Out Of Your League, Dear Ex-Husband

Carleen Johnson POV:

I sat stiffly on an overturned mop bucket, my knees pressed tightly together.

The utility closet inside the awards banquet hall was filled with the sharp smell of bleach and damp mildew. The cramped space made it hard to breathe, each breath coming short and uneven.

On the small TV mounted to the wall, the loud music from the NHL Awards ceremony played on, a cruel contrast to the silence surrounding me.

My mother-in-law, Cynthia Tillman, had openly looked down on my middle-class background since the day I secretly married her son. An hour ago, she had dragged me into this utility closet, her blood-red manicured nails digging into my arm. "Carleen, your appearance isn't suitable for the cameras today," she said coldly, her voice full of disdain. "Stay here. Don't embarrass your husband."

My fingers tightened around the hard-shell portfolio in my lap until my knuckles turned white. It was my third-anniversary gift for Armani, the man I had built my entire life around.

Inside were the complete storyboards for my new graphic novel, The Enforcer's Apprentice. It was meant to be a surprise, somethng only for him.

I pressed the portfolio against my ribs, trying to soothe the hollow ache in my chest. I didn't even have the chance to give it to him.

Before shutting the door, Kylie, my sister-in-law-a spoiled girl who treated me like her personal maid-tossed a plastic bottle of water through the crack. It rolled to a stop near my feet like an offering to a stray dog.

"Don't make a sound, and don't even think about coming out." Her voice was just as cold as her mother's.

On the screen, the host's voice boomed, amplified and electric. "Armani Tillman!" he shouted, announcing my husband as this season's MVP.

The flashbulbs erupted, a blinding storm of white light. I saw my husband, Armani, in a painfully expensive custom suit, looking as handsome as a god as he walked onto the stage.

My heart hammered against my ribs . Three years of a secret marriage, of giving up my career to cook his meals and manage his family's every whim, all for this moment. To see him at the pinnacle of his world.

I forced myself to ignore the radiant actress, Sloane Richmond, sitting at his table. The media called her his "official girlfriend." It's just a PR strategy, I told myself for the thousandth time, digging my nails into my palms.

Armani began his acceptance speech. He thanked his coach, his teammates, his family. His gaze swept over Cynthia and Kylie in the audience, a perfect, grateful smile plastered on his face.

I held my breath, waiting. For a hint, a signal, something only we would understand.

Nothing. His eyes never once darted toward the shadows.

His speech ended. The applause was thunderous. He never once glanced in the direction of my confinement.

I let out a shaky exhale, my shoulders slumping as the last spark of hope died out.

I don't know how much time passed before the lock on the closet door clicked open. Armani stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. I couldn't see his expression.

I stood up, my legs stiff and trembling, ready to hand him the portfolio, to say, "Congratulations, my love."

He spoke first, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Carleen, let's get a divorce."

The portfolio slipped from my numb grasp. It hit the concrete floor with a sharp crack, spilling my drawings everywhere.

My mind was a blank slate of white noise. All I could hear was the frantic pounding in my ears, and then his voice again, a blade dipped in poison, sinking precisely into my heart.

"I've had enough of this boring act for three years. Look at you. What can you do besides cook and clean?" He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a disgust so profound it stole the air from my lungs.

"You don't deserve me, Carleen. An MVP's wife shouldn't be someone like you.

I started to tremble, a violent shudder racking my frame. It was a chill seeping out from my core, freezing my veins.

"Divorce?" I finally found my voice. It came out raw and broken. "Today... is our wedding anniversary."

Armani paused for a moment before letting out a short, cold laugh.

"Anniversary? I forgot." His lips curled slightly. "How fitting. Consider this my final gift to you."

I stared at him. The man I had loved for three years. The man I had given up everything for. His face, once so familiar, suddenly looked like a stranger's.

Perhaps he noticed my silence, because his expression softened. He slipped into that same gentle tone he always used whenever he wanted me to give in. "Listen, Carleen. My career is at a critical point right now. I can't afford any imperfections in my public image."

He paused, watching my reaction before continuing. "We can have a fake divorce."

I froze. "A fake divorce?" I repeated.

"Yes." He looked at me as if he had just offered the most reasonable solution in the world. "We'll sign the papers, but we won't really separate. There won't be any announcement. No one needs to know."

His voice became softer, almost comforting. "To the outside world, I'll still be the successful, single star everyone expects me to be. But privately, nothing between us has to change. You'll still be my wife."

A fake divorce. That was what he called it. A way to erase me from his public life while keeping me in his private one. The irony was almost unbearable

He actually thought that after choosing his career over our marriage, after asking me to give up the title of his wife just to make his image cleaner, I would still believe he loved me.

He reached out, his fingers moving toward my cheek. I stepped back immediately, avoiding his touch.

