Divorcing My Forced Husband: Why Is He Begging Me to Stay?

I hid my massive crush on Nolan Mercer for fifteen years. I wasn't his dream girl, so I kept my mouth shut.

Then a "Romance System" popped into my head and locked me in as his true love.

Game on. I stopped playing the nice girl. I forced him to marry me, and basically kept him trapped in my bed every chance I got.

Nolan despised me for it. I didn't care. I figured the System forced him to play along anyway.

Six wild months later, the System started glitching and screaming in my brain.

[MISTAKE! You are the evil supporting character, NOT the heroine! Dump him right now or you will be punished!]

That night, Nolan was lounging on our bed, glaring at me like usual.

"Blair," he spat. "Is forcing me the only trick you know? You have no idea what love is. One day, I'll escape you."

He waited for me to rip his shirt open.

Instead, I reached over and buttoned him right up to the collar.

"You're totally right," I smiled. "I want a divorce."

Blair

Nolan went silent.

His long dark lashes trembled.

I lifted one brow, my own behavior. It felt strange to speak to him in such a distant tone.

Before tonight, the harder he resisted, the more excited I became. I would throw my arms around his waist, soak up his warmth, and sweet-talk him shamelessly.

"Come on, baby, don't be mad. Let me recharge for a minute, okay? You know I'm crazy about you."

Every time, his body would go rigid, and his voice would turn even stiffer.

"Blair Winthrop, are you done clinging to me? If you are, let go."

I pulled myself out of the memory and cleared my throat. This time, I dropped the pet name.

"Nolan Mercer."

His breath caught, his eyes locking onto me.

Only the bedside lamp was on, and the dim light made this conversation feel ridiculous. I reached for the overhead switch.

The room flooded with light.

Then I saw what he was wearing.

It was the outfit I had bought him last week—if several scraps of black fabric and a thin silver bell around his throat could even be called an outfit. The bell rose and fell against his broad chest with every breath.

When he had first opened the package, his face had gone crimson.

"Blair Winthrop! How could you even buy something like this?"His hand had visibly shaken as he held the bag."You're more shameless than I thought."

I had pestered him for two days, but he refused to put it on. He had even threatened to move into the guest room, so I finally gave up.

Then my father had suffered a stroke. Winthrop Holdings had fallen into chaos, and I had been so buried in work that I hadn't come home in a solid month.

Yet tonight—on the exact night the system admitted its mistake—Nolan had actually put the damn thing on.

What terrible timing.

I sighed.

His taut gaze met mine. Before I could speak, he swallowed hard.

"All my pajamas were in the wash," he said coldly. "This was the only thing left. Don't read into it."

I looked away. "I'm not. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."

He froze for several seconds, then sat up so abruptly that the scraps of fabric shifted.

I stopped and looked back.

He pressed his lips together and turned his face away. "What kind of game did you find on the internet this time?"

His ears reddened as his frustration rose.

"You're always pulling this weird stuff off the internet and testing it on me. I have a temper too. I'm not just going to roll over for you. You can't keep—"

"It isn't a game." I cut him off. "Nolan Mercer, I'm serious. I want a divorce."

The room fell completely still.

He sat motionless on the bed, barely breathing.

I walked out, even thoughtful enough to switch off the light behind me.