Brianna

I hear the slam of papers on the mahogany desk in front of me before my vision zeroes in on the document.

“Sign it!”

I blink back the sudden tears that sting my eyes. “What are those?”

“Divorce papers,” Nico grunts like he prefers to be anywhere but here, “sign the papers.”

Nico has been my husband for one year. One year and two days if I am being precise, and I can count the number of times I’ve seen him in the past one year on one hand and that’s including the press conferences we had to attend.

“Why are you hesitating, Bri? It’s one year already.”

He is right. The contract was meant to last for one year alone, the contract that meant he had me as a wife instead of the woman he initially wanted – my sister, Arianna. It’s no news to me that my husband hates me as much as one does his archenemy because he believes I took away the opportunity for him to be with Arianna, when he did that himself. It’s no news to me that I can never be her in his eyes, but don’t blame me if I didn’t want to sign the papers that will mean I am back to being plain old Briana Page again.

Don’t blame me if I wanted more out of my miserable life.

My palms are sweaty all of a sudden so I dry it out on my loose fitting dress. “It’s just so . . . final.”

Nico’s eyes follow the movement of my hands, disapproval stretching itself on his gorgeous face.

“Final?” he smirks and rummages his drawers for a pen. “Come the fuck on,” he snaps, “we were barely even married. We saw each other like what – twice?”

“Still—” being married to Nico Armani came with it some kind of respect and status I’ve never had while growing up. The kind my sister always had and I always craved. And it didn’t matter that we stayed in two different houses or that he hated my guts because I reminded him too much of the girl he could never have, or that his family maltreated me whenever we met, but no matter how non-existent my married life seemed and how cold and nonchalant my husband is, being married to him was the only thing that had any semblance of stability in my life.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Sign the papers.”

My breath is fogging up the lens of my huge glasses and I wipe it off before I say, “I need to . . . think about this be –”

“There is nothing to think about. The contract is over, your father drew it up himself. The debt is paid and I don’t have to pretend I like being married to you any longer than I like stubbing my own foot. Sign the papers so we can get on with our lives--”

The door to his office cracks open and his secretary pops his head in. A gangly-looking dude in his early twenties.

“She is here, sir,” the man says after a brief nod to me, “Miss Carla.”

Nico’s expression softens a tiny bit, “Tell her to hold on. I’m in the middle of concluding a deal.”

Carla – his mistress. Nico is only this coldhearted to me. He treats his mistress way better than he does me. After all, she lives with him and I live in an entire separate house.

“…in the middle of concluding a deal . . .”

That’s what our marriage has been reduced to. Some ‘deal’ he is in a jiffy to conclude to go lay with his mistress.

His words stings deeply so I hold back the tears welling in my eyes and without thinking blurt out, “You mean so you can go back to fucking your red-haired mistress?”

He makes a low growling sound and springs to his feet. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

I swallow. I’ve seen Nico angry in the past but I’ve never had that anger directed at me before.

I take a step back. “I mean—”

In one move, he lunges at me, pressing me against the wall as he towers over me in an imposing stance.

“Listen here, Brianna,” he spits out, “for the past one year you have been nothing but a baggage to me. A baggage passed down from your father to me and now I’m returning the favor. I wanted Arianna, you know that’s who I wanted. And in a twist of fate, I got you instead. Now you either sign those papers or you wouldn’t have fingers to have the liberty of making a fucking choice.”

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, slowly taking in the features of the face I’m never going to see again. The hard fine set of his brows, the deep brown of his eyes, the chiseled jaw, hard set dimples . . .

I swallow. “Fine.”

He shoves the pen into my hand and tugs at my elbow till I am standing in front of the table again.

With shaky fingers, I scribble my signature on all copies and straighten, “It is done.”

“Good,” he forcefully shoves the papers into an envelope and returns to his seat, “The lawyer will get to you. As agreed you get to keep the house you live in but from now on,” he smirks like nothing in this life can ever make him happier than divorcing me, “you are no longer an Armani.”

On my way out, I catch a glimpse of Carla in the hallway – tall, bold, confident.

She smirks as she walks past me, her perfume filling my nostrils in an unwelcome fit.

