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."

back

she'd said earlier were funny, so I playfully swatted

but I thought I looked pretty good in those

funnily raised her upper lip, "Maybe to

what hurt even more was the public humiliation I faced when others witnessed it too.

sighed, "Goodness.

me too," she said, stepping on the gas pedal, and as she did, the engine roared to life

are

airport, of course. I've got a sudden urge

to come over to my place at least for the night or something,"

to get away for

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

Grace said, "A company is interested in buying the website. And I kid you

We'll talk about that when I return," I said, glancing at Grace. Grace nodded understandingly.

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.

for my handbag, eagerly taking out my phone. I dialed a number and held the phone to my

alright," I added as the receiver responded before

me curiously. "Who was

me a

briefcase. Immediately recognizing him, I told Grace, "Wait here," before getting out of the car to meet

the lawyer I had called earlier to help draft

and took out an envelope containing the papers. While he did, I glanced back at the car and saw Grace watching

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

man asked. I shook my head, determined.

pages, "Here, here," flipping through them, "over here

each page and spot that required my signature. Finally handing the papers back to him along

Mr. Torres receive a copy as well and will send yours too," he said as he placed the papers back in his