Even after risking my life, I couldn't get her to divorce me, and yet one injury to Harvey was enough to make it happen.
Right there, a cramp clenched my calf, sharper than the day my leg was hacked off. I bent over, but a shoulder brushed against mine. Faye walked past, holding Harvey in her arms.
I collapsed onto the ground, cold sweat soaking the floor. My bodyguards rushed in.
Before I even lost consciousness, someone from Faye’s side sent over a divorce agreement.
So it was true. When a woman decides to be ruthless, she moves fast.
I tossed it to the nearest bodyguard. “Burn it.”
I am a stubborn man.
As a child, when my mother threatened to beat me to death if I didn’t obey, I stiffened my neck and chose death.
As an adult, when I swore to live and die with Faye, I limped into the enemy’s den with a machete to rescue her.
And now, since I’d made it clear the last divorce negotiation was her final opportunity, and since she refused, my marriage would only end in widowhood, not divorce.
...
When I woke up, Harvey had already been discharged safely. He sent over a file.
My bodyguard handed me a handwritten letter.
His script was sharp, each stroke thick with arrogance.