Chapter One
Eloise's POV
I divorced the same man nine times.
The first eight times, I was the one sobbing, begging him not to go.
The ninth time, I was the one who slid the papers across the table.
He signed them, then told me we'd remarry once she left.
I said okay.
What he didn't know was that my flight was already booked.
This time, I was leaving for good.
My husband's body was still on top of mine, but his mind had already gone somewhere else.
Today was the day Genevieve flew home.
Afterward, he lay beside me and stared at the ceiling, his expression hollow and far away.
I sat up, opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out the document I'd already signed the night before. I set it on his chest.
"Sign it. You still need to get to the airport to pick up Genevieve."
Emmett blinked. He looked down, and when he saw the divorce papers, he pushed himself upright, something unfamiliar flickering across his face. Nine divorces. The first eight times, he was always the one to bring it up — always the one shoving papers in front of me. And I would cry and shake my head, or drop to my knees and beg, or wait until he wasn't looking and hide the documents somewhere — as if making them disappear could buy this marriage a little more time.
This was the first time I was the one handing them over.
He stared at the papers for a long moment before reaching for the pen. He signed his name slowly, nothing like the decisive, sharp man the world knew as Emmett Grayson.
He pushed the papers back toward me. "Once Genevieve's gone," he said, his voice even, "we'll remarry."
"Okay." I folded the papers into an envelope without looking at him.
Eight divorces. Eight times he'd come back to me. He had never once broken that promise. He'd also promised no affairs during our marriage — and technically, he'd kept that one too. Because the moment we divorced, whatever he did was his own business. That wasn't betrayal. That was freedom. It was precisely that kind of meticulous, by-the-book faithfulness that had turned me into a joke in every circle we moved in.
Everyone knew Emmett Grayson was in love with Genevieve.
And everyone knew that I, Eloise Winters, was nothing more than something he called back when he needed to, and sent away when he was done.
I got up and walked to the wardrobe to pull out my suitcase.
"I'll be the one to move out this time." His eyes followed me across the room, and there was something uneasy in his voice that I couldn't quite name.
"Don't bother. I already talked to Harper. I'm staying with her for a while."
His expression shifted immediately.
"Eloise." He sat up straight, his voice dropping. "You'd better tell me exactly what you think you're doing at my grandmother's. You have no family left in this world — no one except her. She's the only person who still cares about you. Are you really going to use her too?"
He remembered. Of course he did. The second divorce — I'd nearly lost my mind. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and collapsed on the doorstep of Harper's home. The shock sent the old woman straight into cardiac arrest.
The message was clear: he wanted to enjoy his time with Genevieve without any complications. They saw each other so rarely. The last thing he needed was me dragging Harper into it.
After the third divorce, I'd sat in my car outside Genevieve's apartment building for two days straight — surviving on cold convenience store onigiri, half-delirious, barely holding it together. On the third morning, I finally saw them leave together. I followed them to Emmett's private club, slipped inside, and pushed open the door to his private room.
They were kissing. Emmett's hand rested casually on Genevieve's shoulder. Without even looking up, he said, "If only you couldn't live without me the way she can't."
The room erupted in laughter.
Then someone noticed me standing in the doorway.
The laughter died.
Emmett's expression faltered for exactly one second. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a set of divorce papers, laid them on the table in front of everyone, and said calmly, "Eloise and I are already divorced."
I stood in that doorway and forgot how to cry.
After that, the whole social circle had it figured out: Emmett Grayson was devoted to Genevieve, and it was his unstable ex-wife who refused to let go. He was the tragic romantic. I was the punchline.
But this time, his concern was unnecessary.
"I'm not going to Harper's to cause trouble," I heard myself say. My voice sounded strange — too steady, too calm, like it belonged to someone else. "And I won't bother the two of you."
Emmett's brow furrowed. He studied me in silence, like he wasn't sure he'd heard me right. But he didn't say anything.
I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and turned toward the door.
"Genevieve's only here for two weeks." His hand closed around my wrist. His voice was quieter now. "Two weeks, and then we'll remarry."
I paused.
Then, somewhere deep inside, I laughed — just a small, quiet thing.
What a coincidence.
My flight was already booked. Destination: Europe. Departure date — exactly two weeks from today.
