The Professional Ex-Wife

The sight of nine ex-husbands showing up en masse to beg for a reconciliation?

Absolute carnage. A total freak show.

Only one man didn't join the chorus. The cold, stone-faced lawyer who had drafted divorce papers for me nine separate times.

Harrison.

He stood like a black wall between me and the pack, radiating darkness.

Seeing him go full territorialguarding his bone like a feral dogmade me think back to the tenth time I walked into his office.

He couldn't help the sneer back then. "Busy year, huh?"

Id just raised a brow, smiling. "Didn't you show me the ropes?"

He scoffed, throwing the agreement at me, shattering his professional mask for the first time. "I am your first ex-husband, Eden. Not your on-call attorney. Stop coming to me to end your marriages."

But now? Watching nine men trying to crawl back into my life?

He gritted his teeth and seized my wrist. "Let's go. We're getting married abroad. Somewhere where divorce is illegal."

I shook him off. Mimicking his cold tone from back then. "Sorry. You're just a placeholder."

---

Chapter 1

I breezed into the law firm, designer bag swinging.

I slapped the necessary documents onto the polished mahogany desk. "Counselor. Draft me a divorce agreement, would you?"

The man buried in a file looked up.

Behind the gold wire frames, his eyes narrowed. Sharp. Dangerous.

A cold, mocking sound escaped him. "Heh."

I watched him, arching a brow, a smile playing on my lips. "Is that how we treat clients now? Do I need to file a formal complaint?"

Harrison glanced at me, his face a mask of indifference. Zero reaction.

I rapped my knuckles on the desk. Hard. Knock. Knock.

Finally, he stared at me, impatience radiating off him in waves. "This firm has plenty of excellent divorce attorneys. You don't need to find me every single time."

"But I only trust you."

I stared him down, dead serious.

He crumbled. Defeated. "ID. Marriage license. Children? Asset division?"

I pulled out a chair and sat, cool as ice. "No kids. No marital assets. I'm the at-fault party. I leave with zero. Clean break."

Harrisons fingers froze over the keyboard.

He inhaled deeply. A jagged breath. He was suppressing pure, unadulterated rage. "Number ten, Eden. What the hell are you doing? You've divorced ten times in one year. Every time, you're at fault. Every time, you ride out the mandatory waiting period to the second. Is marriage a joke to you?"

I looked at him, eyes wide and innocent. "Did I break the law?"

"No."

"Then we're good. Love, lust, marriage, divorceit's my freedom. What's it to you?"

Harrisons expression solidified into concrete. "It matters. Because Im one of your ex-husbands. You think coming to me every time is appropriate?"

Chapter 2

"Inappropriate? Didn't you write the playbook?"

I tilted my head. A sugary, venomous smile.

Harrison didn't bite. He slid the crisp divorce agreement across the mahogany desk. "Make this the last one."

"Here's hoping."

I snatched the documents and walked out.

---

Outside, the sun glared off the hood of a neon green McLaren.

Leaning against it was a young man in oversized streetwear, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

Brooks.

The spare heir to the massive Brooks conglomerate. A slacker. A trust fund baby with an allergy to responsibility and an addiction to freedom.

My current husband.

But not for long.

He looked up. "Done?"

I waved the folder. "Done. Read the fine print. If we're good, this marriage is history."

He took the papers, flipping through them suspiciously. "Damn. Thought you'd pull a fast one. Stall. Demand a massive payout like the other girls."

I flashed my corporate smile. Ice cold. "Don't insult my professionalism, Brooks. I'm a professional. This is the job. Call me during the mandatory waiting period if you need a cover story."

Brooks pouted, actually looking a little disappointed. "Whatever. Thanks, seriously. Without you, the dinosaurs in the boardroom would have me shackled to some heiress I can't stand. Forced marriage is so medieval."

I patted his shoulder. "Relax. I'll keep the divorce quiet for now. How long it stays a secret that depends on you."

That's the gig.

Im a mercenary bride. A professional wife.

