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Screw the Diamonds, I'm Done. Novel Cover

Screw the Diamonds, I'm Done.

On their tenth anniversary, Rannie’s husband, Wright Charlotte, chooses his assistant over his wife. Though he attempts to appease Rannie with an exquisite blue diamond ring and endless luxury, his guilt is transparent. The assistant receives a far more valuable sports car, and the two even bring their affair into Rannie's own home. Done with the mockery of her marriage, Rannie starts a fourteen-day countdown to walk away—but not before leaving him with one final, shocking surprise.
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Chapter 3

Lucia’s voice was slick with arrogance as she spoke about her own good fortune.

"A ring is just a ring," she declared. "My boyfriend just bought me a limited-edition vintage sports car. It's one of only three in the world."

I moved closer to the hallway, catching a glimpse of her as she dangled a set of keys. A gleaming silver jaguar emblem was attached to the fob.

"Oh my God, Lucia, a vintage Jag?" one woman exclaimed. "That must have cost a fortune!"

Lucia shrugged with false modesty, a sly grin playing on her lips. "Not really. It was just a little something to show he cares."

The collective gasp that followed was sharp and envious.

"That has to be worth more than the ring!" someone whispered in awe. "Significantly more!"

Lucia nodded with an air of exaggerated nonchalance. "Of course, it is. But what can I say? My man is willing to buy me anything I want, no matter the price."

The women giggled and pressed her for details. "Lucia, who is this mystery man of yours? Is he a billionaire? When do we get to meet him?"

Lucia's tone became coy. "He's very high-profile, so an introduction isn't easy. But tonight, he's taking me on a private jet for a little getaway. Just check my Instagram later; I'll be sure to post everything."

Her words echoed in my mind as I made my way to the valet, where Wright was waiting in the town car.

He greeted me with that signature, charming smile. "Ready for our night out, darling?"

I slid into the plush leather seat beside him. "Do you have any work obligations tonight?"

He shook his head, looking almost offended. "Absolutely not. I missed our anniversary, and I won't let work ruin this evening. I've cleared my entire schedule just to have this time with you."

However, halfway to the club, Wright's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression shifted.

"Darling, I am so incredibly sorry," he began, rubbing the back of his neck in a practiced gesture of frustration. "The London office just called—there's an urgent crisis with the merger. I'm afraid our plans will have to wait."

I forced a smile, my tone light and understanding. "I get it. Work comes first. I can wait to celebrate with you."

Relief washed over his face as he returned the smile. "You're the best, darling. I knew you'd understand."

He paused, then added, "My driver needs to take me to the airfield. Would you mind getting a taxi home?"

I nodded, holding his gaze until his eyes darted away in a flash of guilt.

"Alright," I said softly, watching him exhale in relief.

He leaned over and kissed my forehead, a soft, dismissive gesture. "Darling, I promise I'll be back as soon as I can," he assured me.

I simply smiled, stepped out of the car, and watched as his Maybach sped away—not towards his Wall Street office, but towards the private airfield on the edge of the city.

That night, Wright didn't come home until two in the morning. He moved quietly, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a hint of reckless disarray about him.

When he flicked on the lamp, his expression shifted to one of shock when he saw me sitting in the living room, wide awake.

He had once famously said in an interview, "A man's true success isn't measured by his portfolio, but by the light his wife leaves on for him when he comes home."

But tonight, faced with that very light, his first reaction was pure panic.

"D-darling, what are you still doing up?" he stammered, clearly thrown off balance.

I picked up a vinyl record in a plain sleeve and held it out. "Maria found this while she was cleaning today. She wasn't sure what it was, so she asked me to take a look."

The album was one I knew well, its cover worn at the edges.

Wright's slightly unfocused gaze sharpened the moment it landed on the record. "This! This is from our first date at Yale!"

He hurried over, his excitement genuine, and sat beside me. He eagerly pulled the vinyl from its sleeve, its black surface gleaming under the lamplight.

"This is the jazz album we listened to," he said, his voice reverent, "at that little underground club. I remember searching for a copy for months afterward."

He chuckled, a wistful smile on his face. "I remember that night so vividly. I was so nervous. I wanted to kiss you so badly but was too afraid, so when I finally did, the music just faded into the background."

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