"'Nothing has to change'?" I whispered. "Armani, you want the world to think you're single, but you still expect me to stay by your side like a wife when no one is watching?"

His expression darkened.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Carleen." His patience began to disappear. "This is the best solution for both of us. Sign the agreement, and I'll compensate you. I'll give you enough money to live comfortably."

My eyes fell to the scattered drawings on the floor. The storyboards I had spent countless sleepless nights creating for him were now being crushed beneath his expensive shoes.

A single tear slipped down before I could stop it, landing on the page and blurring the ink. Slowly, I knelt down and picked up my drawings one by one.

When I stood again, I looked directly into Armani's eyes. My voice was calm and steady. "Fine. I agree to the divorce."

A satisfied smile spread across his face, the expression of a man who believed he had won.

But my next words wiped it away. "Not a fake divorce."

His smile froze.

"A real divorce." I held his gaze. "And Armani Tillman..."

I tightened my grip on the portfolio in my hands. "Since we're ending this marriage, we'll settle everything properly. We'll divide our assets according to the law."

I looked him straight in the eyes.

"Don't worry, Armani. I won't take a penny more than what I'm entitled to."A pause."Half of your net worth."

Carleen Johnson POV:

Armani's smile vanished. Disbelief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by anger. "What did you say? Half my net worth? Carleen, are you insane?"

I stared at him, my voice colder than the concrete floor beneath my feet. I clutched the portfolio tightly against my chest, my knuckles turning white. "I'm not insane. I'm just awake."

He stepped forward abruptly, reaching for my arm, as if he could force me to retreat through intimidation. "Who do you think you are?" His voice lowered into a threatening whisper. "Without me, you're nothing. Every penny you've ever spent belongs to me!"

I dodged his hand, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Is that so? Then we'll see each other in court. Let's find out what a judge has to say about our marital assets."

The word "court" made him freeze for a moment. For someone like Armani, whose reputation was built on public image and business credibility, a messy divorce scandal could cost him far more than money.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control. The hostility on his face faded, replaced by his usual calculated calm. "Carleen, let's not fight, okay? I know you're angry. Let's go home first. We can talk about this there."

I didn't answer.

That night, he didn't dare push the matter any further. Instead, he sent me to a hotel, trying to keep the situation from escalating while he figured out his next move.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains.

For a few seconds, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, unable to remember where I was. Then the coldness of the room brought everything back.

I sat up slowly and looked around at the strange hotel room. The expensive but unfamiliar decorations felt strangely empty, just like the marriage I had spent years trying to hold together.

I walked to the window.

Outside, Chicago was already awake. Cars flowed through the streets, skyscrapers reflected the morning light, and the city continued moving as if nothing had happened.

My phone showed dozens of missed calls from my best friend, Kimber - the fiercely loyal, outspoken girl who was the closest thing to family I had left in this city.

The doorbell rang.

I opened it to find Armani's lawyer, a man in a suit as slick as his smile. He handed me a folder. "Ms. Johnson. This is the divorce agreement Mr. Tillman has prepared."

I took the cold document and shut the door in his face.

The terms were brutal in their simplicity: I would waive all rights to marital property in exchange for a one-time payment of one hundred thousand dollars.A "severance package."

The last page contained a non-disclosure clause. I was to remain silent about our marriage and, especially, his "public relationship" with Sloane Richmond.

A wave of anger surged through me, my hands shaking as the papers rattled. I slammed the documents onto the desk. This wasn't just an insult. It was his way of saying that three years of my life, of our marriage, were worth nothing.

Just then, my personal cell phone, the one with a number only a handful of people knew, buzzed. The caller ID showed a Los Angeles area code.

I hesitated, then answered. "Hello, is this Westwind?" a vibrant male voice asked.

My heart skipped a beat. Westwind. It was my pen name, the name of the gothic comic artist with millions of online followers.

"My name is Harvey Slate," the man continued. "I'm a producer in Hollywood. I am a massive, massive fan of The Enforcer's Apprentice, and we'd love to talk to you about the film and television rights!"

Harvey Slate. Of course I knew him. He was one of the hottest producers in the industry.

A wave of overwhelming disbelief and joy washed over me. The career I thought I had sacrificed for my marriage was calling me back, more powerfully than I ever imagined.

But the excitement faded quickly. I knew I couldn't reveal who I really was. Not yet. The name Westwind had protected me for years, hiding me from the world. Now, it was the only advantage I had left.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number," I said, my voice as steady as I could make it, and hung up.

I immediately powered down the phone and pulled out the SIM card.

My body felt weak, as if I'd just run a marathon.

My eyes fell back on the humiliating divorce agreement on the desk.

I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open. Armani's lawyer was still waiting in the hall, as instructed.

