Too Late For Your Grand Remorse

For nearly a decade, I was the perfect wife to Grant Sloan, sacrificing my own dreams to support his meteoric rise. But when I saw a photo of him at a company gala with his young intern, Kylee, his hand on her back and a smile I hadn't seen in years, I knew my marriage was over.

My world shattered further when my younger sister, Aubrie, was assaulted by her boss. I begged Grant, a top lawyer, to help her. He coldly refused, claiming his caseload was full, only to later stand in court as the defense attorney for my sister's attacker-who turned out to be Kylee's brother.

The betrayal was absolute. Fueled by Kylee's vicious online campaign, Aubrie was driven to suicide, jumping from the courthouse roof as Grant and I watched. The final, sickening blow came when Kylee desecrated Aubrie's grave, grinding her ashes into the dirt over a plot she wanted for her dead puppy.

Grant, finally seeing Kylee's monstrous nature, brutally punished her and her brother. He came back to me, broken and begging for forgiveness, even staging a grand public proposal.

He thought his remorse could erase the blood on his hands and the ashes on the ground.

I looked at the man who had destroyed my life and offered him a single word.

"No."

Chapter 1

Corinne POV

My stomach churned, a cold dread washing over me as I scrolled through the endless stream of photos. Grant wasn' t just absent from my side at the highly anticipated company gala, the one we' d talked about for weeks. He was there. With her. Kylee. His young, adoring intern.

My breath hitched. The image was plastered across the firm' s social media, a candid shot of Grant' s hand resting lightly on Kylee' s lower back, his head tilted towards her, a smile I hadn' t seen in years gracing his lips. Her eyes, wide and innocent, gazed up at him. She looked like she belonged there. Right by his side.

He had told me he had a last-minute emergency, a critical client meeting that couldn' t be rescheduled. He had kissed my forehead, a hurried, distracted gesture, and then he was gone. I had believed him. Foolishly.

The bile rose in my throat. I stumbled to the bathroom, the elegant gown I had chosen for the night feeling like a shroud. I gripped the cold porcelain, emptying my stomach until there was nothing left but dry heaves and burning regret.

For nearly a decade, I had been Mrs. Grant Sloan. His wife. His partner. His anchor. I had sacrificed my own ambitions, my own dreams, to support his meteoric rise. I had been the silent strength behind the charismatic corporate lawyer, the woman who managed his home, his social calendar, his every need. But in that moment, seeing that photo, I knew I was just a ghost in his life. A convenience.

The decision didn't come suddenly. It was a slow, agonizing bleed, each drop of betrayal a confirmation. This picture was just the final, gaping wound. I lay on the cold bathroom floor, the expensive silk of my dress bunched around me, and I stared at the ceiling. The ceiling of the luxurious home I had helped him build. The home that now felt like a gilded cage.

When the sun finally crept through the window, painting the room in pale gold, my mind was clear. The pain was still there, a dull ache in my chest, but beneath it, something new had solidified. A resolve hard as steel.

I got up, showered, and dressed in simple clothes. My hands didn't shake as I retrieved the legal documents I had secretly prepared months ago. Divorce papers. Signed by me, dated, ready.

Grant walked in later that evening, his briefcase clutched in one hand, his tie already loosened. He looked tired, but also... happy. Satisfied. The kind of satisfaction I used to bring him. Now, I knew, it came from elsewhere.

"Corinne? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with the patronizing concern he reserved for when I looked 'fragile'.

I didn't answer. I simply walked to the coffee table and placed the stack of papers in front of him. The sound was soft, but in the quiet room, it was deafening.

He glanced down, his eyes scanning the bold letters: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. A humorless chuckle escaped his lips.

"What is this, Corinne? Some kind of joke?" he scoffed, dropping his briefcase with a thud.

"No, Grant," I said, my voice steady, surprising even myself. "It's not a joke."

He picked up the papers, flipping through them quickly. His brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by dismissive amusement.

"Is this about the gala?" he asked, his tone mocking. "You're divorcing me because I took Kylee to a company event? Really, Corinne? That's what you're reduced to?"

I didn't correct him. Let him think it was something so trivial. It suited his narrative. It meant he didn't have to face the years of slow, painful neglect.

He tossed the papers back onto the table. "Fine," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "If you want out, Corinne, be my guest. But don't come crying back when you realize what you've given up." His eyes narrowed. "You're too dependent on me. You always have been. You won't last a month on your own."

"I won't regret it," I said, meeting his gaze directly. My voice was calm, firm.

His smirk faltered slightly. He picked up a pen from the table. "You've got real nerve, bringing these to me already filled out. Trying to trap me?" He signed his name with a flourish, his gaze unwavering from mine. "There. You happy now? Go on, Corinne. Go find your freedom. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you come crawling back."

Just as I was about to retort, my phone, lying face down on the table, buzzed violently. Grant's phone. He picked it up, his expression instantly softening. "Kylee? What's wrong, sweetheart?"