Overlooked Wife, Officially Done

Millie gave Yana a look—Yana's jaw looked one insult away from shattering. Millie patted her hand, then turned to me.

"Just because Dylan's mom likes you doesn't mean you've locked in the Mrs. Leveson title."

Locked in?

Girl, I wasn't even trying to stay in this circus.

I didn't explain. Just came to say hi to Patricia and dip.

Didn't plan on seeing Dylan stroll over, holding Patricia's arm.

"Why are you back?"

I was about to lay it all out—make him stop blaming me for everything.

But then he looked at me... and smiled. Not fake. Real.

I froze.

Millie stood, tilted her head, and hit him with that fake-innocent look. "Judy told me I don't belong... said I should leave..."

"Judy?" His smile died fast. Ice glare on full blast. "I've put up with a lot. Millie's just visiting my mom after forever, and you show up late just to throw her out?"

His jaw tightened. One look at Patricia—yeah, she wasn't buying it.

"Mom, you saw it. Judy's way outta line. Don't blame me. Honestly? I regret marrying her."

Millie lifted her hand like she might tear up any second, but that sparkle in her eyes? Girl was loving this.

Yana leaned back, legs crossed, eyes glued to me like she had front-row seats to a meltdown.

Only, plot twist—nothing happened.

I wasn't mad.

I was calm.

Dylan's words? Just noise.

***

When Millie popped back into the picture, Patricia actually tried to knock some sense into Dylan.

She said our marriage was solid, warned him not to run back to the girl who'd already burned him once.

His response? "I can't even stand looking at Judy. Always pretending she's some high-society queen. My friends crack up behind her back. Wears designer like it's Halloween. No grace at all."

The kicker? He picked that dress. Told me I looked gorgeous in it.

Every ounce of "class" I had? Taught by him.

He used to say he loved how bold I was. Called it freeing. Then one day, bam—suddenly it was "vulgar." "Low-class."

So I stopped going out. Skipped his work parties. Didn't wanna "embarrass" him.

That turned me into the lazy wife who "did nothing."

Tried to fix it. Took courses, learned to blend in with his snobby crowd.

But when they found out? Now I was "fake."

No matter what I did, I was always the problem.

My thoughts snapped back just as Dylan sneered, "What, nothing to say? Eight years and still no kid. If Mom hadn't stopped me, I'd have dumped you ages ago."

Yeah. Eight years. Not even a baby.

It's not like we never slept together—back when he still gave a damn. But even then, he never wanted a kid with me.

He knew I did. Always did. Still, nothing.

That ache never left. And he knew exactly how to twist the knife.

Always hit the soft spots, just enough to make me snap in public. To make me look like the crazy one.

The loud, low-class wife who couldn't keep it together.

But this time? Those words didn't hurt. They felt like a release.

"Fine. Let's divorce right now."

I looked straight at him. Locked eyes.

And there it was—pure shock. Straight-up panic.