Blurb：
I asked for a divorce after six years of being Wesley Peterson's placeholder wife. On Thanksgiving, he sent his ex-girlfriend Shanice Fontana's father ten cases of Dom Pérignon and Pappy Van Winkle while I received client gift baskets. It reminded me of our wedding day – no dowry, no ring, just humiliation. Meanwhile, he built villas and bought diamond necklaces for Shanice from the Queen's Auction.When I said "divorce," Wesley mocked me and shoved two crates of Dom Pérignon as consolation. "Go ask your brother Callum Garnett for permission," he sneered before walking away. I dumped the champagne in the trash and contacted Attorney Maxwell to draft a divorce agreement – I'd leave with nothing.
But then breaking news showed Riverton's richest man Wesley Peterson with Shanice Fontana at the airport, his wedding ring conspicuously absent. As crates of lavish gifts were loaded into their car, I saw Shanice's social media post: them pressed together like the perfect couple. Bruce Garnett and Callum always treated me as a marriage pawn, but now this stand-in wife is done being Wesley's revenge pawn. The divorce papers are ready – let's see who laughs last.
Content：
On Thanksgiving, my husband, Wesley Peterson, sent his ex-girlfriend’s dad ten cases of Dom Pérignon and another ten of Pappy Van Winkle.Me? I got two tins of holiday cookies from a client and a fruit basket.
It felt a lot like our wedding day, actually. Wesley had only agreed to marry me with zero dowry. He hadn't even bothered to buy a ring, let alone jewelry.
But for his ex-girlfriend? He built a row of villas and gifted her a diamond necklace from the Queen's Auction. It's still sitting in a safe somewhere, untouchable at least by me.
I looked down at the rough, pitiful gift boxes before me and let out a quiet, cold laugh.
"Wesley, let's get a divorce."
His expression didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. But a flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"All this over a few gifts? Don't you think that's a bit much?"
Then, with his frustratingly casual tone, he said, "Shanice isn't here. What's the harm in me helping her out?"
Wesley reached over, grabbed two crates of Dom Pérignon, shoved them into my arms like some twisted consolation prize, and flashed his mocking grin.
"There. Happy now? Still want a divorce?"
"Yes," I replied evenly. "Divorce."
——
He let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Fine. Go home and talk it over with your brother. If you can get past him, then sure."
And just like that, Wesley turned away, waved at the bodyguards to move the rest of the liquor, and walked off without looking back.
I looked down at the bottles I was holding, then turned and dumped them straight into the trash.
"Attorney Maxwell," I said coolly, not missing a beat, "draw up a divorce agreement. I'll walk away with nothing."
The lawyer froze.
"Miss Garnett, are you serious about leaving with nothing? Does the young master know?"
He hesitated, brows pinched in concern. "You might want to talk to him first. Maybe you can negotiate for your own rights and interests."
Rights?
I almost laughed.
Did I ever really have any?
Since I joined the Garnett family, my father Bruce and my older brother Callum have treated me as nothing more than a strategic tool—a pawn for marriage alliances. That was my role.
And Wesley? He made it clear where I stood the day before the wedding.
Eight thousand dollars a month for household expenses.
Meanwhile, company dividends counted strictly as his personal premarital assets, none of which concerned me.
The villa we shared was, in fact, documented as separate property before we were married.
And me?
I accepted everything to show I loved him for who he was, not what he had.
Every humiliating condition. Every boundary he set.
But it wasn't until I saw what he'd prepared for his ex that the truth finally hit me like a freight train.
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The End