
Divorcing You This Time
Esliee I. Wisdon š¶ Ā· Ongoing Ā· 347.7k Words
Introduction
When the patriarch of the Houghton family decided that his grandson would marry the last living Sinclair, Charlotte was happy. Her feelings for Christopher were thicker than blood and as deep as an obsession, so she held him tight and chained him to herself.
But thereās nothing Christopher Houghton hates more than his wife.
For all these years, they had hurt each other in a dance of love, hate, and revenge ā until Charlotte had enough and ended it all.
On her deathbed, Charlotte swears that if she were given the chance to do things right, she would go back in time and divorce her husband.
This time, sheāll finally let Christopher goā¦
But will he allow it?
"My cock pulses again, and I take a sharp breath, feeling my innards twist with a strange desire thatās unknown to me.
Leaning against my room door, I feel the coolness of the wood through my shirt, but nothing can soothe this desire; each part of me shudders with the need for relief.
I look down, seeing the huge bulge marking the sweatpants...
āIt canāt beā¦ā I close my eyes tightly again and lean my head back against the door, āHey, itās Charlotte⦠why are you getting hard?ā
Sheās the woman I swore Iād never touch or love, the one who became a symbol of resentment for me. "
Chapter 1
ź ā East Houghton Manor, Surrey
OCTOBER 2018
ć ¤
Itās gray today, of course, as expected.
Itās as if even the sky mourns the absence of Marshall left in our hearts ā especially in mine, when the day broke on a peaceful morning and his heart no longer beat.
Cancer, they said.
But how is that possible? No one knew, not until he took his final breath. The doctor, who was also a family friend, honored Marshallās wish to keep it secret from the media and, most importantly, from the family.
Now, as his body is sealed in the family crypt beside Louis Houghton, his firstborn, I wonder if he endured all that pain alone just so he wouldnāt burden those around him, the people who loved him despite his flaws, and whom he loved too.
I touch the plaque on the headstone, the marble cold beneath my fingers, sliding over the engraved words and tightening the ache in my chest.
Ā ć ¤
Marshall Edward Houghton
12th Earl of Houghton
1943 ā 2018
Loyal servant of the Crown and Country.
Honoured in life and beloved by those who knew him best.
May he find peace eternal, as he gave it in life.
ć ¤
I thought I had cried all the tears inside me, but still my eyes burn as if I hadnāt shed a single one since I found him cold in his bed, thinking about how death, my old friend, could be so cruel to me.
Itās always been part of my life, but I had hoped it would leave me in peace with the one man who accepted me.
Of course not, how could I hope for that?
The first time my world fell apart, I was five years old.
I lost my parents in a tragic crash involving three other cars and a runaway truck. Thankfully, I remember nothing from that time. They say I blocked out the memories because they were too painful. But I still dream of the sounds and colors of sirens eventually.
Later, I found out that I spent twenty minutes among the wreckage, with my parents already deceased in the front seat.
Thankfully, my earliest memory is a colorful one. My aunt Amelia, my motherās younger sister, took me in and cared for me as if I were her own. Those were happy years. I had a family, and a cousin so close that it wouldnāt be wrong to call her my sister.
But then, once again, death came for me and took my auntās life in another car accident.
Itās the Sinclair curse, they said.
After the heroic death of my grandfather, Harold Sinclair, who saved the very man now resting behind this plaque, his descendants died one by one.
I am the last person with Sinclair blood, and itās something that will haunt me for the rest of my life...
Well, not exactly the only one anymore.
The wind gently moves through the old trees. The rustling of the leaves sounds like a soft lament, almost a sad song, and I wonder if Marshall can hear it, wherever he is now.
I stand there in front of the crypt, not caring about the light rain beginning to fall. The droplets run down my face, mixing with the tears I no longer try to hold back.
In some way, Iām glad itās raining... that way, no one has to see how broken I am inside.
āYou left without saying goodbye,ā I murmur, voice faltering. āWithout giving me a chance to thank you for everything.ā
Heās the one who saw me, my most important father figure.
