I knew exactly what he was referring to. Paula was only in town for a short while, and Brandon intended to parade her around the executive floor as his rightful partner.
The memory of our third divorce flashed in my mind. Back then, I had been foolish enough to think I could fight for my marriage. I had rushed to his office to deliver a crucial document he had left at home, only to find Paula sitting in his CEO chair, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. When I lost my temper and demanded she get away from my husband, Paula had squeezed out a few fake tears.
To protect his precious first love from the judgmental whispers of the senior executives gathering outside the glass walls, Brandon hadn't just told me to leave. He had called security.
As two guards grabbed my arms to drag me out, Brandon had coldly tossed our freshly stamped divorce decree onto the floor at my feet.
“She isn't my wife,” he had announced loudly to the entire floor, ensuring everyone heard him over my sobs. “She’s just an ex who doesn't know when to quit.”