“Good riddance,” she drawls in a sultry tone, “I was wondering when it was time to get rid of you. Was actually starting to get worried.”

The repetitive click of her red bottom heels on her way to his office sticks to my head as I make my way out of the massive building of his company.

But that is not the only sound perching itself to my memory.

Nico’s words also stick to my brain as I leave repeating itself on a loop. . . “You are no longer an Armani.”

Question is, to him was I ever an Armani?

Brianna

* * * One year later

“How do you like your cocktail, ma’am?” the cute waiter dressed only in brief shorts and a tight-as-hell tank top inquires.

I try not to react as I feel his gaze wash over my body draped only in a red two-piece bikini outfit.

“Just a gin and tonic would be lovely, thank you,” I reply.

I feel his breath in my ear when he says, “Coming right up, miss.”

Smiling to myself, I relax back on the lounging chair, basking in the Hawaii sun as the world around me shimmers and shines.

I always thought divorcing Nico would be the end of everything. I always thought of him as someone that was supposed to give my life some kind of meaning. But more than one year after our divorce and I am living the best life I could ever live.

Divorce from Nico isn’t nearly like what I envisioned.

For starters, it didn’t turn me to a flimsy no-name peasant I thought it would. Instead it gave me a different kind of confidence I never knew I had. It set me free to fly, and now I am the sole owner of a quickly rising beverage company. It made me see the man for what he really is – a cold-hearted unlovable man who could only afford to show affection to his red-haired mistress and my sister – and it also made me see my marriage for what it really was – a contracted sham.

So for the past one year, I’ve been building up my business while still traveling and exploring as much as I want to, with my best friend Aliyah and with some of the money Nico’s lawyer declared in my name.

What really threw me aback about my divorce is the mere suspicious fact that for some reason the press kept quiet over the whole thing and so far, I haven’t heard a squeak about it from any publicist which is as weird and off-putting as I think because for a man as famously dangerous as my ex-husband is, the press was never out of our business for long.

If anything, all they ever talked about was the life of the billionaire tycoon and his plain wife for a year.

Now, I was no longer plain old, Brianna Page. I could do whatever I want, wherever I pleased, however I liked. It was as if marrying and divorcing Nico was the confidence boost I needed. I no longer cowered under heated stares, or hid my body under big ass clothes, or shy away from the attention when it was thrown my way.

No, I trimmed my body as much as I wanted with enough hours at the gym and body therapy so much that now my curves and dips are enough to make any man’s head turn.

Instead of cowering, I lived as I wanted, bathed in attention and reveled in pleasure whenever I felt attention on my luscious body.

Yes, divorcing Nico was the therapy affirmation I needed in my life.

I just didn’t notice it earlier.

“I’m still surprised that man hasn’t worked up the courage to speak to you, yet,” Aliyah piques, smearing more sunscreen on her tanned body.

“Who?” I ask.

She gestures with her elbow to the right, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the muscular man sipping cocktail on our right, seriously eye-fucking me.

I flinch. “Could he be any more obvious?”

Aliyah shrugs, “I mean, if I were a dude and I saw that kind of body in front of me, I’m definitely gonna wanna hit.”

I poke her with a finger, “Nice try, Ali.”

“I’m serious,” she relaxes back on her chair, “Nico has no idea how much he lost by letting you go.”

I don’t want to think about Nico anymore than I want to remember the past but to an extent she is right. Nico has never seen me this way before, never seen me in anything remotely sexy during the one year we stayed married. I was always dressed in baggy outfits whenever he showed up to discuss something with me and it didn’t help that we lived apart too. He lived in one part of town with his nasty ass mother, his petite sister, a cousin and his mistress.

And I lived all alone on another part of town.

With no one, not even my father because he too had washed his hands off me immediately he signed the contract with Nico.

I tuned in back to what Aliyah was saying, “ . . . and he had the guts to force you to sign it. It was better you did that, I’m totally loving this new you and – hold up, here he comes,” she squeals.

I tilt my head just in time to see the man from earlier walking up to us, a determined flirty expression splayed across his handsome face.

“Act like you don’t see him,” Aliyah whispers.

“Might be too late,” I tell her, as the man’s gaze holds mine unwaveringly.

