His eyes widen, but I don’t give him the chance to answer.
“Did you picture her mouth when I was wrapped around your cock? Was her name in your head when I told you I loved you? Tell me, Donovan—did you close your eyes and pretend I was Elaine?”
He looks like I’ve hit him, but it’s not enough. I want him gutted.
“You didn’t just cheat on me, Donovan. You broke every vow you ever made—every word, every promise, every prayer you whispered while you worshiped my naked body. You hollowed me out and called it love. You let me believe I was yours while you were giving pieces of yourself to her like they were nothing. Our marriage unraveled in the lies you told, one silk thread at a time, until I was standing in the ruins wearing nothing but your betrayal. And I hope those broken vows haunt you until your last breath, because I’m done letting them haunt me.”
I step back, the taste of my own venom still sharp in my mouth. “Now get out of my house.”
He reaches for me, fingers closing around my arm. “Wait, Stella—stop being so fucking stubborn. Let’s just talk this through. We can get through this!”
My eyes drop to his grip. I peel his hand off me like it’s a contaminant. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”
The kitchen door bangs open. Ansel’s got Cormac by the waist, holding him back, but his eyes are pure rage.
I take a breath, my voice steady but cold. “Donovan, this is me being stubborn. This is me being broken, crushed, and furious. This is the reaction of a scorned wife. So no, I won’t talk to you. And no, we’re not working through this.”
I pick up the manila envelope on the table—the one that isn’t full of lies or buried with my grandfather. The one that will set me free. “Here are the divorce papers. Now leave.”
He stares at them like the envelope just slapped him. “Come on, Stella, don’t be such a bitch. Just talk to me—”
Before the sentence can finish, there’s a blur of movement, and Cormac’s fist connects with Donovan’s jaw. The sound is a wet crack. “You might be my best friend, bro, but don’t ever put your hands on a lady, and don’t fucking talk to one like that.”
Donovan stumbles toward the door. Ansel is already at Cormac’s side, checking his knuckles.
For a moment, the room is still. I exhale, tension leaving in a slow leak. Cormac glances at me. “You know I’m not picking sides. But I’m not letting anyone treat you like that.”
I nod at Cormac, the faintest hum of gratitude under the anger still thrumming in my chest. “Don’t thank me,” he says. “Just… don’t let him back in here.” His gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching, the kind of look that promises he’ll keep watch whether I ask or not. Ansel mutters something about getting ice for his knuckles and steers him toward the kitchen.
Blythe steps in close, pulling me into a hug. “I know you have a lot going on, Stell, but tell me you spoke with Preston about the divorce before filing papers?”
I blink, caught off guard. “No. I just filed. I don’t want to be married to that piece of shit anymore.” The words come out sharp, final.
Blythe’s expression shifts—worry written across her face. “Okay… but did you have him sign a prenup?”
She steps back slightly, as if bracing for my reaction.
And it clicks. Hard. “Fuck.” My voice is a low growl. “He can take half my family estate.”
Ansel reappears, leaning against the doorframe with the ice bucket in hand. “Half ofeverything,” she says, the words slow and deliberate.
I sink onto the couch, heat pooling low in my chest. “Then I guess we make sure that what he walks away with is worth less than nothing.”
Ansel arches a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m not handing him a damn thing without a fight.” My voice is low, controlled. “I’m going to pull every receipt, every text, every late-night ‘away game’ that wasn’t—credit card charges, mileage logs, anything that ties him to this affair. I’ll cross-reference everything with the public records from his teams, travel schedules, you name it. When I’m done, I’ll make sure it lands on every high school and collegiate athletic director’s desk. He’ll never coach again.”
Ansel leans back, watching me with a mix of awe and wariness. “That’s… a lot of digging.”
“I’m good at digging,” I say flatly. “And when I’m finished, his career will be ash, and the judge will know exactly why I filed for divorce.”
Blythe’s brows lift, but she doesn’t interrupt. Ansel just gives a slow, vicious smile.
For a moment, it’s quiet—too quiet. My pulse still hammers in my ears.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
“For fucks sake,” I scream out as I slam the door open.