It was Marshall who took me in and made me feel treasured.
āIāll take care of it all,ā I promise, almost whispering. āThe legacy, the memory, your will⦠Everything you left behind.ā
I touch my belly, gently caressing the new life growing inside ā something I never got the chance to tell him about.
My fingers hesitate, feeling the gold ring heavy on my finger for a second, but I donāt dare speak it aloud.
Crushing the stem of the white rose in my hand, I let the thorns pierce my skin. I donāt care at all. I donāt even feel the pain.
Even as my blood stains the petals red, I donāt blink.
Actually, itās more than welcome.
āGrandpaā¦ā I smile through tears, āYouāre going to be a great-grandfather.ā
I close my eyes for a moment and allow the confession to sink into the silence. The secret Iāve held alone beats beneath my skin, alive, warm, and terrifying.
Marshall deserved to know.
But itās too late now.
I kneel gently and lay the blood-stained rose at the foot of the crypt, watching the petals soak up the rain and turn white again, as if given a second chance.
Then I rise again, slowly, hands resting on my belly, guarding the life inside me like one guards an ancient, precious treasure, and walk back to the mansion with slow steps, letting the rain wash over me... my grief, my mourning ā or at least try.
The interior is quiet but not empty. Itās the kind of silence that weighs heavily, as if every part of the house still echoes with muffled voices from the wake, hushed footsteps, and murmured condolences.
The smell of old wood and candle wax hangs in the air, mixed with the fading scent of freshly cut flowers, and everything feels frozen, as if time hasnāt moved on since his death.
I climb the main hall stairs quietly and slowly, knowing my shoes will leave wet prints on the Persian rug, but I donāt mind... Everything now feels meaningless.
My body guides me, as if it knows where to go before I decide, and of course, where else would I go? Thereās one last place I need to say goodbye to, to truly let him go.
Marshallās study.
But the already half-open door causes me to pause for a moment.
That room was always sacred to the old Earl. I remember hiding behind the leather armchair or the cracked door to watch him reading quietly, glasses slipping down his nose.
But when I push the door open with my fingertips, my eyes widen at something that makes my heart stop.
Blood drains from my face, and darkness clouds my vision. I have to grab the doorframe to keep my legs from giving out.
Christopher, my husband, with his tousled brown hair and slightly unbuttoned black shirt, is sitting in that same armchair I once thought was a fortress⦠the best hiding spot of all.
My husband, with that usual distant, serious look and those cold brown eyes⦠and Evelyn, his mistress, perched on Marshallās desk with her legs crossed as if she owns the place.
Seeing them in that sacred space hits harder than any death. My chest tightens so much I canāt breathe.
For a moment, the silence screams.
Evelyn slowly turns her head, as if she had been waiting for this moment with a touch of cruel satisfaction, and smiles, happy to see me broken in every way possible.
āYou couldnāt even wait for the body to cool?ā My voice comes out low, trembling, eyes filling with tears more painful than grief ā theyāre filled with betrayal.
I knew, of course.
I knew Christopherās heart had always belonged to this woman⦠But I hoped our marriage, even if it were forced, would be enough to stop his feelings for her.
I expected respect for the will, the order of his grandfather, who had just been buried beside his own fatherās headstone.
āCharlotte,ā Christopher says coldly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he canāt face me. And maybe he truly canāt.
His jaw is so clenched that a muscle jumps beneath his trimmed beard, and the fingers holding a folder dig in tighter before finally stretching it toward me.
He doesnāt get up.
He doesnāt look at me.
Yet, I can see that thereās nothing but contempt on his face.
He just waits for me to come to him, like a dog, like Iāve done through all these years, and he says, with no regardāāI want a divorce.ā
āDivorce?ā I repeat, and the shock transforms into a soft, shaky laugh.
Christopher finally looks at me, his sharp, intense eyes piercing straight into my chest, turning that laugh into a twisted smile.
