I snatched the invitation and turned on my heel without looking back. The muffled sounds of Delia and Samuel cursing me trailed behind like garbage in the wind.
I exited the villa complex, the iron gates clanging shut behind me. A sleek sedan was already waiting at the curb. The window rolled down, and a slender finger lowered a pair of oversized sunglasses.
"Well, look at you," my sister teased, eyes dancing. "The freshly divorced man. Quite the look."
She laughed—bright, melodic, clashing with my foul mood.
"If Harbor City finds out the Ashford heir was dumped by a gold digger—and that he begged her to stay—the family reputation would be in tatters. You know that, right?"
I shot her a glare. I wanted to snap back, but the fight had drained out of me.
My marriage to Delia hadn't been a grand affair. We'd simply signed papers and celebrated quietly. She always claimed a simple life was all she wanted, that our modest union was her dream wedding. I never expected she'd use her "real" wedding to publicly humiliate me.
"So," my sister asked, tone sharpening, "are you really attending that wretched pair's wedding in three days?"