Chapter 3The Script Ends Here

I didn't go home. I checked into a high-end hotel.

Sloane didn't disappoint me. She contacted me within ninety minutes.

In the original book, Sloane was a minor character—a bit of a "mean girl" who was very confident in her looks. That confidence made her arrogant.

When Sunny Vance caught Preston’s eye, Sloane was consumed by jealousy.

A woman’s intuition is a terrifying thing. Sloane was the first to realize there was something going on between Preston and the new girl.

Driven by spite, she had documented every intimate, ambiguous moment between them.

In the book, those photos eventually landed in Araminta’s hands and acted as the catalyst for her "villainous" breakdown.

I wasn't interested in the breakdown.

But I loved the evidence.

I paid Sloane a generous "consulting fee" for everything she had.

She was thorough. She didn't just have photos; she had videos.

I spent nearly two hours staring at those files until my eyes burned and my stomach growled.

I rubbed my temples. I didn't have an appetite, but thinking about the "little seed" in my belly, I ordered room service.

Starving a baby felt like a form of domestic abuse.

Just as I hung up with the kitchen, my phone rang. Preston.

7:27 PM.

The exact time he usually walked through the front door.

I didn't answer. I declined the call.

He didn't call back.

That was so Preston.

After hanging up on him, I called my lawyer, Mr. Harrison.

"Ms. Montgomery? How can I help you?"

"I need you to draft a divorce settlement. I want it on my desk tomorrow morning."

The line went silent. It felt like an eternity before he found his voice.

"I... I’m sorry? Who is getting divorced?"

I almost laughed. Did he think I was filing for someone else?

"Me. Preston and me."

This time, Harrison reacted quickly. "Understood. How are we handling the assets?"

"I keep what’s mine. He keeps what’s his. I don’t want anything from our joint holdings."

Preston and I both had our own family wealth, but our joint investments were massive. Dividing them properly would take months.

"So... you’re walking away with nothing from the marriage?"

...

I didn't like the phrase "walking away with nothing."

"Fine. He keeps nothing from the joint assets. I take them all."

Preston could afford it. He had that much pride, at least.

"Got it. I’ll have the draft to you in an hour."

Harrison was efficient. He sent the draft in thirty minutes.

I was impressed. I hadn't even finished my dinner yet.

I decided I’d give him a massive bonus at the end of the year.

After dinner, I went down to the business center to print the settlement and the photos.

As I opened the door to head back to the elevators, a shadow fell over me. I jumped, looking up.

Preston.

His brows were knit tight, his face grim.

I let out a breath and glared at him. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

I wasn't surprised he found me. Preston was a man of immense responsibility. As long as I was "his responsibility," he wouldn't just leave me unaccounted for.

"Why didn't you come home?" he asked, his voice low.

"Since you're here, fine," I said. "Go inside. We need to talk."

I made a move to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To print some things."

"I'll go with you."

I pushed him back. "No. Wait here."

Preston frowned, but he let me go.

In the elevator, I let out a shaky breath. I looked at my trembling hands and hissed, "Get it together."

When I got back to the room, Preston was sitting stiffly on the sofa.

He was always like this—perfectly poised, like a machine without emotions.

But after looking at those photos this afternoon, I knew better.

I looked at him and looked away.

The divorce papers were in duplicate. I signed my name and slid them across the coffee table toward him.

Preston looked at the documents, and his entire body flinched. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Divorce? You want to divorce me?"

I nodded. "Yes."

Preston’s gaze was heavy. I met it calmly.

He slammed the papers back onto the table. "Why?"

I pulled out the printed photos and tossed them in front of him.

The top photo showed him and Sunny standing on the rooftop, looking out at the city. The angle was perfect—it caught them looking into each other’s eyes, sharing a private smile.

Preston flipped through the photos, one by one. His expression remained calm, his hand steady.

I let out a dry laugh. Compared to my internal turmoil, his composure was insulting.

"You’re stalking me?" He looked up, his eyes showing a flash of cold irritation.

I laughed in his face. "So, your first reaction is to blame me? Classic Preston. You really have a talent for avoiding the point."

"But let me clarify: I didn't stalk you. Someone else took these and I bought them. Does that work for you? Do you want to sue me for privacy violations? If so, go ahead. I’m ready."

Preston’s brow deepened. "That’s not what I meant. Sunny and I have a strictly professional relationship. Nothing has happened. If you’re throwing a tantrum because of her, it’s unnecessary."

"Ha!"

I let out a sharp, cold bark of a laugh. "I know, I know. Nothing 'happened.' No hand-holding, no hugging, no kissing, no sleeping together."

"But so what? Do you think I’m so pathetic that I have to wait until I’m caught in a public humiliation before I fight back?"

"I’m sorry, but my standards are a little higher than that."

Preston’s eyes turned icy. He stood up and stepped into my space. "Araminta, what are you doing? I told you there is nothing between us. What more do you want?"

I stepped back, my jaw set. "Are you deaf? I want a divorce. I can’t live with a man who is a 'work in progress' toward cheating."

Preston looked frustrated. He growled, "Araminta, stop this. Pack your things and come home. I’ll pretend this never happened."

My temper flared. "Pretend it never happened? Why should I be the one pretending? You’re the one being shameless, and you’re trying to gaslight me? Divorce. Divorce. I want a divorce. Right now."

"Shut up!" Preston raised his voice. It startled me.

His eyes were burning with rage. "Araminta, don't say those words again. You’re not a child. You need to be responsible for what you say."

That word triggered something in me.

Responsible? How dare he use that word with me?

Without thinking, I grabbed my purse and swung it at him.

I lunged forward, grabbed one of the photos, and slapped it against his chest.

It was the photo of him eating the bagel Sunny bought for him, holding a cup of juice. The date on the photo was the day before yesterday.

"I wake up an hour early every morning to grind your coffee and make your sandwiches. I haven't slept in for years because I wanted to make sure you were taken care of. I feed you the best food, and then some girl tosses you a scrap and you act like it’s a five-course meal. You ungrateful jerk."

My chest heaved. I was shaking with fury.

"You want to talk about responsibility, Preston? You aren't even worthy of the word."