The butler tried to stop me, but Ryan sneered coldly.
“Let her make a scene. In less than three days, she’ll come crawling back, tail between her legs.”
The crowd erupted in laughter once again, their words all mocking me for being manipulative and shameless.
Right in front of me, they placed a bet—ten million dollars—that I wouldn’t even make it through the night before coming back to Ryan, begging like a dog to be let in.
But what they didn’t know was that this was the hundredth time I had spoken of divorce—and it would be the last.
Because this time, I truly meant it. Someone was already arranged to pick me up seven days later.
——
Dragging my packed suitcase, I hadn’t even stepped out of the Beverly Hills mansion when my wrist was suddenly seized, the grip so tight it felt like my bones might shatter.
I was forced to look up, meeting Ryan Hayes’s drunken eyes.