Chapter 1 Let's Divorce

Aria It was a year today. A year of wearing the title of “Mrs. Blackwell” like a heavy winter coat I couldn’t take off. One year since I promised my mother on her deathbed that I’d try—try to make this arranged marriage work, try to be the perfect daughter and dutiful wife. My husband was Brandon Blackwell, tall, sharp-suited, every bit the picture-perfect CEO the media adored. But I hadn't see him for a year since we get married. I should’ve taken my time getting home today. But I didn’t. I came home like a wife who belonged. When I stepped into my cold house, The scent hit me first—faintly sweet, thick in the air like overripe fruit and sweat. I paused in the doorway, my fingers still curled around my keys, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The lights were dimmed, curtains drawn, the house quieter than usual—but not silent. There were… sounds, wet, breathless, and moans so sharp they sliced through the stillness like a blade. I moved without realizing it, drawn in by something I couldn’t explain—maybe instinct, maybe dread, maybe hope that I was wrong. That what I heard wasn’t what I thought. That my mind was playing tricks on me after a long day. But as I stepped into the living room, everything inside me shattered. Brandon was there. For the first time in a year of being legally bound to him, I saw him—the real him. Not the man in a suit. Not the distant husband who never came home. Not the stranger I married for reasons that never made sense even when I said, “I do.” He was there in the flesh. And he wasn’t alone. Lying beside him was none other than his business partner—or rather, it would be more accurate to call her his mistress, Savannah. Savannah’s head was thrown back over the couch armrest, her golden hair tangled like a halo of sin, her body arched, nails digging into Brandon’s shoulder blades as he drove into her harder than a dock fucking its mate in heat. He didn’t stop when he saw me. He didn’t even blink. His gaze locked on mine like I was the intruder. Like I was the one who had no right to be here. He ignored me and fucked Savannah right in front of me! It took me a heartbeat to realize what I was seeing. And another to believe it was real. That this wasn’t some sick, vivid nightmare I’d wake up from. “Hi, wifey,”Brandon purred, his voice thick with pleasure and venom. “You’re just in time. Want to join us? Oh, fuck, baby, yeah, I'm gonna cum." I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body was frozen, but my mind was screaming. Every memory I had of Brandon—every unanswered call, every cold night in an empty bed, every awkward conversation with people who didn’t even know I was married—all of it crashed down on me in that moment. He hadn’t touched me since our wedding day. No kisses, no glances, no explanations. And the first time I saw my husband—the first time I saw his body, his skin, his desire—it was while he was inside someone else. While Savannah clawed at him like she owned him, and he fucking let her. His face was unreadable. Cold and detached. But his body was saying everything his mouth never had. And all I could do was watch. A sharp gasp left Savannah’s lips as she pulled Brandon down by the neck and kissed him, loud and messy and deliberate—like she wanted me to hear it. Like she wanted to brand me with the sound of it. Her legs wrapped tighter around him, and she looked at me again through heavy-lidded eyes. “This must hurt,” she said softly, feigning pity. “But hey… at least now you know what you’re missing.” Brandon didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance at me again. His focus was on her—his mistress, his comfort, the woman he had chosen again and again over me. And all I could do was stand there and feel every part of my soul fold in on itself. I should’ve screamed. Should’ve cried. I should’ve thrown something, maybe the glass vase by the window or my own wedding ring, at his damn head. But I didn’t. I just watched until Brandon started increasing his pace, his cock coated with her juice. God, what is this? The first time I saw how thick and how strong his cock was, it was on him fucking another woman. Savannah started to shake, and all I could do was close my eyes and push back my tears. “Let’s get a divorce.” I finally couldn’t hold back and interrupted them. Brandon finally stopped what he was doing. He frowned at me and said, “We need to talk.” As he spoke, he pulled away from Savannah slightly and hastily straightened his jacket. “You heard me,” I said, setting the glass down. “Let’s end this farce. You want to marry her? Fine. But don’t think for a second that you’ll walk away with anything that belongs to me or my family.” What Brandon didn’t know is that I’ve been funding his precious Blackwell Holdings out of my own private accounts. The same accounts that kept his company afloat when his investors pulled out. Without Kensington Holdings’ support—and mine—he has already bankrupt. And now, he actually betrayed me! “I actually wanted to believe in this marriage. Not for love, but for loyalty. For the promise I made to my mother. But since neither of you care about promises, why should I?” Savannah sneered, but Brandon looked… Guilty? Or maybe just caught off guard. Either way, it was too late. By the time I reached my room, I let out a sigh that I didn't know I'd been holding. A win is a win. God knows Brandon and I never shared a bed—I let out another long breath. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes for a moment. This wasn’t just about heartbreak. It was about betrayal. About realizing that while I was burning myself out trying to protect Blackwell Holdings for the sake of my family name, Brandon was parading another woman around. I moved to the window, staring out at the city skyline. The lights blurred slightly, but I blinked away the sting in my eyes. No tears. Not for them. I pulled out my phone and dialed the one number I knew would answer. “Ms. Kensington,” came the smooth voice on the other end. My personal attorney. “Prepare the papers,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “We’re going to war.” There was a pause. “Understood.” I hung up and glanced around the room—his expensive taste in every piece of furniture. The walls that heard every moment of silence, every missed dinner. I walked to the closet, running my fingers along the row of dresses I no longer cared to wear. Brandon’s favorites. Savannah’s likely handpicked choices to make me into a doll she could control. I quickly began pulling them off the racks, throwing them to the floor. Each dress hitting the ground felt like shedding a layer of weakness. I wasn’t the girl everyone thought they could walk over. I was Ariana Kensington. Heiress to Kensington Holdings. And if Brandon thought I was done, he was about to learn exactly what I was capable of. As I reached for the last dress, a sharp knock echoed through the door. “Mrs. Blackwell?” a soft voice called—one of the maids, hesitant. I swallowed the lump in my throat, smoothing my blouse. “Yes?” “Your… your husband’s mother just arrived.”