The Divorced Female Billionaire Heiress

Ella"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I ask. Maybe it's the stress that has pushed my body to this point, or I feel uncomfortable, but whatever it is, I just rip his hand away from me. Maybe it's from the cold at the police station or something, but my head is really hurting. "What?" he asks arrogantly.I try to speak up but my throat is scratchy and dry. "I called you multiple times."He furrows his thin brows at me, turning his head to the side. "I was unaware of your calls, Ella. And anyway, I don't have to explain myself to you," he snaps back.I struggle to speak, unable to shake myself of the words he'd spat into the phone while at the hospital: "You should be ashamed of yourself. You're an adult. Act like it."I hold back a little moan at the cool touch of his palm, trying not to lean into it. Despite everything, even though George cheated on me with Charlotte, even after three years of neglect I still love him. It's stupid. It's a bit pathetic how hopeless I

EllaAs I stand in George's office, I reflect on the beginning of our marriage. I remember times when I used to bring in lunches for my husband due to his picky tastes. I've never been a genius in the kitchen, but I learned to cook for him. It's a valuable skill that I am still quite happy to have discovered. I remember dressing modestly and being kind to Mrs. Cates.Honestly, I wanted her to like me back then. But the more I came to the office, the more I watched the woman's demeanor change. She started out smiling at me, and as time went on, she became as distant and uncaring as the man in my life.I scoff to myself as I cross my arms in front of my chest. This woman is no longer someone I'm afraid of. I'm not a maid. I'm not just a housewife. I'm Ella Wickham.No. I'm Ella Reina. That's who I was before this marriage. And that's who I'll be once more."Wait a minute, Ma'am, there's no appointment in the books for you; you can't be here without one."I turn sideways t

EllaI arrive early at the courthouse on the day of our divorce proceedings. Dressed in a business suit, I am prepared to have an air of importance about myself. The time spent with my family has allowed me to feel better and look better. I have better posture and I'm more confident. Heads turn toward me as I walk down the street, my bold outfit and red fingernails attracting attention.As I sit waiting for our lawyers, I notice that the usually punctual George is running late.Fifteen minutes after the hour, George finally shows up looking disgruntled. I find it intriguing to see George out of his element and clearly frustrated. "Ella." He says it like there's punctuation in the air. "George." I return the energy, straightening my shoulders to appear taller and more in control. The truth is, I AM in control here. I'm the one who finally took the plunge. I'm the one who made my feelings, emotions, pain, all of it visible."George and Ella?" a voice calls into the lobby. We

GeorgeMy office is quiet, the video having been silenced, leaving me to my thoughts about everything that has just happened in those few short minutes. I am in disbelief, trying to comprehend everything I have just heard and seen. The video has ended, but various links pop up to other articles about the staged crash, the views climbing as more and more people comment on it. Charlotte's fans are either viciously defending her or slamming her across social media platforms, made all the worse by the comments Charlotte has made in defense of Ella. I'd been surprised that despite everything and how poorly the two had gotten along that she still wanted to defend Ella's actions, going so far as to ask the judge to give her a lighter sentencing–though, I suppose now it makes more sense. It had all been an attempt to make herself look better in the public eye by forgiving and pitying the person who supposedly hurt her. It would've been a good publicity stunt if it hadn't blown up in h

GeorgeI don't want to be in a loud, obnoxious club that is uselessly pretentious but here I am in said club. In L'ambroisie, to be precise. For as upscale as it is, it's still a club with too loud music and people dancing just to look for a good time later in the evening. I honestly never saw the point of these places, but my sister dragged me here, insisting I was moping when I should be celebrating finally getting divorced. So, there I am in a booth, nursing a few fingers of bourbon in a useless bid to cater to Jessica. For as much as I love my sister, she can be... pretentious. I suppose the club fits her perfectly then. She never liked the fact that I had married Ella and made that point very clear whenever we were together. As soon as she heard I was divorced she begged to take me out to celebrate, and as much as I didn't want to go, I knew that the fallout with Charlotte and Ella's subsequent disappearance had consumed me. It's good for me to get away from the offic