Billionaire, Let's Divorce! by BELLA

The soft wind of the night continued to whip my hair to and fro while I stood outside with my suitcase next to me. I was already out of that house, finally. Not quite far ahead into the streets, I noticed the headlights flashing brightly in my direction, and a faint smile quirked up my lips because I recognized who it was in an instant.

The flamboyant red sports car pulled over right in front of where I stood, and an even more flamboyant woman was in the driver's seat twiddling her fingers at me as she wound down the windows.

It was Grace.

Grace was not only my best friend, she was also my business partner. We've been inseparable since our college days. And because we both shared a passion for fashion, we both decided to turn our dreams into reality by co-founding Luxe Vogue, a fashion-forward online shopping website that quickly became a favorite among young trendsetters.

Grace had a keen eye for design, so she was in charge of designing stunning clothing collections, while I focused on designing jewelry at our equally jointly-owned studio, Atelier. Atelier was a high-end fashion studio catering to elite clientele. Our business acumen and creative vision catapulted us into the world of high-ranking millionaires.

I knew right when I saw that grin on her lips that she was going to tease me next. Playful banters for us were as natural as breathing. I stepped into the passenger's seat of Grace's car, sighing and immediately clicking my seatbelt in.

"Finally willing to leave that bastard and return to work?" Grace quipped with a mischievous grin.

"I really don't understand why you would waste three years of your life to be a housewife, taking care of an asshole who doesn't love you at all."

I rolled my eyes, "Because I was blind, but now I can see. Heard of that song?"

Grace chuckled, starting the car. "Well, I'm glad your eyes are wide open now. We've got a whole lot to run, we can't have you distracted by some guy who doesn't appreciate you."

"You know, Sydney, I have to say this again, that whole 'married'...with that guy? I hated it on you!" She glanced briefly at the gate of Mark's house. "Gosh, I've been dying to say that."

I chuckled, resting my elbow tiredly on the car door, "Oh please. From the onset, Grace had always hated my marriage to Mark. She had tried, in her way, to convey her disapproval, both indirectly and directly. There were times when she would come open about it, and other times, it was more subtle, like the way she would hesitate before congratulating me on another anniversary or the way she would change the subject whenever I brought up something related to my marriage. I was glad we could finally freely talk and make jests about it.

"I mean, what was with all those frumpy dresses and sensible shoes? Eww!"

"Grace!" I laughed again.

"Mr. Wrong really had an influence on your wardrobe? I've never seen you in so much beige in my life. And the day I saw you wearing flats with a cocktail dress, trust me, I nearly died."

I burst out laughing again, shaking my head, "Oh, come on. You know I was just trying to fit into the whole 'perfect wife' image. Never again."

you're back

still thought the things she'd said earlier were funny,

looked pretty good in those dresses

upper lip, "Maybe

revealing and promiscuous for a wife. Not only did his insults hurt, but what hurt even more was the public humiliation I faced when others witnessed it too. The incident had reached my parents'

"Goodness. I missed

pedal, and as she did, the engine roared to life before

where are we headed

course. I've got a sudden urge

thought you were going to come over to my place at least

want to

in her seat, resting a hand on the car door while the other stayed on the

the website. And I kid you not,

mood for work right now. We'll talk about that when I return," I said, glancing at

bit, to revel in my freedom from Mark and the suffocating routine I had fallen into. I knew my parents were going to be mad; they always were when I tried to break loose from their demanding decisions. But I couldn't even care less for whatever was to come. The

pulled into the airport. As the car came to a stop, I unclicked my seatbelt and reached for my handbag, eagerly taking out my

where are you?" I spoke first. "Alright, alright," I added as the receiver responded before

at me curiously. "Who was that?"

Grace gave me a suspicious look, but didn't probe me any

the car, carrying a briefcase. Immediately recognizing him, I told Grace, "Wait here," before getting out of the car to meet him. "Good evening," He greeted me professionally and I

had called earlier to

papers. While he did, I glanced back at

I glanced through them one after the other, feeling an overwhelming feeling of finality

man asked. I shook my head, determined. "No,

on the pages, "Here, here," flipping through them, "over here and

and spot that required my signature. Finally handing the papers

will send yours too," he said as he placed