She tossed a stack of documents at me. The papers slapped against my chest before scattering across the floor.
I stood rigid, my mind reeling. My gaze dropped to the papers, then snapped back to her face. The tenderness I was used to seeing was gone—replaced by utter contempt.
Was this the same woman who had been gentle as water only yesterday?
"Delia, is this a joke?" My voice came out low.
"Look at yourself," she sneered. "I am one of Harbor City's wealthiest women, a tycoon worth hundreds of millions. And you? A delivery driver. Do you honestly think you belong in my world?"
She wasn't joking. She was ashamed of me.
A heavy weight settled in my chest. We had been happy—or so I thought. Had she used her connections to fast-track this divorce behind my back without a word of warning?
I stepped forward, reaching for her hand. "Delia, wait—"
She recoiled as if I were contagious, slapping my hand away.
"Don't touch me!" Her face twisted in disgust. "Look at you—poor, shabby, reeking of sweat. You don't have a single valuable thing on your body. Keep your filthy hands off me."
"Delia..."