Incompatible

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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20 Years Ago. . .

Kenna sits quietly at the backseat of the car, playing with her tiny fingers as she waits for her mother to appear from the office building her father owns but she had waited for the past thirty-five minutes, her mother had not yet appeared. She knows how well-attached she is to her work.

Just as she's about to let out a deep sigh, a familiar woman with dark brown hair and light blue eyes begin to walk towards the car's direction. Kenna's lips curve up into a smile, eyeing her mother as she enters the car, giving her an apologetic smile.

''I'm sorry, Kenna. Forgive me?'' Her mother says, causing her to nod her head. Even though she's only a six-year-old, she understands?quite?a lot about her parents' busy career. She had heard enough excuses.

In fact, Kenna has a soft-heart, known by their family chauffeur, Jeffrey. She gets attach to someone easily and she forgives them like a speed of lightning as soon as they seek for forgiveness. . . that's why Jeffrey is fond of her.

''Straight to the kindergarten, ma'am?'' Jeffrey asks, looking up at the rear-view mirror as both of his hands are gripping onto the steering wheel.

Jeffrey has worked for the family ever since he got out of high school. He's around the same age as Kenna's father, if not a couple of years older. Even though, they're not too much years apart, Jeffrey has a visible crease near his eyes and in the middle of his forehead, making him look older than he is supposed to look, somehow.

''Yes, Jeffrey.'' Mother replies, applying another layer of red lipstick onto her lips before closing onto the compact mirror, putting it back insider her leather handbag.

Kenna stares at her mother, eyeing the way she sits with full of grace and poise, defining herself as a woman. Her dark brown hair curls nicely down onto her shoulders, making her look?professional?yet casual, at the same time. Even as someone who spends more time at the office than at home, she has never asked for a break nor complain.

''Excited, sweetheart? You'll get to meet new people and make friends, '' She says, turning to look at Kenna and see that she has been playing with the hair-tie in her hand. She would always bring it anywhere she goes as it is known as her?lucky?hair-tie, something not easily achieved.

''What if they hate me? What if I won't make new friends?'' Kenna asks, her voice loud enough to hear yet quite low if her mother was standing further.

Her mother grabs onto her hand, gripping it as a sign of support before smiling down at her. ''Kenna, honey, you are the most wonderful girl in the world. You are smart, beautiful, talented, funny. . . we have to work a little on the funny?part?but you are capable of everything, '' Both Kenna and her mother chuckle, happy that her mother is boosting her confident level for her to make new friends.

The car comes to a stop, Jeffrey turning to look at them with a smile as soon as his eyes landed on her. Then, Kenna and her mother step out of the car as they walk towards the entrance of the kindergarten, hand-in-hand.

''Hi, you must be Mrs. Roosevelt, '' A woman starts to make her way towards them as they stand in the middle. ''I'm Ms. Cooper. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, '' The woman continues to say as Kenna's mother shake hands with her, leaving Kenna stand with a slight smile.

''Likewise, Ms. Cooper.'' Kenna's mother reassure.

The woman known as 'Ms. Cooper' turns to look at Kenna, her brown eyes glint with amusement. ''You must be Kenna, '' She says, crouching down to Kenna's height. ''There are a couple of kids who are also registering today, Kenna. . . why don't you join them at the playground?'' She turns to point her at the playground which can be seen from the inside through the glass window.

Kenna's eyes meet her mother's as she nods, ''Go on, Kenna. Make some friends, '' Her mother says, causing her to walk straight towards the playground after glancing twice at her mother who is currently talking to Ms. Cooper.

As soon as Kenna steps outside at the playground, she is met with a couple of boys playing near the sandbox while another boy is playing alone near the slides. Kenna is left furrowing her brows as she realises that there are only boys here in the playground. . . leaving her head towards the swing, gripping tightly onto the sides as she gets on.

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