In front of him, I grasped the thick stack of papers and ripped the agreement in half. The sound of tearing paper was loud in the quiet hallway.

He stared at me, his mouth agape.

I dropped the two halves at his feet. "Go back and tell your boss," I said, my voice low and even, "that my terms will be delivered to him by my lawyer."

Without another glance at his shocked face, I slammed the door.

Leaning against the wood, I felt a surge of power for the first time.

I grabbed my other phone and dialed Kimber's number. "Kimber, I need you," I said, my voice trembling.

Her anxious voice was immediate. "Carleen! You finally answered! Are you okay?"

I laughed, a real laugh for the first time in twenty-four hours. "I'm not okay. But I'm going to be."

I looked out the window. The sun was bright, but it no longer made me feel alone.

"I'm getting a divorce, Kimber. And I'm taking back everything that belongs to me."

Carleen Johnson POV:

Kimber's voice on the other end of the line was a warm current in the cold ocean I was drowning in. She was my rock, always there when I needed her most.

After hanging up, I moved quickly. I packed my few personal belongings-the portfolio, my two phones. I didn't touch the designer clothes or handbags Armani had bought for me. They weren't mine.

I took a cab back to the Gold Coast townhome that had been my home, and my gilded cage, for three years.

I didn't use the front door. I used the back entrance, with a code only I knew. I wanted to avoid any confrontation with the Tillmans until I had what was mine.

The house was silent. Cynthia and Kylie were probably out celebrating their victory.

I went straight to the second floor, to my bedroom. To our bedroom. The lingering scent of Armani's cologne made my stomach turn.

In the walk-in closet, I ignored the rows of clothes he had picked out for me, the uniform of "Mrs. Tillman." My eyes landed on a suitcase tucked away in the back.

Inside were my own clothes. The jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies from before. They represented the free Carleen I had forgotten.

I quickly packed them, along with the only thing my mother had left me-a thick, leather-bound diary.

As I was about to leave, my cat, Smoky, a beautiful Russian Blue who had been my only quiet companion in this massive house, padded over and rubbed his head against my ankle.

I knelt and hugged him, my eyes burning. Smoky was my family. I couldn't leave him in this cold house. I found his carrier and coaxed him inside.

Just as I was carrying the suitcase and the cat carrier downstairs, I heard a key in the front door. Cynthia and Kylie were back.

"What are you doing here?" Kylie's shrill voice cut through the silence. She saw the luggage in my hand, her face twisting into a sneer. "What, my brother dumps you and now you're trying to steal things?"

I ignored her and walked toward the door.

Cynthia blocked my path, her arms crossed. "Carleen, Armani told me everything. You should know your place. Take the money and leave quietly."

I stopped and looked at the woman I had called "Mom" for three years. "Mrs. Tillman," I said calmly, "I think you're mistaken. First, I'm not 'leaving,' I'm 'moving out.' Second, I won't be taking a single penny of his 'severance' money."

I paused, letting them absorb my words. "Because this house, and half of Armani Tillman's assets, belong to me as well. My lawyer will be in contact."

Kylie shrieked. "You're crazy! On what grounds?""On the grounds that I am his legal wife of three years," I said, each word a deliberate stone. I pushed past Cynthia and walked out the door without looking back.

Their curses were cut off as I closed the door behind me. I stood under the Chicago sun and took a deep breath of free air.

The car I had called was waiting. I put Smoky and my suitcase in the back and got in.

I sent Kimber a text: "I'm out."

My phone buzzed almost instantly. It was a call from Fiona Reynolds' law firm. The best divorce attorney in Chicago, recommended by Kimber.

I answered. A crisp, confident voice said, "Ms. Johnson, this is Fiona Reynolds. I've received your information. I'm ready to start whenever you are."

We scheduled a meeting for the next day. Hanging up, the future felt clear for the first time.

The car pulled up to an old apartment building near Wicker Park, where Kimber lived.

Kimber was already running down the stairs. She threw her arms around me in a huge hug and helped me with my bags.

"Welcome home, Carleen," she said, her eyes red but her smile wide.

Her apartment was small, even a little cramped, but it was filled with the warmth of a real home. Band posters on the walls, the smell of coffee in the air.

I let Smoky out of his carrier, and he began to curiously explore his new territory.

Kimber handed me a mug of hot water and sat across from me, her expression serious. "Now, tell me everything."

I looked into her concerned eyes and told her everything that had happened. Armani's humiliation, the divorce, all of it.

Kimber's face grew dark with rage. She slammed her fist on the sofa. "That bastard! And his whole family of leeches!"

After her anger subsided, she took my hand. "But you did the right thing, Carleen. We don't want anything from them. But we're not leaving a single thing that's ours behind."