares, that Maybach, plus forty million in cash. Take a look. Let me know if there's anything you want to add." He reeled off the terms smoothly, like he'd rehearsed this speech a hundred times before.

His tone was earnest, even tinged with that patronizing 'I’m looking out for you' concern he always faked, like he was doing me a massive favor I should be grateful for.

I stared down at the agreement, and a bitter laugh almost bubbled up my throat.

I knew for a fact he'd given my adopted sister Mia Lock way, way more than this measly payout.

I didn't say a word. I just picked up the pen and scrawled my name across the dotted line with a quick scratch.

Victor watched me finish signing, and a flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes.

News spread like wildfire. By that afternoon, everyone’s social media feeds were blowing up.

A: [Grace Woods finally saw the light!]

B: [Victor Cross's finally free!]

C: [They should have divorced ages ago. Why did she have to waste so much of his time?]

Someone even posted in the group chat: [Victor, come out for drinks tonight! We gotta celebrate!]

His bros were all toasting and cheering, saying they were so glad he was finally rid of that clingy, annoying woman.

I scrolled through all those messages one by one. No anger, not even a twinge of sadness.

Seven years of marriage, and all anyone could say about it was that he was "free" now.

Not a single person bothered to ask.

Does it hurt?

My phone buzzed. It was my friend Kaye Dell calling.

Her voice was soft and careful, like she was afraid to set me off. "Grace, are you really willing to let him go just like that?"

I leaned against the window, staring out at the gray, overcast sky. "Even if I wasn't, what good would it do? Some people aren't meant to stay, no matter how badly you want them to."

She went quiet for a few seconds, then sighed heavily. "Alright, then. If that's what you want."

"Yeah. It is what it is."

After hanging up, I opened my phone's photo album and started deleting every picture of Victor, one by one.

Our marriage registration photo, he had a tiny, faint smile, while I was grinning like a fool.

Our honeymoon at the beach, he had his arm wrapped around my waist, the wind tangling my hair.

Our anniversary dinner, he was cutting my steak for me, and I'd snuck a photo of his side profile as he looked down.

The last photo was from our wedding day, when he was tucking my veil neatly into place.

Sunlight streamed through the church’s stained-glass windows and fell across his face, and his eyes were so impossibly soft.

My finger froze for a heartbeat before I tapped delete with a soft click.

Seven years of memories, gone in three stupid seconds.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but unbidden, scenes from my past life came flooding to the front of my mind anyway.

When I found out Mia, my own stepsister, had given birth to Victor’s child, I clamped my hands so tight around her hospital bed rail my knuckles turned white, screaming and sobbing as I demanded to know why she’d stolen my husband.

Security guards slammed me to the floor, my cheek pressed flat against the ice-cold tile, and I heard Victor’s voice cut through the chaos from above me. "Take her to the psych ward. I’ve had enough of this." He didn’t even bother glancing my way after that.

I screamed, I cried, I begged, but no one paid me any mind.

It wasn’t until I was on my deathbed that he finally showed up. He stood at the foot of my bed, wearing that dark gray overcoat I’d gifted him, still as handsome as ever.

He stared at me, skin and bones and wasting away to nothing, and the last words he ever said to me were, "If I’d known you were this pathologically obsessive, I never would have married you."

I snapped my eyes open. The sky outside the window had gone completely dark.

Not this lifetime. I would never let myself end up like that again.

I was going to make them pay in blood for what they did.