Chapter 8 Kick Me Out to Marry Her Instead

Vera's POV

Andrew's name hung in the air between us like a ghost. Idris stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and pain. I watched as he struggled to compose himself, his hand still touching the reddening mark on his cheek where I had slapped him.

As I sat there on the edge of our bed, memories flooded my mind. The complicated history of our families stretched back decades before either of us was born.

Betty and my grandmother had been childhood friends. My grandmother had once saved Betty's life during a horseback riding accident when they were teenagers. The bond between them had been so strong that they'd dreamed of uniting their families through marriage.

The Ashfords had twin boys: Andrew and Idris. Initially, the plan was for me to choose which one I preferred when we were all older. But during college, Idris began dating Raven, and the arrangement shifted to me and Andrew instead.

Everything changed during our junior year when Andrew was killed in a car accident. By senior year, my grandmother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My mother had passed away when I was five, and I'd been raised by my grandmother while my father, Luke, quickly remarried my stepmother.

On her deathbed, my grandmother had feared what would happen to me after she was gone. She'd used her lifetime of friendship with Betty to secure my future the only way she knew how—by ensuring Idris would marry me.

"I'll sign it," Idris said suddenly, his voice barely audible.

I looked up, startled from my memories. "What?"

"The divorce agreement." His eyes were distant, unfocused. "I'll sign it..."

He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he walked to the dresser where the fresh divorce papers lay, picked up a pen, and signed his name with a quick, angry flourish. Then he dropped the pen and headed for the door.

"Vera, don't regret this!" he spat before leaving.

I remained seated, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock at the county courthouse."

The door slammed behind him so hard it rattled the pictures on the wall. I heard his car engine roar to life in the driveway, then fade as he drove away, not returning that night.

The next morning, I arrived ten minutes early, dressed in a simple cream-colored suit that projected calm professionalism. The county courthouse was imposing with its neoclassical columns and marble steps. Idris showed up right at nine, looking haggard, as though he hadn't slept.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The courthouse buzzed with quiet activity—other couples ending their marriages, lawyers shuffling papers, court officials moving with practiced efficiency.

I noticed Idris's hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his tie, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes. The scent of his expensive cologne couldn't mask the faint smell of whiskey that clung to him.

We barely spoke during the proceedings. Our lawyers did most of the talking while we sat on opposite sides of a polished oak table. When the judge declared our marriage dissolved and the clerk handed us the divorce decree, Idris snatched it and threw it at me.

"Keep it," he said, his voice cold. "You'll need to exchange it for a new one before long anyway."

I carefully folded the document and placed it in my purse, thinking to myself that he would soon learn just how serious I was about ending this chapter of my life.

Back at Beverly Hills apartment, I methodically packed my belongings. I'd decided to take only what I'd brought into the marriage: my clothes, my painting supplies, a few cherished books. All the jewelry, designer bags, and other luxury items Idris had given me over the years stayed behind, arranged neatly in their respective places.

My fingers lingered on a pearl-encrusted evening clutch he'd given me for our first anniversary. The memory of that night, his forced smile as he handed me the gift, followed by his immediate departure for an "urgent business meeting", strengthened my resolve.

Each luxury item represented not love but obligation, not affection but appearance. I arranged them carefully in the walk-in closet, a museum of our failed marriage.

I was zipping the last suitcase when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Raven stood there in a champagne-colored dress that clung to her curves, her red lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Vera! What a surprise to find you home in the middle of the day," she said, her gaze drifting to my suitcases. "Moving some things around? Or has Idris finally gotten tired of you?"

I stepped back, allowing her into the foyer. "Actually, Idris and I just finalized our divorce this morning."

Her eyes widened momentarily before she controlled her expression. "Oh! I'm... sorry to hear that." The barely concealed delight in her voice betrayed her true feelings.

"Is that why you left?" she pressed, following me as I continued packing. "Or did you leave because I came back? Did Idris immediately kick you out so he could marry me instead?"

She glanced dismissively at my modest suitcases. "Back to obscurity now? Though I suppose you can add 'former Mrs. Ashford' to your résumé." She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "If you're desperate for work, my housekeeper needs an assistant. You've certainly had practice picking up after betters."

I didn't respond, merely continued organizing my belongings. There was no point engaging with her transparent attempts to provoke me. As I wheeled my luggage toward the door, I paused briefly.

"This is your home now," I said, my voice even. "The security code is Idris's birthday. I wish you both happiness."