**Diary Entry**
*Friday, 12th May 2023*
“You were a fool! Come back!” he begged, seeing how slim Id become. But he didnt knowI was engaged to his own boss.
“I need your signature,” Greg tossed the folder onto my kitchen table the moment he stepped inside. He acted as if six months hadnt passed since hed thrown me out for his new twenty-year-old fling. As if this was still his flat, and I was just another piece of furniture he could shove away and then drag back when it suited him.
“Hello, Greg.”
My voice was steady, not a single tremor. I didnt stand, just kept stirring my herbal tea.
“Yeah, hi. Its about the old loanthe solicitor said we cant sort it without you.”
He wouldnt look at me. His gaze roamed my rented studio with open disgust, taking in the modest furniture, the stack of books on the windowsill, the cheap wallpaper. Comparing it to his enormous house, where Id once spent half a year picking the exact shade of paint for the lounge.
“You couldve sent a courier.”
“I wanted to see for myself you hadnt vanished,” he smirked. “Still technically responsible for you.”
That phrase*responsible for you*was his favourite weapon. It meant I should be eternally grateful he hadnt tossed me out penniless, that hed *graciously* let me take my old things.
I stood slowly, picked up the pen. I had a first-class Economics degree gathering dust for a decade because Greg decided his wife shouldnt work. He built his empire while I kept his home warm.
“Where do I sign?”
Thats when he finally looked up. And froze.
His lazy, dismissive stare sharpened, raking over methe tailored black dress, the slim waist, the face no longer swollen from tears. He saw a different woman. Calm. Assured. And, as he realised with a jolt, beautiful.
“You” he swallowed, “whats happened to you?”
“I started living, Greg. For myself.”
He stepped closer. Then again. His eyes held something Id never seen in ten years of marriagepanic. The greed of a man whod just realised the junk hed tossed out was actually an antique.
“Claire” he whispered, reaching for me.
I stepped back.
“Dont.”
His hand hung mid-air. His gaze darted over my face, my figure, this tiny *mine* of a flat. Hed lost more than a convenient wifehed lost an asset. A valuable one hed foolishly written off.
“I was a fool! Come back!” The words burst out choked, desperate.
Not remorse. The order of a frantic businessman realising hed botched the deal of his life.
Silently, I took the folder, signed where neededclear, firm. My new signature.
“Its too late to change anything, Greg.” I handed him the papers. “Your solicitor was right. Without me, it really cant be done. Now please, leave.”
He didnt take the folder. Just stared, confusion shifting to anger. The fury of a man interrupted mid-game.
“Too late? Youre my *wife*, Claire.”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected, setting the papers on the table. “Divorced three months now.”
“Thats just paperwork! Ten years doesnt vanish with a signature!”
He paced my tiny kitchen like a caged tiger, his expensive leather shoes absurd here.
“Who is it? Whos put these ideas in your head? Youd never think of this alone.”
Same old song. To him, I was always the silly little thing who couldnt decide anything.
“It *is* me, Greg. I remembered I have a brain. Started using it.”
“In this dump?” He gestured around. “You call this a *new life*? Claire, wake up. That fling meant nothing. Ill forgive ityour stupidity, your *betrayal*just come home.”
He spat *betrayal* like it was fact. As if the mere thought I could be with someone else justified his outrage.
Then my phone lit upa message from *Edward Whitmore*. Gregs gaze flicked to the screen. His face hardened.
“Whitmore? *The* Edward Whitmore? CEO of Horizon? Your *boss*?”
I slipped the phone into my pocket. No explanations.
“Youre sleeping with him?” he hissed. “Climbing the ladder on your back? Always knew youd stoop that low.”
His voice dripped venom. He needed to wound me.
“You have five seconds to leave, Greg.”
“Or what? Youll call your sugar daddy? Think hell protect you? Without me, youre *nothing*, Claire. Just a mattressfirst mine, now his.”
I said nothing. Once, Id have cried. Screamed it wasnt true. Now, silence infuriated him more than tears.
“Youll crawl back,” he snarled, snatching the folder. “When hes done with you. And I wont take you.”
The door slammed.
I waited, listening to his footsteps fade. Then took out my phone.
“Edward, hi. He was here. Yes, its fine. See you tonight.”
Edward arrived with my favourite cheesecake and armfuls of peonies. He didnt pry, just held me until the days tension ebbed.
Wed met at my interview. Hed personally vetted candidates for the new project lead. Asked questions not from my resume, but from *me*. He saw not a discarded wife, but a mind locked away for ten years.
He gave me the chance, and I seized it. Our love grew through late nights, mutual respect, belief in memore healing than any therapy.
“Claire, something happened today. Greg came to my office.”
I froze.
“What did he want?”
“To *save* me from you.” Edward smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Told me you were a naïve little fool, swayed by your cunning boss. Said you were a gold-digger. Offered to *settle this man-to-man*take you back, spare me the trouble.”
Something inside me snapped. The last thread to my past. He hadnt just insulted mehed gone to the man I loved and tried to reduce me to a bargaining chip.
“He said youd regret your choice,” Edward finished. “That hed *open my eyes*.”
Enough.
No more half-measures. Hed crossed a line.
I looked at Edwardhis steady, strong face. Waiting for my reaction.
“Does his company have a contract with Horizon?”
“Yes. A big one. Equipment supply. Ends in two months, but auto-renews. Hes the lead contender.”
I nodded. The plan formed instantly. Final.
“The corporate event next weekall the executives and key partners? Gregs invited?”
“Naturally.”
“Perfect.” I pushed my cup aside, smiling for the first time that evening. “Thats where well announce our engagement.”
Edwards eyes flickered from surprise to admiration. He understood. Not just defensea crushing counterstrike.
“He wanted to shame me, paint me as a mistress,” I said. “Ill be his bosss wife. And its only the beginning. He dreamed Id crawl backinstead, hell queue to congratulate me.”
The event was at a rooftop restaurant. I wore emerald silk, felt the stares but didnt care.
Greg spotted us instantly. He stood by the bar, chatting with the CFOking of his castle. Until he turned. His smirk died.
Edward raised a glass for silence.
“Friends, colleaguesa personal joy to share. Many know Claire as our brilliant project lead. But to me, shes far more. This week, she agreed to become my wife.”
The room erupted. I watched only Greg.
His face paled. The smirk gone, replaced by bafflement. The woman hed called his shadow would soon bear the name of the man who held his business in his hands.
People swarmed to congratulate us. Greg stood alone, abandoned. His world crumbling.
When the crowd thinned, he approached. Looked ten years older.
“Congratulations, Edward,” he forced out.
“Thank you, Greg.” Edwards tone was even. “Im sure well work well together. After all, were practically family now.”
The final blow. Greg finally met my eyes.
“You said I was nothing without you,” I murmured. “Turns out, you cant take a step without me.”
I didnt wait for a reply. Took Edwards arm and walked awayinto my new life.
Two years later.
Edward and I sat on our country house terrace. I rocked our six-month-old son, Matthew, in my arms. I was now a partner in Edwards subsidiary. Claire Whitmorerespected, valued.
Greg was barely a