My clientele? The 1%.

Single. Loaded. Gorgeous. Allergic to commitment but desperate for a ring to shut their families up. Or maybe they need a respectable "plus one" for board meetings.

But they're terrified of gold diggers.

Enter me.

I play the part. The Stepford Wife. The Trophy.

We sign the ironclad prenup. We act the part. We divorce.

I cash the check.

Strictly business. Zero feelings.

I was just about to wave goodbye to my current ex-husband when a Rolls Royce Phantom glided to the curb.

The door opened. A woman stepped out.

Stunning. Precision-engineered beauty.

She froze when she saw me.

We were wearing the exact same outfit.

Soft pink knit dress. Cashmere cardigan. The trending "Quiet Luxury" aesthetic.

But hers was limited edition designer.

Mine was a high-quality knockoff.

She scanned me. Smirked. A look of pure, unadulterated condescension.

I knew her.

Madison.

Hollywood's new darling. Fresh off her Best Actress win.

A superstar.

Before I could react, the glass doors of the law firm opened.

Harrison stepped out.

Chapter 3

Madison didnt walk; she launched herself at Harrison, wrapping herself around his arm like expensive ivy. "Ive been waiting forever," she purred, looking up at him through practiced lashes. "You ghosted my texts, so I came to find you. You aren't mad, are you?"

Harrison, the man whose face usually had the emotional range of a glacier, cracked. A smile. Actual warmth. "Let's go. Just finished up. What are you craving?"

Madison didn't answer him. Her gaze slid over to me.

Her smile sharpened into a blade. "Your ex-wife is stalking you again? No wonder you didn't text back."

I stood there, four feet away. Close enough to hear every syllable.

Madison and I? We go way back. Same drama school. But while her career went stratospheric immediately, mine stalled.

I looked just enough like her to be useful. When she got famous, I became her shadow.

Her stunt double. Her stand-in. The girl who took the hits she didn't want to take.

Even my twisted marriage to Harrison was her fault.

She was his 'one that got away'the obsession he couldn't get over.

I was the generic store-brand replacement.

They had a fiery college romance that imploded when she chose fame over him. Harrison, fueled by rage, found me. The low-budget dupe.

He married me.

I was clueless. I thought it was love.

Then came the soap opera twist. After fifty episodes of drama and clichd misunderstandings, they got back together.

Harrison cut me a check for half his assets and dumped the knockoff to upgrade back to the original.

But that betrayal? It was my lightbulb moment.

I did the math. If being a placeholder wife paid this well, why stop at one?

One fake marriage is a tragedy. Ten is a business model.

Way more lucrative than taking falls on a movie set.

Harrisons eyes flicked to me, then to Brooks standing by the McLaren. "She's here filing for divorce. Again," he said, voice like liquid nitrogen.

"Again?"

Madison scanned me with open disgust, then turned her laser focus on Brooks.

She clicked her tongue. Tsk. Tsk. "Looks like your market value crashed, sweetie. You're scraping the bottom of the barrel with street trash now? I guess being my body double for Harrison was your peak. Now you're just hustling?"

I snapped my fingers. Pop.

I grinned, shameless and bright. "You're right. I can't compete with you. My current ex-husband? Just a boring, mediocre trust fund baby."

I side-eyed the "trash."

Brooks, the boring, mediocre trust fund baby, looked confused for a split second.

Then he got it.

He snatched the baseball cap off his head, shaking out his hair to reveal that magazine-cover face.

He pulled me into his side, hard. "Yeah," Brooks drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I'm just a basic billionaire. Barely worth mentioning."

He looked down at me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "By the way, wifey how are you planning to spend that five billion dollar alimony?"

Chapter 4

I fought the urge to give Brooks a standing ovation.

That line was a tactical nuke.

Madison might be a superstar, but she only blew up a few years ago. She came from nothing and clawed her way up with her face.

She loves telling the press she doesn't need to marry into a rich family because she is the rich family.

But her net worth? Maybe eight figures.

Brooks just implied ten.

