Sorry, Ex-Husband, There would be no Ninth Marriage

My husband Brandon married me eight times, and divorced me eight times for the woman he truly loved, but there wouldn't be a ninth time today.

“Let’s divorce. Your first love is here.”

I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, right over his keyboard.

Brandon didn’t even blink. He just picked up his pen, signed his name with a lazy flick of his wrist, and tossed the document back to me.

“We’ll get married again once she leaves after a month,” he said, his eyes already back on his screen. “For now, just go on a vacay. Buy yourself something nice.”

It was always like this. Paula was a free spirit who despised the idea of marriage and being tied down. She preferred to travel the world, living completely carefree. But whenever she grew bored or lonely, she would return to the city, and Brandon would immediately clear his life for her—which meant divorcing me.

Then, once her wanderlust kicked in and she abandoned him again, he would summon me back to resume my role as his convenient, legally-bound placeholder.

I didn’t say a word.

I just turned around, walked into our master bedroom, and pulled my suitcase from the closet. I started packing my clothes.

Usually, this was the part where I cried. The part where I begged him to look at me, to choose me, to explain why I was never enough.

Today, the room was dead silent.

Heavy footsteps suddenly stormed into the room. Before I could fold my last shirt, Brandon grabbed my arm and yanked me around to face him.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his jaw clenched tight. “Aren’t you gonna say a word to me? Aren’t you jealous? Paula is here.”

I gently pulled my arm out of his grip and turned back to my suitcase. “Well, yeah.”

Brandon stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“What is wrong with you?” he barked, stepping into my space. “Are you cheating on me? Is that why you don’t care?”

My hands paused on the zipper. I let out a short, dry laugh and looked him dead in the eye.

“Cheating?” I repeated. “Brandon, it’s not like you love me.”

He flinched, but I didn't stop.

“From the very beginning, it has always been business with us. We aren't husband and wife. We just have contracts and deals.”

It was the ugly truth. I had agreed to his terms years ago because I needed money to support my mother’s medical life in the hospital. I hadn't actually thought I'd fall for him, but I did, only to be disregarded ever since. But after everything, I finally knew I would never love him again.

Brandon’s face darkened. His possessive anger flared.

“If you dare betray me and have another man,” he warned, his voice dropping into a lethal, cold whisper. “I swear, your mother will die.”

I looked at his handsome, furious face.

“Okay,” I said softly.

He didn't know. He had been so busy preparing for Paula's arrival that he hadn't even noticed my swollen eyes. He didn't know the hospital had called me three days ago.

My mother was already dead.

I snapped my suitcase shut, cutting off the conversation. “I’m leaving now. I’m just gonna stay with my friend.”

“Don't get any ideas about ambushing us at the company,” he warned, his lip curling in disgust. “I won't tolerate you throwing another hysterical fit in front of my staff just to get my attention.”

I knew exactly what he was referring to. Paula was only in town for a short while, and Brandon intended to parade her around the executive floor as his rightful partner.

The memory of our third divorce flashed in my mind. Back then, I had been foolish enough to think I could fight for my marriage. I had rushed to his office to deliver a crucial document he had left at home, only to find Paula sitting in his CEO chair, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. When I lost my temper and demanded she get away from my husband, Paula had squeezed out a few fake tears.

To protect his precious first love from the judgmental whispers of the senior executives gathering outside the glass walls, Brandon hadn't just told me to leave. He had called security.

As two guards grabbed my arms to drag me out, Brandon had coldly tossed our freshly stamped divorce decree onto the floor at my feet.

“She isn't my wife,” he had announced loudly to the entire floor, ensuring everyone heard him over my sobs. “She’s just an ex who doesn't know when to quit.”

Since that day, his PR team made it a point to leak our divorce status to the social pages every single time Paula returned. They painted Paula as his innocent, destined muse, and me as the delusional, clinging woman who was obsessed with his wealth.

But this time, his threats meant nothing.

“You don't have to worry,” I said, walking past him without a second glance. “I have zero interest in interrupting your time with Paula. You two deserve each other.”

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read my face. He was clearly unsettled by my lack of tears, but his massive ego quickly covered it up.

“Just make sure you're back by the second week of next month,” he ordered. “We have a wedding to schedule.”

I didn't turn around, but a quiet, genuine smile broke across my face.

“Okay,” I whispered to the empty air.

Because the second week of next month was exactly when my one-way flight was scheduled to take off. And Brandon would never find me again.