Chapter 8

I had never felt so utterly humiliated, so completely stripped bare. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest. I was Anastasia Harvey, heiress, business owner, a woman whose name commanded respect. Yet, in that villa, I had been Kane' s discarded wife, my dignity trampled for a conniving mistress.

Memories of a different life flickered through my mind. A life where I was cherished, protected. My father, with his booming laugh, always telling me I was his little queen. My mother, gentle and elegant, teaching me grace. My brother, mischievous and loyal, always having my back. They were all gone now, leaving me alone to face this public humiliation.

And Kane. The way he had pushed me, for her. The way he' d shielded Cristy, his eyes filled with a tenderness he' d once reserved for me. The image burned in my mind, a fresh wave of nausea rising in my throat.

Sleep wouldn' t come that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Not the Kane of now, but the Kane of then. The young, ambitious man I' d fallen for, against all advice. My family, all my friends, had warned me. He was a social climber, they said, not good enough for a Harvey. But I had seen something in him, a spark, a drive, a raw ambition that matched my own. I had fought for him, even against my own family. I' d helped him navigate the cutthroat world of tech, using my connections, my knowledge, my family' s influence. I' d even faced down angry investors, putting myself in precarious situations, once nearly losing my life in a hostile takeover attempt that almost cost him everything. He' d had nothing then, no real power, no safety net. And I had never, not once, regretted it.

He' d changed. Eight years, power, and money had changed him. And now, he had found someone new to fill the void, someone who catered to his ego, someone who didn' t dare challenge him.

My phone rang, jarring me from my melancholic thoughts. Kane. My stomach churned. I hesitated, then answered, my voice sharp with exhaustion.

"What do you want, Kane?"

There was a long silence on the other end, then his voice, low and hesitant. "Anastasia... I... I know I messed up today."

I almost laughed. Messed up? He had betrayed me, humiliated me, pushed me, and now he was admitting he "messed up" ? It was vintage Kane. He never truly apologized. I didn' t want to hear it. "I' m hanging up, Kane."

"Wait!" he blurted out, his voice more urgent now. "I' m going to marry Cristy."

My mind went blank. The phone almost slipped from my trembling fingers. My son' s face flashed before my eyes, then Cristy' s triumphant smirk. Marry her? He was going to marry her?

A cold, raw fury gripped me. "Get out, Kane," I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage that bordered on madness. "Get out of my life! You disgust me!" I slammed the phone down, my fingers flying to his contact, blocking and deleting his number. But my hands still trembled, the echo of his words ringing in my ears.

I remembered our wedding day, the solemn vows, the promise of forever. "I, Kane, take you, Anastasia, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part." Lies. All lies.

I didn' t sleep at all.

The next morning, the news exploded. Cristy Taylor, the aspiring actress, had publicly announced her engagement. The groom was rumored to be a powerful tech CEO. Kane, of course.

The media, always hungry for scandal, flocked to Kane' s company press conference. I watched from afar, a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. He had allowed this, chosen this public spectacle.

Reporters swarmed him, their questions like daggers. "Mr. Powell, are the rumors true? Are you divorcing your wife, Anastasia Harvey, to marry Cristy Taylor?"

He stood stiffly at the podium, his face carefully composed. "I assure you, there is no truth to these rumors of divorce. The photos circulating are fabricated." He lied through his teeth, his eyes unwavering. Then, a dramatic pause. "However, I can confirm that Cristy Taylor is indeed an artist under my management, and we are planning a wedding. To someone who loves her."

The reporters shouted, a chaotic chorus of questions. "Who is it, Mr. Powell? Who are you marrying?"

He smiled blandly. "That is a private matter."

One brave reporter, sensing the hypocrisy, shouted, "Are you saying you' re in a polygamous marriage, Mr. Powell? You' re marrying Cristy Taylor while still married to Anastasia Harvey?"

Kane' s face darkened, his jaw clenching. "My assistant will handle your accreditation," he growled, a clear threat in his voice. He turned to leave, his patience clearly at an end.

But before he could escape, a reporter' s phone buzzed with an alert. "Mr. Powell! Anastasia Harvey just announced her divorce! On live television!"

Kane froze, his face draining of color. He spun around, his eyes wide with a desperate disbelief. "What are you saying?"

The reporter, a smug look on her face, showed him her phone. The screen displayed a news feed. There I was, calm and elegant, looking directly into the camera. My voice, clear and resonant, filled the air.

"I, Anastasia Harvey, formally announce the dissolution of my marriage to Kane Powell. The divorce decree has been finalized. Here is the official document, and here, my independent household registration." I held up the papers, my eyes sparkling with a freedom he would never understand. "And to all the eligible bachelors out there, know that I am now officially single and very much available for pursuit."