I knew he was backing me up, so I leaned hard into the bit.

"First, I will buy a superyacht. Then a private vineyard in Napa. Then I will acquire a production studio just to hire a certain A-list celebrity as my body double."

Brooks nodded, looking sagely impressed. "Solid portfolio diversification. Glad to see you are prioritizing assets over toys. My mentorship is finally paying off."

Madison's smile cracked. The plaster mask finally crumbled.

She scanned Brooks again. She must have recognized the watch or the limited-edition sneakers. She realized he was actual Old Money.

She laughed, but it sounded like glass breaking.

Then she switched gears. The Oscar-winning pivot. Her expression melted from aggressive mean girl to concerned, gentle victim. "You might not know this, handsome, but Eden is a gold digger. Money means more to her than feelings. Just be careful. I would hate to see you get scammed."

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. A calculated, delicate move.

She squeezed Harrison's arm tighter but kept her eyes glued to Brooks. "Our reservation is coming up. Harrison, let us go. No need to let irrelevant people ruin our date."

Before she turned, she actually pulled out her phone, signaling for Brooks' number.

Right in front of Harrison. The audacity was breathtaking.

I smirked. Brooks shook his head, looking like a faithful saint. "Can't do it, Superstar. I am a married man. We are strictly in the mandatory waiting period. I cannot betray my wife. I don't entertain unwanted advances."

Madison turned a lovely shade of green. She stomped off.

Harrison looked miserable. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something.

Good. Both of them were sufficiently disgusted.

They got into the luxury car and peeled away.

I turned to Brooks and held out my hand palm up. "So, ex-husband. About that five billion dollar alimony?"

He high-fived my open hand. "I wish. Listen, about the actual two hundred grand service fee do you take payment plans?"

Great. I met a bullshitter bigger than me.

"Absolutely not. Full payment. Or I go to your family estate and make a scene. I will scream on your front lawn until the neighbors call the cops."

He grinned, stepping closer. His eyes danced. "How about we make the fake drama real? Then my money is your money. Want to think about it?"

In his dreams.

I am a career woman. I secure the bag, not the baggage.

Chapter 5

The second I separated from Brooks, I checked my banking app.

Ping.

The transfer hit. Two hundred grand, cleared and available.

I inhaled slowly, staring at the total balance. The numbers were beautiful. My first financial milestone? Crushed.

My phone buzzed again before I could lock the screen.

Caller ID: Ex-Husband 9.

I answered. "Miss Eden. Family gathering. Saturday, 8 PM. I need you there. Standard rate wired to your account?"

Declan.

Thirty-two years old. A world-class surgeon with god-tier hands and zero social skills.

He was too busy saving lives to date, but his family wouldn't stop nagging him to settle down. So, he hired me.

Technically, we finalized our divorce last month. But the contract had a "maintenance clause." For six months post-split, I was on retainer to play the loving wife whenever the family gathered.

Business was booming.

I shoved the Harrison and Madison drama into the mental trash bin. Men are headaches. Money is freedom. And I am strictly here for the bag.

---

Saturday night.

I curated my look with surgical precision. The vibe was "Domestic Goddess," but the price tag whispered "Old Money."

Investment is key. Never look cheap in front of the client.

Declan is particular. High-functioning social anxiety. Obsessive-compulsive. A germaphobe.

I took a black car to the address.

He was waiting outside the sprawling estate.

Declan. Six-foot-two. Dressed in a pristine, casual white jacket. Not a single hair out of place.

He radiated a cold, clinical detachment. Standing next to him was like standing next to an opened bottle of hospital-grade antiseptic.

I checked my outfit one last time.

White.

Perfect. To Declan, any other color is basically dirt.

He saw me and gave a stiff nod. He extended a hand to escort me.

He was wearing white cotton gloves.

I didn't dare trigger him with skin-to-skin contact. I pulled a pair of delicate lace gloves from my clutch, slipped them on, and only then hooked my arm through his.

I felt the tension instantly drain from his shoulders.

