Chapter 1

The year I married Brandon Hayes, his closest buddies placed bets on how long I would last.

Three years went by. Brandon had an endless rotation of side chicks, and I quietly handled all the messy PR for his scandalous hookups. That lasted until his first love returned to the country.

That was when I handed him the divorce papers.

When Brandon cornered me, his eyes rimmed with red, demanding to know if I had ever loved him, I simply laughed.

"It was just a wager, Mr. Hayes. Don't tell me you're a sore loser?"

My family fell on hard times, and my marriage to Brandon was orchestrated entirely by my parents.

They traded me away for a fifteen-million-dollar cash injection, saving the family business from going under.

From that moment on, I became a total joke in the eyes of Brandon’s friends—the ultimate pushover.

"Chloe Vance really has nerves of steel, doesn't she?"

Brandon sneered, completely dismissive. "She’s just an overpriced maid my family bought! Boring to keep, but a waste to throw away."

"Though, gotta give it to her, she’s damn good at cleaning up my messes."

Right around the time he said that, I had just finished dealing with an aggressive paparazzi photographer and a D-list starlet, shelling out four million dollars to buy their silence.

Once the NDA was signed, I forwarded the invoice straight to his assistant.

It was past midnight when I finally got back to the penthouse.

I washed up and lay down, but my phone screen immediately lit up.

It was the same paparazzi guy from earlier.

"Mrs. Hayes, your husband is meeting a gorgeous woman at the airport tonight!"

He attached a photo. I opened it, and my chest tightened slightly.

So, it was her.

Hannah Collins was back—Brandon’s first love.

In the picture, Brandon held her tightly against his chest, wrapping his coat around her. Only the side of her delicate, tear-streaked face was visible. They were clinging to each other, looking straight out of a classic lovers-reunited drama.

Hannah was the only girlfriend Brandon had ever publicly acknowledged. Even my status as his wife was merely a sterile corporate press release; Brandon himself had never once acknowledged me to the world.

As I stared at the photo, another notification popped up: "Mrs. Hayes, this one’s on the house. Mr. Hayes said there's no need to kill the story."

I locked my phone and chuckled softly. Brandon always treated her differently. Even after three years of marriage, she was still the one he could never forget.

Instead of burying it, I sold the exclusive rights to another tabloid for a cool hundred grand. By sunrise, Brandon and Hannah’s names were blowing up Twitter and trending everywhere.

I turned my phone off and went to sleep.

When the morning sunlight poured into the room, I switched my phone back on. The screen exploded with notifications.

The viral gossip had infuriated the Hayes family.

Within seconds, a call came in from the family estate. My mother-in-law, Victoria Hayes, sounded uncharacteristically harsh.

"Chloe, come over for dinner tonight. We’re taking a family portrait."

"Sure, Mom."

Victoria wanted to sweep this under the rug, pretending that a pretty family photo could shut the gossip rags up.

How pathetic.

Never mind whether Brandon would even bother to show up.

I glanced at Brandon’s friends' SnapChat group. His buddies were having a field day hyping up the reunion.

"Hannah’s back! What’s Chloe gonna do now? She definitely can’t PR her way out of this one!"

"What else can she do? Sit there and watch!"

"Speaking of which, Brandon, when are you finally pulling the trigger on the divorce?"

Seeing that, I wondered the exact same thing. "Brandon, when are you going to divorce me?"

Brandon’s reply in the chat was curt and cold: "Throwing a welcome party for Hannah tonight. All of you better be there."

How convenient. Dinner at the estate was tonight. I doubted Brandon would even show his face.

I texted him: "Your mom said dinner at the estate tonight. Are you going?"

He didn’t reply. I didn’t care. Instead, I called my lawyer to draft the divorce papers.

Over our three-year marriage, Brandon had cheated more times than I could count, and I had kept receipts for every single one. Aside from the original fifteen million my parents took, I wanted forty percent of his net worth. More than enough for the rest of my life.

My best friend, Sam, asked, "Have you really thought this through? You're actually divorcing him?"

"Of course. He’s completely used up, and I don't want him anymore. Once I've got my money, I can have any man I want."

Sam paused, stunned, before laughing. "Fair point. I'm glad you finally snapped out of it."

I had known from day one that I was never Brandon’s favorite.

When we first got married, I walked into the union with good intentions and genuine hope for our future.

On our wedding night, things were sweet and passionate. But the very next day, Brandon paraded around town with an actress on his arm.

I cried, I screamed, and I threw fits. All I got in return was his mockery:

"Chloe, you're getting too greedy. You want my money and my heart? Life doesn't work that way."