I Am Too Tired To Love You

On every anniversary, Nolan would prepare some new, inventive way to humiliate me.

Our tenth-anniversary charity gala was held at his Hampton estate, where glasses clinked and a who's who of high society mingled.

Nolan strode into the ballroom with a woman on his arm, her body barely concealed by a shimmering crystal mesh dress.

The music screeched to a halt. He approached me, his voice a low murmur, yet it carried, loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear every word.

"Claire," he said, his voice low and commanding. "She's cold. Take off your couture gown and give it to her."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Before I could react, he added, as if that weren't degrading enough, "And the lingerie. She wants the set you're wearing."

My hand flew to my throat, a desperate attempt to hold on to the last shred of my dignity as Mrs. Underwood. "Nolan, not here..."

He didn't care. He simply ripped my gown open. "Stop pretending. You remember, don't you? Ten years ago, your father sold you to me. I still remember the pathetic look on your face."

All eyes were on me, waiting for me to break.

So I did the only thing I could.

"I want a divorce."

Again.

Nolan just laughed, then shoved a phone in my face. A private video of us was playing on the screen.

"You say that every year. And every year, you come crawling back to my bed. Think, Claire. What happens if these videos get out? Or worse, what if I cut off funding for your comatose mother? Do you really think she'll survive without treatment that costs five figures a day?"

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1

The ballroom erupted in a roar of laughter.

"Nolan, let's make a bet—how long until she comes crawling back?"

"I bet Claire will be crying and begging you to take her back by tonight—crawling into your bed just to pay her mother's medical bills!"

"I'm in. Her mom burns through tens of thousands of dollars a day. Without you, she couldn't even afford a public cemetery plot!"

The woman on his arm shoved a diamond ring in my face, her smile sickeningly sweet. "Sweetheart, I may not be as rich as Nolan, but I'll bet fifty dollars that you won't get this divorce."

I stared at the ring on her finger—an Underwood family heirloom... and then I smiled.

How pathetic.

Ten years ago, he promised my father he would take good care of me. Now, he was letting a model he'd met two weeks ago flaunt that ring, just to make me a laughingstock.

I laughed again, a soft, bitter sound.

God, I was pathetic, too, for letting him destroy me for so long.

"I've already signed the divorce papers. All they need now is your signature."

I had threatened divorce nine hundred and ninety-nine times.

But this was the first time I was serious—armed with documents prepared by one of New York's top law firms.

I took off the plain, unremarkable band from my ring finger, tossed it onto the agreement, and handed it to him.

The smirk vanished from Nolan's face. He looked at me as if he couldn't believe it—that the submissive shadow he'd always known as his wife was actually leaving him.

Then he sneered, lit a cigar, and held the flame to the document. The paper instantly curled and blackened.

"Still playing this game? Don't you ever get tired of it? You throw the word 'divorce' around thinking it scares me. Frankly, I'm tired of you, and I'm tired of this joke of a marriage."

I watched, impassive, as the papers turned to ash. Then I pulled another identical agreement from my bag. "Fine. Then sign it."

This time, the air grew still.

He pushed his companion away, ripped off his bow tie, his eyes wild.

"Claire Hollis, every inch of you is my property, divorce or not. Who would want you besides me? Without me, who's going to pay your bloodsucking father's gambling debts? Who's going to keep your comatose mother alive?"

I said nothing. I just turned to leave.

Nolan crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed my wrist, and in front of hundreds of guests, slammed me hard against the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Atlantic.

A spiderweb of cracks fractured the glass with a sickening crunch, and a sharp pain lanced through me. I gasped.