He Paid Me 1 Dollar For 10 Pounds, He Paid Her 100,000 For A Bag Chapter 09

He Paid Me 1 Dollar For 10 Pounds, He Paid Her 100,000 For A Bag Chapter 09

“I slapped her right across the face and called Everett myself…”

Mom’s voice cracked.

“Tessa, baby, why didn’t you tell me things were this bad between you two?”

She sighed, a long and tired sound.

“I know once you’ve made up your mind, nobody can talk you out of it.”

“So I told Everett he was giving you that divorce.”

“I’ve been married long enough to know: once it’s broken, you can’t glue it back together.”

“Don’t let this eat you alive, okay? Better things are coming.”

My eyes dropped to the drafted settlement agreement on the table.

Our names rested side by side on the dotted line.

Just like the day we got married.

We loved each other once.

Now we were done.

I didn’t regret it.

Something loosened in my chest.

I talked with my mom for a few more minutes, then hung up.

I texted Everett.

[Let’s go to the courthouse tomorrow. File the papers.]

The next day, we stood in line at the county clerk’s office and pulled a ticket.

“Seventeen.” Everett said it under his breath.

I glanced down and saw it.

The same number we’d pulled the day we got married.

I didn’t say anything. We waited.

Three hours later, the paperwork was filed.

All that was left was the mandatory cooling-off period, and then the decree would be final.

“Tessa, liquidating the company shares is going to take about a month.”

“After that, the funds will go straight into your account.”

“I’ve already got the lawyer splitting up the properties.”

“He’ll send you the full breakdown.”

He stopped mid-sentence. The color drained from his face.

His hand went to his stomach, and a harsh cough tore out of him.

“If you need cash fast, sell the ones I highlighted in green first.”

“I wouldn’t sell the rest just yet.”

He squinted against something-pain, maybe-and looked at me.

“I can drive you home.”

“Mallory is gone. I fired her. And I had the passenger seat replaced…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I cut him off, holding up my phone.

“I already called a ride.”

I kept my voice steady and didn’t look back at his face.

But once I was in the car, I sat there for a few seconds, hand on the door.

And then I said it anyway.

“Everett. Don’t run yourself into the ground.”

“Take care of yourself.”

The window slid shut. In the rearview mirror, he got smaller and smaller.

Then he was gone.

I twisted the ring off my finger. Seven years.

I dropped it into the bottom of my bag.

Everett’s lawyer sent the property list to my phone.

Pages of properties, each one with a purchase date and address.

Just like Everett said.

A lot of them were flagged in green.

Each one came with his notes: when to sell, what it was worth, why.

I scrolled through a few before one listing stopped me cold.

Everett had bought our old place in Hearthstone Court.

He’d flagged it too, underlined twice.

I stared at that address longer than I should’ve.

I picked a handful of the green-flagged properties and had a realtor list them.

Then I sent Everett a text.

[I don’t want the Hearthstone Court place.]

The three typing dots lingered for a long time.

Minutes passed before his reply came through. One word.

[Okay.]

A few months later, the first ten million dollars from the sales had cleared into my account.

I booked two tickets and took my mom overseas.

We saw new cities. Met people who didn’t know my name or my story.

I got hit on. A lot.

Every compliment, every second look, stitched something back together inside me.

I started posting again: photos, sunsets, my mom laughing over wine.

Everett liked every single one. Always first.

But he never commented.

And then there was Grant.

He didn’t miss a single post either.

He’d DM me restaurant recommendations wherever I traveled, always with way too many exclamation

points.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

I turned him down gently. More than once.

He didn’t take the hint.

Somehow he found out when I was flying back to finalize the divorce.

He showed up at the airport.

“Tessa! Over here!”

Grant was grinning, arm raised, waving me over.

My phone buzzed.

“You landed?”

“Stay put, I’m coming to get you. It’s pouring out there…”

He didn’t finish.

I was already sliding into Grant’s passenger seat.

The line went dead.

Everett stood there with the phone still pressed to his ear. Motionless.

“Mr. Halstead?” The driver’s voice was careful. “Should we keep waiting?”

Everett looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Go. Straight to the courthouse.”

The car pulled away from the curb.

The drive was thirty minutes. It felt like three.

He wanted every red light. Every delay.

He wanted the road to never end.

But the world doesn’t stop because you need it to.

Sooner or later, he was going to have to walk through those doors.