My fingers curl slightly, scratching the doorframe.
āFor what? So you can be with that homewrecker?ā I glare harshly at Evelyn, who keeps smiling with lips painted red as if sheās tasted my blood. āYou really couldnāt even respect your familyās mourning, Christopherā¦ā
āYou know very well I never wanted this.ā He motions vaguely between us, not really looking at me anymore. āI never wanted this marriage. You all forced me ā you, Charlotte⦠and that old man.ā
If I didnāt know better, Iād think he almost choked on the words. If I didnāt know better, I might even believe thereās a lump in his throat ever since he heard Marshall had gone to sleep and never woke up⦠that he left this world before we had the chance to say goodbye.
āEvelyn isā¦ā He pauses, swallowing hard, his reddened eyes tired with dark, deep circles, turning to me. āEvelyn is the woman I love.ā
Those words⦠Iāve heard them so many times before, but theyāve never shattered me like they do now. Theyāve always cut deep, left everything inside me raw, bloody, exposed, and messy.
But nowā¦
Now, everything is bare.
As vulnerable as I was so many times before him, hoping, longing, for a touch, a gesture, a chance. As bare as the truth that he now tosses in my face with the same coldness one uses to slip off a ring.
My heart shatters into a million pieces, and once again, I lose my breath.
My throat tightens, with a burning sensation in my eyes, but I fight back the tears.
Iām not even sure why I refuse to let them fall this time, after all, Iāve cried in front of Christopher so many times.
I begged him to give us a chance.
I humiliated myself.
I knelt before him, my soul laid bare, with bruised knees from chasing a love that never wanted to be there.
For six months, I played the wife, the lover, the friend, the shadowāand still, it wasnāt enough.
It never made a damn difference.
Now, my husband looks at me with that expression⦠vacant, almost relieved⦠As if I had been a burden to himā¦
A life sentence in a wedding dress.
āDo you know how many times Iāve swallowed all of this in silence?ā I murmur, stepping forward without breaking his gaze. āHow many times have I heard it echo in your absence? In the way you didnāt touch me⦠in the way you came home late and never looked at me properly?ā
Christopher lowers his eyes but says nothing.
Evelyn, on the other hand, crosses her arms, and her smile widens even more. She twirls a lock of her black hair around her finger with a bored, indifferent gesture.
āYou made me believe it was all my fault ā that I wasnāt enough, that I was difficult, dramatic, possessive.ā I laugh again, now full of pure sarcasm and bitterness. āDid you ever care about me?ā
Christopher tightens his jaw, and I take another step, releasing my grip on the doorframe and moving closer until I can smell her perfume mixed with his⦠until I can taste the bitter flavor of betrayal lingering at the back of my tongue.
āYou want a divorce?ā I shake my head, lifting my chin defiantly, a new laugh on my lips. āToo bad... Iām not giving you a damn thing.ā
āYou will,ā he says simply, as if heās not even slightly disturbed. āIām not asking, Charlotte.ā
Christopherās voice falters softly, lost in the sound of a drop hitting the floor and shattering the brief silence. Slowly, slightly, his eyes widen and drop to my hand, smeared with warm, thick blood from the thorns.
Still, even as I spill my blood in this sacred room, I feel nothing.
Iām so numb that even my chest no longer aches.
Evelyn steps closer to Christopher, still wearing that mocking smile, and touches him with a casualness that makes my blood run cold. Her hands rest on his shoulder and neck, in a possessive, calculated gesture to remind me heās hers ā that he always was.
āYou always got what you wanted, Charlotteā¦ā Evelynās voice is soft and velvety. āYou had the name, the title, the house, but now itās my turn. Please, donāt be like this⦠weāre not to blame for falling in love. Besides, Christopher always made it clear he loves me. Youāre the one who came between us and ruined everything. How is that fair?ā
My hands bleed, but it feels like the blood isnāt even mine⦠like the cut belongs to someone else.
Rage swells through my veins, hot, slow, and thick.
