It was barely a day later when Jillian stormed into my office.

She was fuming as she approached. I leaned back into my seat and watched her explode in a way that only Jillian could. "What the fuck is this?"

She flung the folder on the table, and the stack of papers inside scattered out. I watched calmly as they floated down and landed in varying locations across the table and the floor. There was not a stitch of makeup on her face and for a moment it took me back to when we were younger.

"You're asking for a divorce?” she screeched. “Where the hell is this coming from?"

"Don't you think it's high time we bring our joke of a relationship to an end?" I asked her quietly.

"Who says it's a joke," she yelled at me. "Who? Why is it a joke?"

"Are we truly married, then?" I asked.

For a moment she was at a loss for words, then she took a deep breath to calm herself. "Brett, we're fine. We have an agreement. An arrangement that gives Zackary stability and access to both his parents. Cancel this rubbish."

"I'm not fine. The agreement doesn’t suit me anymore," I said to her. "You sleep around ... get into accidents that I constantly have to clean up ... ignore our child. What then is your use to me exactly?"

"This has been going on for years and you've never said a word. Why is it bothering you now?"

"It's high time we made a clean bre—”

"Is there someone else?" she cut in, her eyes glittering. "You've been indifferent all along. I cannot understand why you are suddenly in such a hurry to be free.”

"What part of living this way are you okay with?”

"It doesn't matter,” she cried. "We have almost everything. You have more money than you could ever be able to spend even if you lived to be a thousand. You have the prestige. Very few men in this world hold as much influence as you do. What else do you fucking want?”

I watched her carefully. "What does any of this have to do with my wanting a divorce?"

"I grew up with you, Brett. My father was more yours than he ever was to me. I should have had a problem with that, but it didn't matter because I knew you had nothing. I cared about you.”

“Spare me. You didn’t give a damn about your father.”

“Take that back, Brett King. I loved my father until you ripped me away from him.”

“He wanted you to marry me, or have you forgotten?”

“He would turn in his grave if he knew what you got up to in London.”

“I do it because I am unhappy,” she cried.

“Look, I really don’t care anymore. I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”

“Please, Brett.”

“Why do you want to be married to someone who doesn’t want you?”

“Are you really that dense? With your last fucking name I am somebody. Do you think all those fine Lords and Ladies would give a shit about me if I was a divorcee? You expect me to give all that up for no reason?”

"Do you truly feel no shame when you mention any of this?" I should be used to her selfishness by now, but it appeared she still had the ability to surprise me.

"What shame?” she spat. "These are facts. I grew up with you and my father promising me the world and now you want to pull it out from under my feet. Not on your life."

I smiled cynically. “So, I'm more or less your trophy?”

"I don't give a damn what you call it, but no other woman will ever take my place. It is mine. You have refused to fix us, so you have to live with whatever is left."

I straightened. As far as I was concerned the performance had come to an end. I picked up my office phone. "Barnaby, can you get the helicopter ready for me, please?”

"Yes, Mr. King," came the response.

"Brett, we’re not done.”

"I am," I snarled. "Get out of my office, and make sure to sign those papers before I tear everything apart.”

Tears of self-pity filled her eyes. “I'll take Zackary away from you. I swear it."

My response was simple. "Try."