Game Over, My Mr. Hockey

Chloe POV:

The next morning, the atmosphere at the breakfast table was strange.

Chandler and Caleb sat across from me, the perfect mother-son pair. Bradly was at the head of the table, desperately trying to project an image of a harmonious family.

He told Caleb he would teach him hockey on the weekend, passed him a waffle, then thoughtfully refilled Chandler's orange juice. His movements were smooth and practiced, but they completely excluded me. I might as well not have existed.

Chandler basked in the attention, occasionally throwing me a triumphant glance, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

I sipped my coffee, indifferent to her useless provocations. I was calculating how long it would take my friend Sloane to draft the divorce papers.

Suddenly, Caleb pointed a sticky, jam-covered finger at me.

"I don't like her, Mommy," he announced loudly, his voice piercing the quiet dining room. "Why don't you marry Uncle Bradly instead? Then she can go."

The air seemed to freeze.

Bradly's face flushed red with embarrassment. Chandler scolded her son with mock severity. "Caleb, don't be rude!" But there was no reproach in her eyes. Only satisfaction.

I didn't get angry, didn't give her more ammunition to mock me. I set my coffee cup down gently on its saucer with a soft clink. I dabbed my lips with my napkin and stood.

"I'm finished. Enjoy your meal."

I returned to my room and locked the door. Moments later, my phone buzzed. A text from Sloane.

"First draft sent to your encrypted email. Ready to discuss details anytime. Are you sure you want to leave with nothing?"

My fingers flew across the screen.

"No. Change of plan. I want half the value of this house. And draft a subsidiary agreement to confirm and protect my premarital assets."

Sloane called immediately.

"Good girl!" she cheered, her voice buzzing with righteous energy. "Just you wait. I'll revise it right away."

I hung up and walked into my dressing room. Rows of designer clothes and expensive handbags stared back at me, each one a gift from Bradly. Each one a reminder that our marriage was nothing but a transaction.

I didn't touch a single one of them. From the very back of the closet, I pulled out a dusty old suitcase. Inside were a few simple items of clothing I had bought with my own money. I clutched these things that were truly mine, and I steeled my resolve.

This wasn't just a loveless marriage. It was a farce. And he would pay for it.

That afternoon, I told the servants I was going to see a friend. In reality, I drove to Sloane's law office downtown.

"His behavior constitutes emotional abuse and neglect," Sloane said, sliding the revised documents across her glass desk. "It doesn't guarantee a heavily tilted asset split, but it gives us significant leverage and paints him as the villain in any moral argument."

As I scanned the clauses, Sloane asked, "But will Bradly really sign? If you get divorced, wouldn't it cause a stir in his family and on the Gordon Group board? How will you get him to agree?"

I paused to think, and soon an idea came to me.

"Sometimes, the most important signature needs to be hidden among a pile of insignificant papers."

A knowing smile spread across Sloane's face. She rummaged through a stack of documents on her desk and handed me a separate form. "This is a standard investment authorization form for the Gordon Group Sports Foundation. I got the template from their corporate legal department. Take it and use it."

I thanked her and drove home.

When I walked in, Bradly was already home from work, sitting on the sofa with Chandler and Caleb, watching a children's show. They were laughing together like a perfect little family.

At the sight of me, Bradly subtly shifted his position, moving slightly away from Chandler. I found the gesture laughable, as if it could somehow erase his betrayal.

I gave him no more than a glance. Chandler, too, seemed restless, opening her mouth as if to offer an "explanation." But I walked straight upstairs, not giving her the chance. My calm seemed to unsettle them more than any outburst would have. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them staring at me as if seeing a stranger for the first time.

Yes, I was no longer the weak, malleable woman they thought they knew. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and gripped them tightly. Just you wait, Chandler. Bradly.