Billionaire, Let's Divorce! by BELLA

The only light in the room were the brightness of our phone's screens and that of the TV. The TV had been muted while Grace and I idly worked on our phones.

"Woah," Grace put her phone before my face, "Sydney, look at this."

My gaze settled on the dress on the screen. It was almost like one of the ones Grace had designed. I frowned, "it looks a lot like the dress you designed."

Grace laughed lightly, "It is the one I designed," she scrolled to the previous slide, "This is the original one. She's one of our clients, she got it from us so she replicated it and tagged us." My mouth formed an 'O' as I nodded.

"Yeah." She reclined back on the couch where she had been laying. "She really tried, right?"

"Yeah, but I could still tell that it wasn't your work. It was just your design."

"Hmm," she hummed, "I think she did well. Perhaps, we should recruit her."

"Oh please."

then she abruptly stopped laughing. "Isn't that

frowned and paused the shorts I was watching on YouTube again. "What now? Mark replicated the jewelry we

video back

Grace with a frown, "Why did

to the TV. "Mark is live on

host was excitedly introducing him alongside his achievements. Mark looked smart and drop dead gorgeous in the suit dress he had on, his features seemed to have gotten even finer and more toned since I last saw him. His cheekbones were more prominent, his hair was slicked back neatly but as usual,

first it was about GT Group which he confidently boasted about the rising value of its stock. Then the host threw random questions at him. His responses were articulate and insightful as he

impressed brow and raised my hand to give him a

just had to be an asshole to you." I heard Grace murmured but I paid no heed to

well. For the first time, I was grateful to Mark for not agreeing to buy the shares when I suggested it. I could already see the dividend from the shares being a whole new source of income for me. Then I found myself musing on the idea

thoughts. She rested her head on my shoulder and held my arm. She jutted her lower lip out, "Why don't you be my sugar mommy? Please, be my sugar mommy, I don't want to work anymore, I want to live

off me, you gold digger. My savings wouldn't live to see the day with your splurging." Amidst her

idea. I should marry him too and then file fir a divorce divorce, then I could also get five percent of