“Care for a drink?” he drawls as he settles himself on the lounging chair beside me.

“Most men introduce themselves first,” I reply in a sultry voice.

His eyes trail over my body, his appreciation evident on his features, “Danny,” he mutters, “Daniel Stone. Here on a two-day holiday and then I’ll be back to Jersey.”

I smile, “Funny, that’s where I live.”

He returns my smile with an appraising one, “Great,” then he slips his hand into the pocket of his beach shorts and provides a business card, “call me?”

I take the card and read the inscriptions on it. Daniel Stone, business tycoon.

What is it with me and the men in the business area?

I turn it over in my hand, “Daniel Stone huh?”

“Of Stone Empire. You heard of that?”

Frankly, who hasn’t?

“Okay Daniel Stone of Stone Empire,” I mock, “I’ll call you.”

“Good,” his eyes trail my body once more, “there’s a lot I’m willing to offer.”

Before I can think of any response, a voice beats me to it. A deep, mysterious baritone I could recognize anywhere.

“How about your head on a platter? Are you willing to offer that? Because that’s the only thing you’ll have to offer in the next five seconds.”

My head whips upwards, shock reverberating through my body and displaying on my features as I take in the sight of the person before me.

Nico Armani stands in front of me, all six foot seven, with a hard scowl on his face, glaring down at us like we are the reason for all the global warming.

“Who the fuck are you?” David retorts.

“No one of importance,” Nico shoots back, his eyes landing on mine and staying there, “Just her fucking husband.”

Brianna

“What?!?”

Daniel looks visibly stunned when he looks back at me, “You didn’t tell me you were married.”

“I’m not!”

Aliyah gives a low whistle from behind me.

Nico leans in, his voice taking a low drawl when he says, “Your five seconds is up, champ.”

Danny rises to his feet indignantly, his eyes trained on mine regardless of Nico’s scowl beside him. “Call me.”

Nico’s scowl deepens as he makes his exit, then his eyes rounds up on mine. “Call me? What the hell was that?! You out flirting with every dude now?”

I’m sure my features display my confusion when I repeat his words. “What the hell was that?” I ask him, “your wife?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Did you forget something called a divorce? You know the thing that happened one year ago when you decided you wanted me gone from your life?”

He leans down and his hand closes tight around my arm, “Did you forget your fucking manners when speaking to—”

He cuts short, his eyes zeroing in on my body as he regards me like it is the first time he is seeing me.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he mutters.

“In a bikini?”

“I’ve never . . .” he trails off.

Suddenly aware of his acute gaze, I grab a beach robe and wrap it around my body, shooting to my feet in the process.

Nico straightens, clearing his throat and looking away from me with an expression I can't decipher on his face.

When he looks back at me it is not to complete the sentence he started. He takes in my wet, dirty blonde hair pooling at my waist, the tan on my usually pale skin, the waterproof makeup on my usually plain face.

“You’re different,” he deadpans, “I can't place my finger on it but . . .” he trails off, shaking his head, “you’re different.”

“And you’re here,” I snap, “crashing my vacation.”

Just like that the heated expression is back on his face. “Crashing your vacation? Well I wouldn’t have, if you didn’t just disappear off the face of the earth.”

I didn’t disappear off the face of the earth. No, it was more practical than that. I blocked him. That was probably why he couldn’t reach out to me even if he tried. Blocked him and deleted the memories of that one year of my life as much as I could.

“I had to hire some of my best private investigators, if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were running away from me.”

“You knew better,” I tell him, “I was running away from you. Why are you here Nico?”

He regards me like he can't believe I finally got some tongue. “We need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“Alone,” his gaze shifts to Aliyah’s then back at me, “this is pretty important.”

“A girl knows when she isn’t wanted,” Aliyah singsongs, “I’m an earshot away,” she says, before leaving us to take a stroll on the beach.

“Well?” I shoot at my ex-husband.

He shoots daggers at me with his eyes because no one ever rushes Nico Armani.

“The divorce didn’t go through,” he deadpans.

My knees give way under me and I collapse on the lounging chair behind me. “What the hell do you mean the divorce didn’t go through?”

He occupies the chair Daniel just vacated minutes ago. “The judges didn’t grant it.”

