Chapter 11
“Look at her,” my mother–in–law Margaret hissed. “Acting high and mighty now that she’s found herself a new… sponsor.” Her lips curled around the word.
“Always knew she was common trash,” my father–in–law Robert muttered. “Should’ve listened to my instincts years ago.”
I kept my expression neutral, remembering Vincent’s words from last night. Their barbs couldn’t touch me anymore.
“Inside. Now.” I held the door open, my voice steady.
Thomas hesitated, his grip tightening on Jessica’s waist.
“What’s wrong, Thomas?” I raised an
eyebrow. “Worried about facing me without
your cheerleaders?”
Jessica’s perfectly painted lips parted in outrage. “How dare you-”
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“The papers,” I cut her off. “That’s all I’m here for.”
I walked into the office, Marco’s footsteps echoing behind me. Let them whisper. Let them scheme. They had no idea what was coming – how their carefully constructed world of privilege would crumble.
Vincent’s resources would make sure of
that.
But for now, I simply needed Thomas’s signature. The rest would follow in time.
I watched Thomas scrawl his signature. across the papers, his usual arrogant smirk playing at his lips. My own signature followed, steady and clear. Five years of marriage erased in moments.
“Well, that’s done.” Thomas straightened, adjusting his tie. “But wait – there’s more.”
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out another set of documents, pristine and crisp. Jessica preened beside him.
“Since we’re all here…” Thomas’s eyes.
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gleamed with malice. “Might as well make it official. Jessica and I are getting married. Right now.”
Margaret Rivers clapped her hands together. “Oh, how wonderful! Finally, a proper wife for our Thomas.”
“See, Cheryl?” Thomas waved the marriage license. “This is what real love looks like. Not that pathetic devotion you showed for years.”
The words struck deep, but I kept my face blank. Five years of practice had taught me well.
“How does it feel?” Jessica purred. “Watching the man you love choose someone else?”
Before I could respond, the office door swung open. It was Vincent.
He filled the doorframe, his presence commanding instant attention. He strode toward me, ice–blue eyes locked on mine.
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“Perfect timing,” Vincent’s voice carried
across the room. “I was hoping to do this here.”
He pulled me close, one arm sliding around my waist.
“Two can play this game,” Vincent murmured against my ear, then captured my lips in a searing kiss.
The Rivers family fell silent, their laughter dying in their throats.
Vincent’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, firm but gentle. The contrast between his touch and Thomas’s rough grabs over the years made my breath catch.
“Marriage isn’t a game.” Vincent’s voice cut through the stunned silence. “And it sure as hell isn’t something to be done in some dingy office to prove a point.”
Thomas took a half–step back, his earlier bravado crumbling under Vincent’s steel gaze. Jessica clutched his arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his
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sleeve.
“Who do you think-” Margaret Rivers. started, but Vincent’s cold laugh silenced her.
“Who am I?” Vincent’s thumb traced circles.
on my wrist. “Someone who knows the difference between real power and playing dress–up.” His eyes swept over their designer clothes and borrowed confidence. “When I marry Cheryl, it’ll be with the respect she deserves. Not this circus act.”
I felt the shift in the room saw it in the way Robert Rivers‘ shoulders hunched, how Jessica’s spray–tanned complexion paled, how Thomas couldn’t meet Vincent’s eyes. They had no idea who he was, but something primal in them recognized the predator in their midst.
“Come.” Vincent guided me toward the door. “We have better places to be.”
I caught a glimpse of Thomas’s face as we passed – the dawning realization that his
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little power play had backfired spectacularly. For the first time in five years, I saw fear in his eyes.
Marco held the door, and I stepped out into the sunlight, my head high. Vincent’s presence beside me felt like armor.
The Rivers family huddled together, watching us through the office window. Their world of country club memberships and social climbing seemed small now, pathetic even.
I hadn’t asked for any of this – the mafia boss, the promises. But standing there, watching my ex–husband and his family cower before Vincent’s raw power, I felt something I hadn’t in years.
Pride.
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