Sorry, Ex-Husband, There would be no Ninth MarriageChapter 1

My husband Brandon married me eight times, and divorced me eight times for the woman he truly loved, but there wouldn't be a ninth time today.

“Let’s divorce. Your first love is here.”

I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, right over his keyboard.

Brandon didn’t even blink. He just picked up his pen, signed his name with a lazy flick of his wrist, and tossed the document back to me.

“We’ll get married again once she leaves after a month,” he said, his eyes already back on his screen. “For now, just go on a vacay. Buy yourself something nice.”

It was always like this. Paula was a free spirit who despised the idea of marriage and being tied down. She preferred to travel the world, living completely carefree. But whenever she grew bored or lonely, she would return to the city, and Brandon would immediately clear his life for her—which meant divorcing me.

Then, once her wanderlust kicked in and she abandoned him again, he would summon me back to resume my role as his convenient, legally-bound placeholder.

I didn’t say a word.