Loving You Was A Mistake

PROLOGUE: (Six Months Later)

"I don't love you."

Jimmy said it twice. The first time, I pretended not to hear him but the second time, the words reverberated and hit me so hard like a punch to the guts.

I sat on our cream leather sofa, the one that cost more than most people's cars, staring at our wedding photo on the canvas. We looked so happy in that frame. Young, Stupid but happy.

"Say something," Jimmy said.

I looked at him with bloodshot eyes. When had his eyes become so cold?

"What do you want me to say?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"I don't know. Scream. Cry. Throw something." He loosened his tie. "Just... react."

But I was done reacting. Done performing. Done pretending I didn't know how we'd gotten here. Of course, this1 wasn't where the story began.

It began six months earlier, on an ordinary Tuesday, when I still believed my marriage could be saved.

******

I woke to the sunlight streaming through the ceiling windows and an empty half made bed.

Jimmy's side was cold. He had either left hours ago or never came home at all. I couldn't really recall which it was and that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

The alarm on my phone buzzed. 6:47 AM. Jaden's school pickup was at 3:30. Eight hours to fill with nothing. This has become my routine over the last few years.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom–correction, his bedroom since I'd started sleeping in the guest room three weeks ago. Neither wanted to acknowledge it. We were experts at acting like everything was alright and avoiding matters.

My phone lit up. Marcus. My brother had been calling all morning.

I let it go to voicemail.

Whatever situation he had managed to get himself into today could wait. I had my own problems.

I forced myself out of bed and caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back looked expensive but empty. Like a designer mannequin someone had forgotten to dress.

When did I become this person?

I used to be Sandra Morrison, my father's daughter, heir to Morrison Properties, the second largest conglomerate in the state. I used to walk into boardrooms and make million-dollar decisions before lunch. I used to matter.

Now I was just Mrs. James Banks III. Billionaire's wife, a professional accessory, a housewife.

And the worst part? I'd chosen this.

Seven years ago, I had owned everything Jimmy has now.

Morrison Properties wasn't just my father's legacy, it was mine. Daddy had been grooming me to take over since I was sixteen. I'd spent my college summers learning acquisitions, spent my twenties closing deals, spent every waking moment of my life proving I could run the company better than anyone else. I truly did live up to my father's expectations of me.

Then I reconnected with my first love in college at a fundraiser– Jimmy.

Harvard MBA. Venture capital dreams. Empty pockets but his eyes were full of ambition.

I never gave love a chance but if I was going to, I wanted it to be him and so I thought the stars were aligning in my favour when we began to fall in love, maybe a little too fast.

One year later, he proposed to me. My parents were completely in disagreement.

"He's using you," my mother had said, voice shaking. "Can't you see that?"

"He loves me," I'd insisted.

"He loves your portfolio."

But I never listened. I married him anyway, in a ceremony my parents refused to attend except my brother.

On his thirtieth birthday, the same year Daddy died of a heart attack and left me everything, I went on to make the greatest mistake of my life, I did the unforgivable.

I signed Morrison Properties and conglomerate over to Jimmy.

Every damn thing. The company, the assets, the legacy my father had built from nothing. I had wrapped it in a bow and handed it to the man I loved, believing we were building something together.

"Happy birthday, baby. Let's make this ours."

He'd cried when I gave him the papers. Called me his queen. Promised we'd run it together as equals partners.

But that lasted exactly eight months.

Then he renamed it Banks Enterprises, restructured the board, and slowly, so slowly I almost didn't notice, pushed me out of every decision, every meeting, every conversation that mattered.

Within two years, I wasn't even copied on emails.

"You should focus on Jaden," Jimmy had said when I protested. "He needs his mother."

But what he was truly saying that I could never decipher because I was still blinded by love and loyalty was that I have served your purpose.

Now the company was worth eight hundred million dollars. And legally, I didn't own a single share.

I'd signed it all away.

I couldn't stay in this house another second.

I grabbed my keys and purse and headed downstairs. The kitchen was spotless-Maria, our housekeeper, had already made sure to go through everything. Coffee in the French press, fresh fruit arranged on the counter like a still life painting.

I poured coffee I wouldn't drink and stared out at the pool.

My phone buzzed. Marcus again.

I answered this time. "What?"

"Jesus, Sandra, finally." His voice was ragged. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm busy."

"Busy doing what? Sitting in that massive mansion pretending everything's fine?"

I flinched. "Don't."

"Someone has to say it. You're disappearing, and everyone's just letting it happen."

"I'm hanging up."

"Jimmy's cheating on you."

The words landed like a slap and for a moment my head felt like it was spinning.