“My ex-husband, Reese Beaumont, sent me divorce papers on our anniversary, five years after I walked down the aisle to join him. I signed them with a red lipstick and sent them back to him, with a short note which read: "I am not going to give you the liberty of thinking you still own me." Now, one year later, he is standing in my office, the smug look in his eyes gone, and for some reason, still wearing our wedding ring. "You're still mine, Roxanne. You didn't sign the divorce papers, and you seem to forget that you're nothing without me." A soft chuckle escape my lips, right as my fake fiancé walks in, holding our one-year-old son. The son Reese never knew I was pregnant with. "Funny," I mutter. "Because I don't remember you being in control of the game." Now, he's everywhere, showing up at my gallery and outbidding my fake fiancé at my auctions. Telling the media we are on the road to reconciliation. But I am not the same woman who cried for him one year ago. I am the woman he never expected to walk out the door. And the one he'll always regret letting go.”