We walked into the European-style manor.

"Family gathering" was a lie. The hall was packed with at least forty people, all seated, all watching.

And we were late.

It was a public execution waiting to happen.

We barely touched our chairs when the shark attacked.

Joyce, a wealthy socialite sitting right next to Declan's mother, didn't waste a second.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Declan's wife is quite the elusive one, isn't she?" Her eyes raked over me. "I hear you're a full-time housewife now. Tell me, dear, what exactly do you do all day?"

I count my money, Joyce.

My time is billed by the second.

Declan frowned, his jaw tightening, ready to snap.

I squeezed his arm through the layers of fabric. Down, boy.

I kept my face smooth, projecting serene, expensive calm.

"Declan works himself to the bone saving lives. My job is to ensure he has a sanctuary to come home to," I said, voice soft but carrying across the table. "I focus on self-improvement and managing our home. He respects my choices. It's called a partnership, Joyce. I'm quite independent."

Translation: My husband is rich enough to spoil me rotten. Stay in your lane.

Chapter 6

Joyce snapped her mouth shut. She sat there, frozen, her face a mask of indignation.

I reached out, placing my hand gently over Declan's. The lace of my glove met the white cotton of his.

"Honey, am I right?"

Declan's icy features thawed. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips. "My wife is absolutely correct."

The table quieted. Order restored. Harmony achieved.

Then, a voice sliced through the air like a serrated knife.

"Oh? A full-time housewife? So, Miss Eden has no income of her own? Just living off Declan's generosity? Hardly fits the definition of an independent modern woman, does it?"

I looked up.

Harrison.

And attached to his hip, Madison.

They were ridiculous. He was in a sharp suit; she was wearing a gala-ready evening gown. At a family dinner.

They looked high-profile. And like absolute morons.

Harrison's eyes were fixed on me. Cold. Predatory.

I hadn't expected a collision. Ex-Husband Number One crashing Ex-Husband Number Nine's family event? This wasn't on the guest list.

Declan leaned in, his breath hitching slightly. He whispered, "My mother's corporate counsel. She adores him. I didn't know he was coming."

I've been in this game for eighteen months. I have never had two clientstwo ex-husbandsin the same room.

But I didn't panic.

I didn't flinch.

Harrison wanted to embarrass me?

Game on.

I kept the smile plastered on my face. I shrank into Declan's side, making myself look small, fragile.

"Honey it feels like I'm being interrogated."

I played the damsel card. Calculated vulnerability.

Declan, the perfect employer, didn't miss a beat.

He spoke calmly, his voice smooth. "She has her own income, naturally. But my wife's private investments are just for her own amusement. They aren't significant enough to bore the table with."

Harrison let out a cold laugh. He pulled out a chair and sat down, refusing to let it go. "Investments? In what sector? Perhaps I could analyze the portfolio for Miss Eden?"

He emphasized the name. Miss Eden.

He was practically screaming that he knew me. That we had history.

Declan felt it. His hand tightened over mine.

He looked at me, eyes filled with sudden concern. "You know him?"

Do I know him?

He is the Origin Story. The reason I'm on this path.

I stared Harrison down.

"Counselor, you're a lawyer. A good one, allegedly. Stick to your ethics. Since when did you cross over into investment banking?"

Say one more word, Harrison, and I will rip your throat out.

He went silent.

But Madison? Madison couldn't handle the silence. She was a star. She needed the oxygen in the room. In this circle of old money matriarchs, she was invisible.

She needed to perform.

She looked at me. Then she looked at Declan.

She gasped, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand. Theatrical shock.

"Oh my god. Eden? Wait, something is wrong. Didn't I just see you at Harrison's firm a few days ago? You were filing divorce papers. How are you 'Mrs. Declan' today?"

She turned to Harrison, eyes wide and blinking. "Harrison, babe, am I hallucinating from all the filming? Tell me I'm seeing things."

The grenade dropped.

The silence shattered.

Every single pair of eyes at the table snapped toward me.

Chapter 7