Divorce My “Dual Personality” Billionaire Husband

The doctor said my husband Ethan had dual personality.

His primary personality was gentle and devoted. His alter — "Axel" — was reckless and wild.

In five years of marriage, every time Axel surfaced, he'd fall for a different woman.

Each time, I'd have to pull out our marriage certificate, walk him through our love story from the beginning, just to bring Ethan back.

This time, Axel had set his sights on the new dance instructor.

I dropped what I was doing at work, ready to go collect him from the psychiatrist's office — same as always.

But outside the treatment room, I heard him on the phone with one of his buddies, laughing:

"What can I say — I'm a hell of an actor. Five years and she still hasn't caught on."

"Besides, why settle for the wife at home when there's so much more fun out there?"

The panic I'd been feeling went very, very still.

I pulled up my lawyer's number and texted him: Get the divorce papers ready.

I walked into Dr. Miller's psychiatric office.

Ethan had his back to me, speaking into his phone. "Yeah, got it. Stop nagging. Same place tonight."

He cut off mid-sentence when he heard the door.

He turned around, a reckless grin spreading across his face, his eyes giving me a slow, lazy once-over.

"Well, well. Wifey's here to collect her man again?"

He flopped back onto the couch, legs crossed and propped on the edge of the coffee table.

"Took you long enough this time. Traffic? Or have you finally come to your senses and decided to step aside?"

I said nothing. I just looked at him.

He waited a few seconds. No teary eyes. No marriage certificate pulled from my bag like every other time.

Maybe it was the surprise that made him get up and walk toward me.

He leaned in close, reaching out to tip my chin up with one finger.

I turned my head and dodged it.

His finger caught nothing but air. He laughed even louder.

"Playing hard to get? Serena, who's this little act for? What's so great about that pathetic Ethan Westbrook anyway?"

"If I were you, I'd play the field too. See who plays dirtier."

I'd heard this speech many times before.

For five years, every time Axel surfaced, he would humiliate me with some variation of the same words.

Every single time, the goal was the same -- to watch me break down.

To watch me cry and beg for Ethan to come back. To watch me cling even harder to my gentle husband.

But this time, I stayed silent.

My silence was starting to get under his skin.

"Say something! Cat got your tongue? Or are you actually stepping aside? Perfect -- Vivian's way more fun than you'll ever be..."

"Are you done?" I cut him off.

He froze.

This time, I didn't reach into my bag for our marriage certificate.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and forwarded him the divorce papers my lawyer had sent me.

"Ethan." I looked him in the eye.

"Divorce papers. Take a look. If everything's in order, sign them."

I paused, then added, "Axel -- or Ethan Westbrook -- either name works. Sign whichever one you prefer."

He grabbed his phone, and there it was -- actual divorce papers staring back at him.

"You--" He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist in a vise grip.

"Serena, have you lost your mind?! Look at me! I'm Axel! You don't want Ethan back anymore?! You're just going to abandon him?!"

I almost laughed.

I'd actually done what he always taunted me to do -- stepped aside -- and now he was the one panicking.

One by one, I pried his fingers off my wrist.

"The show," I said, "is over."