Chapter 3My Wife Handed Me My Bride

That evening, after several urgent calls from Grandpa Richard, I went back to the family estate.

The entire drive over, I wondered how to explain things to him.

Should I tell him his granddaughter was pregnant by a boy toy? That she was forcing me into a divorce? Or that I was already moving forward with a lawsuit?

Family debts are always more tangled than legal ones.

When I walked in, I was alone. Grandpa paused. "Where's Marina?"

"She's busy," I said.

"Busy?" He slammed his silverware onto the table. "What could be more important than her husband?"

I remained silent.

Grandpa Richard and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together in their youth. He had championed our marriage from the start, though Marina’s mother, Catherine, had been fiercely opposed. She looked down on my family background and thought my childhood illnesses made me a liability.

But Marina had refused to let go.

She had gone to St. Jude’s Cathedral, kneeling on the cold stone steps in a freezing rain, dragging herself up all ninety-nine steps until her knees were bloody.

She had prayed: "I don't even have to end up with him, just let him live."

When I found out, I had wept. From then on, I stopped hiding. I told her if she was brave enough to marry me, I was brave enough to stand beside her.

And indeed, my health recovered. I married into her family, and Grandpa Richard transferred a third of his private stock options to my name to ensure I would be respected within the family.

I used to think her mother was our only obstacle. Now I knew better.

The front door opened, and Marina walked in, her arm looped through Troy's. She froze when she saw me.

Grandpa’s face darkened instantly. "What kind of trash are you bringing into my house?"

Marina sat down next to Troy, her tone casual. "Grandpa, it's just dinner. Don't make a scene."

Then she shot me a look. "Dylan, you should leave first. I didn't think you'd come tonight. This is Troy's night, okay?"

I let out a soft laugh.

Troy's night. She was so eager to establish his place that she brought him to meet her family before our divorce was even finalized.

Catherine came downstairs, her gaze sweeping over me before landing on Troy. "So this is the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters."

One sentence, insulting both of us.

In the past, Marina would have stood in front of me and declared, "Dylan is the man I chose."

But today, she frowned and shielded Troy. "Mom, don't talk about my partner that way."

Her voice was fiercer than it had ever been for me.

Troy leaned against her, his eyes red, playing the victim. I stood up quietly. "I'm leaving."

Grandpa tried to keep me, but I didn't stay. Marina didn't even look up.

Walking out of the estate, those ninety-nine steps crossed my mind again.

"Just let him live," she had prayed.

Well, she got her wish. I was alive, and we were done.

The divorce proceedings went surprisingly fast. Marina likely assumed that once the baby was born, we would simply remarry and return to normal.

On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she arrived forty minutes late, but she signed without hesitation.

Afterward, she leaned in, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Didn't you always want a beach wedding?"

"When we remarry, I'll plan it myself. The island, the white dress, everything you wanted."

I looked at her. "Marina, don't bother."

She smiled. "I know you think we don't need to put on a show, but I owe you a real wedding. I want to make it up to you."

I shook my head. "In a week..."

Before I could finish, her phone rang. She answered, then stood up abruptly. "What do you mean he's not feeling well? I'm on my way!"

She took two steps, then paused to look back at me. "I know the divorce is officially finalized in a week, but that's just a legal formality. The papers belong to the court, but you belong to me. Those are two different things."

She patted my shoulder and hurried out.

Standing outside the mediation room, I quietly finished my sentence: "...In a week, you won't just receive the divorce decree."