Julia, with her wrinkled evening gown clinging to her body, she leaned coyly against Owen's chest.
“Who doesn’t know that every time Mrs. Carter talks about divorce, she ends up on her knees begging for forgiveness?”
“Didn’t she kneel for three days and nights last time? What’s it going to be now—five days?”
“If you can’t live without him, stop pretending. Playing hard to get only works if the man actually wants you.”
I looked up and met his frosty eyes.
“I’m not joking this time, Owen. I want a divorce—seriously.”
“The agreement is ready. I’ll only take what belongs to me. Not a cent more. All you have to do is sign.”
In eight years of our marriage, I’d brought up divorce at least a hundred times.
Not once did it move his heart. It was always me who caved in first—me, groveling for his forgiveness.
But this time, I meant it.
Owen frowned, clearly annoyed. “Fine. Go kneel at home for five days—then we’ll talk.”
“But before you go, take off your undergarments and give it to Julia. Wash her up from head to toe. This isn’t your first time—you know exactly what to do.”
I nodded without hesitation. Obedience had become my second nature over the past eight years.