Chapter 12
Jackson stood outside the gates of the
DeVere estate, once again turned away by
the guards. He had hoped–prayed, even—
that Trina might be here, back with her ailing
father. But even her own people, loyal to a
fault, gave him nothing. No hints. No
locations. No hope.
He slumped into his car and let the silence
suffocate him.
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This was where it all started. Years ago, Trina
had chosen him over her father. He had stood
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
right here beside her, as her father’s voice
thundered through the marble halls: “You
marry that man, you are no longer welcome
here.”
And she didn’t flinch. Not once.
She chose him.
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Not the inheritance. Not the security. Not the
legacy.
Him.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
Back then, she had told him with a soft smile,
“You’re all I need, Jackson. I don’t regret this.
Not one second of it.”
And what had he given her in return?
Years of cold shoulders. A home filled with
tension. A daughter raised by a woman who
wasn’t even her mother.
Now she was gone. And not even the earth
could seem to give him a trace of her.
That night, Jackson sat at his office desk,
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eyes glazed over as the TV played in the
background. He wasn’t really watching–until
the name caught his attention.
“…Jackson Dela Torre and longtime business
partner Donna Reid are officially engaged.
The couple announced their upcoming
spring wedding earlier today, stating it was
the natural next step in their professional and
personal relationship…”
“What the hell?” Jackson snapped, sitting up.
His mouth hung open, stunned by the images
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flashing across the screen. Donna. In a
wedding dress. Him. Standing beside her, in a
manipulated promotional shot.
His blood turned to fire. He stormed out of
the office, made the drive to Donna’s estate
in record time, and pushed open the door
without knocking.
Inside, Donna was helping Tania zip up a
dress for what looked like an upcoming bridal
shoot.
Jackson didn’t waste time.
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“What the hell is going on?!”
Donna turned, startled, but quickly put on
that all–too–familiar smile. “Jackson, calm
down.”
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“Calm down?” he barked. “You told the press
we’re getting married?”
“We are,” Donna said casually. “You agreed.
Long ago. Back when Trina was still around. I
told you once she was gone, we’d finally be
together.”
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“I never agreed to this,” he hissed.
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Donna narrowed her eyes. “Why? Because
you still think she’s coming back? News flash,
Jackson—she’s not. She left you. She
divorced you. And she hasn’t looked back
since.”
Tania stood beside them, arms folded, clearly
annoyed.
“Dad, she’s gone. She left both of us. You’ve
been chasing a ghost,” Tania added coldly.
“Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe now she’ll
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see what she missed. Maybe she’ll regret it.”
Jackson’s jaw clenched. He wanted to
believe them. He wanted to believe that he
could move on, that this–whatever this
engagement was–could erase the pain.
But deep inside, something whispered no.
Then Donna said softly, almost mockingly,
“Come on, Jackson. Do you really think she’d
come back after everything we did to her?”
And there it was. The guilt he tried so hard to
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bury rose like bile in his throat.
He had hurt Trina. Time and again. Ignored
her, doubted her, blamed her. Let Donna’s
voice grow louder in his life than his own
wife’s. Until Trina had nothing left to give.
That night, Jackson ended up at a dim, half-
forgotten bar downtown, a place he used to
frequent before he ever met Trina. He drank.
Too much. Whiskey, neat, over and over. Until
the world began to blur and every voice
sounded like hers.
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Then he saw him.
A man at the counter. The same man from
the photos Donna had shown him. The
supposed “lover” Trina had been caught
smiling at in their bakery.
Jackson’s vision turned red.
He stormed over, grabbed the man by the
collar, and slammed him against the counter.
“You!” Jackson barked. “Where is she?”
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The man, shocked, shoved him back. “What
the hell is your problem?”
“Don’t play dumb!” Jackson shouted. “You
were with her! You and Trina–don’t act like
you don’t know!”
The man blinked, confused. “Trina? The
baker?”
Jackson’s fists clenched tighter. “Don’t act
like you didn’t sleep with her.”
“I didn’t!” the man barked back. “Are you her
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husband? Or were?”
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Jackson reached into his coat, yanked out his
phone, and pulled up the old photos. The
ones Donna had shown him. “Explain these,
then.”
The man stared. Then laughed bitterly.
“She was making cupcakes,” he said. “We
were talking about buttercream frosting.”
“Liar.”
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The man shook his head. “You’ve been lied
to, alright—but not by me.”
“What do you mean?”
The man hesitated. Then exhaled.
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“Your friend–Donna, right? She paid me. Paid
me to get close to Trina. To flirt. To touch her
arm. She even sent me drinks to offer her—
drugged ones, I later found out. But Trina
never took them. She kept talking about you.
Kept saying how she believed in you, how
she was trying to fix your marriage.”
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Jackson’s stomach twisted.
“I couldn’t go through with it,” the man continued. “I told Donna I wouldn’t help her
anymore. I didn’t want to hurt your wife. She
was the kindest woman I’d ever met.”
Jackson stepped back, dizzy.
“Donna…” he muttered. “Donna set this up?”
“Yes. She wanted Trina out of the picture.
Permanently.”
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