Wrecking Mr Wrong

Nora's POV

"Who the hell are you?" I screamed angrily.

The blonde haired woman blinked confused like an idiot. Her mascara smudged under her eyes, as if I were the one who barged into her life. She was barefoot. Wearing his shirt. My husband’s shirt. And the smell of his cologne was still in the air.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably.

I had flown halfway across the world to find Jeremiah my husband, and save our marriage. But all I found was this woman in his hotel room.

She tilted her head, confused. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I could have laughed. I really could have. If my heart wasn’t already burning inside my chest.

"I'm his wife," I said, voice low. “Who the fuck are you!?”

She didn't answer. The stupid blonde bitch couldn't answer.

---

TWELVE HOURS EARLIER.

"Miss Gilbert?"

I lifted my sunglasses, squinting at the man standing before me. The sunlight was too bright, and for a second, I thought I misheard him. Miss Gilbert? Why the hell was he calling me that? The last time I checked, I had been married for over four years.

"You mean Mrs. Gold," I corrected coolly.

"No, I mean Miss Gilbert," He insisted, as he handed me a brown envelope. I eyed him warily. He was sharply dressed in a black suit, his face unreadable. I knew him, though - he was my husband's lawyer, Mr. Flint.

"Jeremiah isn't home," I said, sliding my sunglasses back into place and reaching for my mamosa. The chilled glass was sweating against the heat. "Whatever business you have with him can wait until he returns. I don't get involved in his business."

I took a long sip, savoring the bubbles, trying to maintain my calm. I was sunbathing at the back of the estate, soaking up the warm afternoon sun beside the Olympic-sized pool. My robe lay tossed on the chair beside me, and a soft breeze whispered through the palm trees. The last thing I needed was some annoying lawyer killing my vibe.

But Mr. Flint cleared his throat, "I'm actually here for you." He replied making my frown deepen.

Once again, he tried handing me the brown envelope. With an annoyed sigh, I took it from him.

"What's this?" I asked, without opening it.

"Divorce papers," Mr. Flint stated simply.

"Divorce papers?" I nearly choked on my mamosa.

There was a long, awkward pause before I burst into laughter. I laughed and laughed, my entire body shaking with amusement.

Divorce papers? Seriously so hilarious.

Mr. Flint stood quietly, waiting for me to finish laughing.

"Oh, my God, I'm sorry," I said, wiping the tears that had escaped from my eyes. "I thought you said divorce papers."

Mr. Flint's expression remained calm. "That's what I said, Miss Gilbert. Those are indeed divorce papers."

The amusement on my face vanished in an instant. I tore open the envelope, taking out the papers and scanning through it. "What the hell is this?" I demanded.

Mr. Flint's response was infuriatingly calm. "Divorce papers."

Finally, he had my full attention. My eyes scanned the papers, my mind racing. This had to be some kind of joke. Jeremiah would never... Was what I was thinking before I realized it had already been signed. Signed!!!

I opened my mouth to question the authenticity of it, but I knew Jeremiah's signature, and I was sure as hell that that was it.

I shot to my feet so quickly that my drink spilled over. My hands were shaking, knuckles white as I gripped the papers tighter.

The Jeremiah I know would never do this.

I grabbed my phone from the table and quickly dialed his number, pacing the edge of the pool as the call rang. My chest was tight, my breath uneven. He picked up on the third ring.

"Nora," he said. His voice was cold. Distant. He sounded annoyed.

"What the hell is this, Jeremiah?" I snapped, gripping the papers so hard they crumpled. "Tell me this is a joke."

"I'm guessing Mr. Flint has arrived." He began calmly. "Just sign the papers, love," he said smoothly. "It’ll be easier for both of us."

My stomach twisted.

His voice—it wasn’t right. He didn’t sound like my Jeremiah.

"What the actual fuck!? Are you out of your mind?" My voice rose. "You can’t just—just throw me away like this! We’re married, Jeremiah! We love each other!"

He sighed like he was bored. "Loved each other, Nora. Past tense. We’re over. This is what’s best. So we can both stop wasting our time."

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat hammering against my ribs. Wasting our time? Was that what our marriage meant to him? A waste of time?

"Please," I whispered, my throat tight. "Just come home. We can talk. Let's talk, I'm certain you're not in the proper headspace right now. Don't do this—"

"I’ll make sure you’re taken care of," he cut me off. "You’ll get a generous settlement."

My mouth went dry. Who the hell is this? Because he is certainly not my husband. He's talking to me like I was a problem he needed to pay off.

Like I was a nobody.

Tears burned my eyes. "Jeremiah, please—"

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, my fingers trembling. My husband had just hung up on me. My best friend had just acted like I meant nothing to him.

A sob threatened to break free, but I swallowed it down.

"Miss. Bennett," Mr. Flint said carefully. "I know this is difficult, but it’s best if you just sign them."

My jaws clenched at his words.

I grabbed the papers and threw them at him. "Get the hell out of my house!!"

He flinched, but without another word, he bent down, gathered the papers, and left.

Jeremiah was in Sweden for a work trip. That meant I had time. Time to fix this.

Because this wasn’t him.

The Jeremiah I knew would never do something like this.

He would never willingly break my heart.

This wasn’t my Jeremiah.

And I was going to find out what was really going on.

---

The next hour, I was on the first flight to Sweden.

By the time I arrived at his hotel, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely think. I stormed down the hallway, my hands clenched into fists.

I would make him explain.

I would make him look me in the eyes and tell me why he was doing this.

I reached his room, lifted my hand, and pounded on the door.

It swung open.

And there, standing in his shirt, her blonde hair messy, lips swollen...

Was another woman.

My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Who the hell was this woman and why was she in my husband’s hotel room…

Wearing his freaking shirt!?