Too Late, Mr. Player: Watch Me Shine

Grace POV:

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the New York Titans away jersey. A bright red lipstick stain smeared the collar, and the cheap scent of vanilla crawled up my nose, making my stomach churn-the last sliver of self-deception left in my eight-year relationship and four-year secret marriage to Keon Castillo, shattered just like that.

Inside the bathroom, Keon hummed a tune over the running shower. My breathing grew heavy. I dropped the jersey into the trash can, pulled out my phone, and with trembling hands, photographed the jersey as evidence.

I took a deep breath to force down the bile rising in my throat, walked out of the master bedroom into the study, and unlocked the bottom drawer of the safe to pull out the Special Marital Property Notarization Agreement.

I still remembered when we had first gotten together-how tenderly Keon had handed me this agreement, promising we would be together for the rest of our lives. Back then, I had truly believed this document would never, ever be needed.

By now, all of that was probably nothing more than my own pitiful fantasy.

I bit my lip and opened the agreement. On the surface, it was nothing but a routine asset audit required by the NHL. But buried on page seven was a brutal morality clause: if Keon ever cheated, he would walk away with nothing and owe me a one-point-five-billion-dollar payout.

The bathroom door swung open, releasing a cloud of steam as I walked back into the hallway. Keon stepped out with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his cropped black hair, the black diamond stud in his left ear catching the light.

He strode toward me and reached out to hook his arm around my waist-just like he always did after a road trip. I stepped to the side, dodging his touch, and pressed the folder against his damp chest.

His brows drew together, irritation flashing across his face at my evasion.

"Babe, I just played back-to-back road games. I'm exhausted. Can we not do the attitude tonight?"

My eyes lingered on the fresh red mark on the side of his neck, and I pressed my lips together before speaking in my usual soft, accommodating tone.

"It's the asset disclosure form the team's PR department asked for. It's due tomorrow morning. I just need your signature."

I uncapped a fountain pen and held it out, keeping my gaze fixed on his wrist. He took the pen but didn't sign right away, flipping through the first few pages with a suspicious frown as he scanned the dense legal jargon.

I picked up a glass of warm water from the side table and handed it to him, keeping my voice steady.

"It's just a formality. Nathan said your new endorsement deals need this on file to clear tax compliance."

At the mention of his PR assistant Nathan, the doubt in his eyes vanished. He scrawled his flashy signature across the bottom of the last page and tossed the folder back onto the table.

Looking at the wet ink of his name, the last ember of warmth in my chest turned to ash. I closed the folder and tucked it under my arm.

He yawned, turned toward the hallway, and spoke without looking back.

"I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight. I have an early golf game with investors tomorrow. Don't wake me."

I watched the guest room door click shut and let out a quiet scoff. Investors? More like Adrianna Sharpe, the spoiled heiress of the Sharpe conglomerate.

Once I was sure his door was locked, I walked out onto the balcony and dialed my mother-in-law Enid Gonzales's private number.

The line connected, and Enid's condescending voice came through the speaker.

"Grace, I hope you're calling at this hour for an actual emergency, and not to whine about Keon staying out late again."

The freezing Manhattan wind bit into my cheeks, leaving my voice completely flat.

"He signed it. One point five billion in cash and equity. I want every cent."

Dead silence hung on the other end for three seconds before Enid let out a sharp laugh.

"One point five billion? For a woman from the slums, your appetite is disgusting."

I gripped the cold iron railing.

"That money buys your son's reputation across the league and keeps him from being ruined by a morality clause lawsuit. It's a bargain for the Castillo family."

Enid's breathing grew ragged.

"Take the money and get out of the hockey world for good! Don't you dare use this secret marriage to leech off Keon again!"

I ended the call, walked back inside to toss my phone onto the sofa, and headed straight into the walk-in closet, dragging out a massive black suitcase.

I unlocked the custom jewelry cabinet Keon had built for me and swept the diamond necklaces and luxury watches-every single piece a guilt gift after his late nights-into dust bags.

I was no holier-than-thou heroine from a novel. Every single thing in here was what I, the betrayed one, was owed.

Staring at the half-empty velvet drawers, I texted a high-end consignment broker I knew and scheduled a pickup for seven tomorrow morning.

I sank onto the cold hardwood floor, looking out at the Manhattan skyline through the closet window. My phone screen suddenly lit up on the rug beside me, displaying a multimedia message from an unknown number: a photo of Keon tangled in a passionate kiss with a blonde woman inside a red sports car.