“What on earth? It’s been a whole year!”

“I know,” Nico continues, “There were no grounds for it. Apparently a fulfillment of the duration of a contract wasn’t enough to grant a divorce.”

“But—” I search for the right words, “but you’re Nico Armani,” I mean this was the man that singlehandedly decided to go against one of the most powerful judges in the States and came out of that untouched, “Surely, you’ve got the power to outlaw whatever that law is.”

He sends me a pointed glare. “Trust me, I’ve tried. I don’t want to stay married to you any more than I want to get tied by fucking ropes. But the elections are at hand and I’m not going to jeopardize that by publicly fighting off a judge.”

Nico was vying for the position of a senate in New Jersey, as if being one of the most powerful business man wasn’t enough for the dude.

I flick wet hair off my face, “That’s not my problem anymore.”

“It is,” Nico declares, “especially since we are still a married couple and you are still my wife.”

“I told you, I’m not married to—”

“Six more months,” he cuts in, “the judges think that if we stay under the same roof for six months and we still feel the same way . . .” he shrugs.

“What do you mean under the same roof?” I pique.

“We’ve got to live in the same house.”

“What?!”

“Do you want the divorce or not? You refuse the offer, you’re stuck with my surname for the rest of your life.”

“I want neither of those things,” I shoot back, “but I’m not going to reduce myself to living under the same roof as your mistress.”

“Carla is not my mistress,” he warns.

“Then who is she?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if you think I’ll be willing to co-exist with her.”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Fine,” he grits out, “something will be done about Carla.”

Carla or no Carla, I don’t want to go back to being the wife of a cold, domineering man much less living under the same roof with him and the woman who hated my guts just for the reason of being the wrong Page sister. Nico’s mother never liked me. It was evident in her absence at the small, arid court wedding, the way her eyes crossed whenever I walked into a room, the time she ‘mistakenly’ pushed me down the stairs that one time she visited my assigned mansion and claimed she was aiming for something else . . .

His sister didn’t like me either but unlike her mom, she was way better at hiding it, only ever showing it by leaving the room whenever I walked in and body shaming me behind my back. I can't say the same about the cousin that lived with them because I’ve never seen him and the rest of the occupants of that household just straight out ignored me.

Domestic staff included.

These are just the tips of the iceberg. The Armani family hurt me in more way than I imagine – physically, mentally and emotionally and going back to that family would mean the death of me. Literally and physically, and I can't risk that especially after how much time and energy I put in rebranding the new me.

All the gym and therapy sessions, the nights of being awake and weeping as the truth looked me straight in the eye.

Nobody wanted me. Not my father who gave me off to a man who hated my guts, or said man who didn’t even want to look at my face, or any member of his household who either maltreated me or ignored me.

That was the truth and I had to accept it before allowing myself to properly heal as much as I had to.

And I worked every hour of every day so I never had to feel that way again.

“I can’t risk it,” I tell him, “your family is filled with the most horrib—”

“Brianna.”

“You have no idea how much they –”

“You don’t get it, Brianna,” he snarls, “I’m not leaving here without you. I don’t care if I have to hurl you over my shoulders at this point but I’m getting that divorce.”

“You can't.”

“Try me.”

“What is in it for me?” I ask, because knowing Nico has taught me that he always gets what he wants and a plan is already forming in my head.

“What do you want?”

“The hotel in New York.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Nico. I want the hotel. Sign its ownership to my name.”

“Done.”

I blink. He was not supposed to agree to that. “What?”

“You want the hotel you get the hotel.”

Fine.

Nico Armani wants me back and he is going to get me back. But it will be different this time. Going back to the Armanis will be different this time.

The Armanis showed me what they are capable of, they showed me their worst parts and hid the best from me. They humiliated me and shone me and they watched me scurry off in the other direction like a squirrel with no place to turn to.

Not anymore. Not this time.

This time, the Armani’s will have no idea what hit them in the head when I strike. Oh, and I will strike, harder than they could ever reach.

This time, it will be on my own terms, on my own rules. The Armanis will not be allowed to hurt me anymore.

They don’t know it yet but the next six months will be the worst months of their lives.

The Armanis will wish they never met me.

Revenge, they say, is a cold dish.