But itās not the kind of rage that erupts⦠Itās the kind that erodes, that rests deep in the bones... a silent, cold, almost graceful fury, the kind that needs no shouting to be understood.
āCharlotte, donāt make this harder than it needs to be. My grandfather is dead⦠thereās no reason to drag it out.ā
āI already told you, Christopher. Iām not giving you that damn divorce,ā I growl, my eyes sharpening just like my voice. āDo you really think Iāll let that low-class whore take my place?ā
āYou donāt have to decide anything ā Iām the Earl now. Itās my call.ā
āCongratulations, Christopher, I bet youāre thrilled!ā I snap back sarcastically, eyeing both of them from head to toe, unable to hold back the fury threatening to spill over. Then I flash a mocking smile and add, āBut you forgot one small detail, darling.ā
Christopher remains silent, but his eyes twitch slightly, a small crack forming in the wall of indifference heās carefully built.
āWhile you were busy screwing your mistress during the reading of the will, you didnāt hear clause seventeen.ā
Evelyn pauses mid-hair twirl, her expression stiffening for a moment, and Christopher truly pales, as if the blood still dripping from my hand has just been drained from his face.
āClause⦠what?ā His voice comes out weak.
I raise my chin, the smile still on my lips, but now colder, more controlled, almost cruel like him.
āWith Marshallās shares, you can stay as the majority shareholder of the company. But if we divorceā¦ā I pause, letting my words sink in.
Evelynās smile flickers for a moment, and she leans toward Christopher, whispering in his ear, āBaby, what does that mean?ā
āIt means Marshall Houghton left all his shares in the company to me, not to Christopher.ā
Evelyn turns pale, her face finally twisting into something I recognize and savor ā panic.
āYouāre lying! That doesnāt make sense! Heās the rightful heir... heās Marshallās grandsonāā
āBut he loved me more than anyone,ā I say proudly, knowing my words will cut deeper than Christopher will ever admit. I donāt have Houghton blood, of course⦠But Marshall never hid his favoritism.
āCall your lawyers, Christopher. Confirm what Iām saying. You can divorce me if you want, but those shares will slip right through your fingers like sand. And in the endā¦ā
I place a hand on my belly, raising my chin again and looking at them with superiority, ā⦠Iāll make sure you lose absolutely everything.ā
āAnd how would you do that?!ā Evelyn mocks, her laugh clearly forced.
āHow?ā I repeat, and the word drips like sweet venom. āIām the legal wife, heir to the shares... pregnant with the next direct heir of the Houghton family.ā
Christopher finally looks at me, really looks at me. His eyes widen slightly, as if the news is a true nightmare, the most unpleasant surprise of his life, and I admit, it hurts even more.
Then his expression darkens with something I donāt understand, and Iām not sure I want to.
The silence in the room becomes absolute, with seconds dragging on⦠until Christopher finally breaks it with a cold, distant, indifferent voice:
āVery well. If you choose to stay trapped in a loveless marriage, so be it. But from this day on, Evelyn will live with us at Rosehollow Estate. Accept it or sign the divorce papers ā you can complain all you want.ā
I squeeze my bleeding hand, making more drops stain Marshallās office in a grim farewell, swallowing all my protests.
āBut keep in mind that weāll never be a happy, passionate couple...ā he pauses, looking at me with tired eyes, then adds quietly, through gritted teeth, āI swear it, Charlotte... I will never love you.ā
Last Chapters
#264 AUTHOR'S NOTE
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#263 263. NOT SO HAPPY EVER AFTER
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#262 262. THE NEW PRESENT
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#261 261. TEN YEARS OF US
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#260 260. CHRISTOPHER H. (POV)
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#259 259. TREE YEARS OF YOU
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#258 258. Our reason to breathe.
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#257 257. DIVORCE AGREEMENT
Last Updated: 1/29/2026#256 256. Who we are today
Last Updated: 1/27/2026#255 255. MARSHALLāS WILL ā PART II
Last Updated: 1/27/2026
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