Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Prologue

Vivian’s POV:

• 6 November 2016 •

S u n d a y

I applied on my red lipstick, brushing my curly dark hair away from my freshly applied mascara. Glancing down at my sharply file nails, I stood up, eyes checking the maids uncomfortably shuffling in the corner of the room.

Exhaling, my feet glaze against the carpet. I grab the black luggage pulling it behind me as the maids and butlers gather around. The wheels and my heels echoed in the hallway, similar to the scattering shoes.

I stopped when I saw a familiar photo and bit my lower lips.

We were standing side by side, but there was a gap between us. I was in a large white dress, one I pictured myself wearing during the wedding day. He was in a cleaned black suit, the most handsome man in any room we were in. There was a smile on my lips, but a frown on his.

I chuckle and lift the frame. It was apparent he didn’t want to marry me.

He didn’t even touch me that night.

My grip tightens on the white frame of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life as I continued walking towards the front door.

I was done.

Done with everything.

The large empty mansion.

The sad, pitiful looks on the workers’ faces.

The lonely nights.

The silent tears.

Him.

I was done with him.

My soon to be ex-husband.

When I reach the large kitchen, the cookers stop their actions and stare at me. I stood in front of the trash can and threw the photo inside.

One of the chefs, Peter, took a step towards me, “Madame.”

I place a hand in the air to stop him from speaking any further. He held his head low, taking a step back while I wiped the tears tracing down my pink cheeks.

Inhaling another breath, I shuffled through my luggage and pulled out a sheet of paper, causing everyone to gasp.

Sandy, the head maid, walked up towards me, sweaty hands clinch firmly together. “Please, Mrs.Everhart,” she begs.

I shook my head and slammed the sheet on the counter. My fingers reach for the diamond ring, and I bite my cheeks. Swallowing the saliva, I twisted the ring around and laid it on top of the divorce paper.

“Tell him to sign it, and don’t worry. I won’t take a damn penny,” I hiss, grab my luggage, and continue stomping towards the door.

My legs stop, and so does everyone else. Then, it happened. My eyes locked on the clock.

10 seconds.

I turn my head towards the front door.

9.

I grab the gold handle.

8.

“Please, Mrs.Everhart! Mr.Everhart will come back soon! I promise!” Sandy cried, hanging onto my shirt.

7.

The tears dripped down while I softly swayed her hands away.

6.

I open the knob.

5.

Sandy continued crying while the other maids tried to comfort her, sadden eyes gazing everywhere else but me.

4.

I took a step out carrying whatever I brought with me a year ago.

3.

The sun hit my swollen eyes.

2.

I search for his car.

1.

The clock hit noon.

Time was up.

Our one-year agreement was finished.

He didn’t come, and I left without a single goodbye.