Divorce me I'm done serving you (Ayla) novel Chapter 1

Since the day Ayla Keaton married Troy Winston, she never once thought about divorce. But then, his first love came back.

Ayla was in the hospital when the doctor spoke to her in a flat voice.

"Ms. Keaton, this miscarriage caused serious damage. Your chances of having children again are very low. You need to mentally prepare yourself."

Her mind buzzed.

She had worked for three years to get pregnant. Finally, two months ago, she had succeeded.

And now, this afternoon, a car had darted out of nowhere, knocking her down.

The doctor frowned. "Ms. Keaton?"

"Alright, I understand. Thank you, Doctor."

Ayla didn't like showing weakness in front of others.

She blinked quickly, forcing back her tears, then stood up and walked out.

Behind her, she caught the whispers of two nurses.

"Something this serious happened to her, and her husband never showed up?"

"Don't even mention it. Right after her procedure, she cried so hard she almost passed out and begged him to come. He never showed."

"Oh my gosh. If that isn't a sign he doesn't love her, then what is? If this doesn't and in divorce I'll be shocked." Ayla walked farther away and missed the rest of their conversation.

The truth was, not only did Troy refuse to come, but he had also snapped at her over the phone. "The baby's gone, so what? Stop crying about it. I'm busy. Stop bothering me."

After that, every call she made went unanswered.

For three years, Troy had always treated her this way-cold and distant.

The truth was she had grown used to it.

The marriage had only happened because three years ago Ayla had accidentally saved Troy's grandfather, Martin Winston's life. Martin liked her and pushed for the match. Without him, she would have never married Troy.

From the start, Troy never wanted her.

Still, today she kept calling him, hoping he might care for the sake of their unborn child.

Clearly, she had hoped for too much.

Shaking off the thought, Ayla pulled out her phone to call a cab. Just then, a message popped up.

It was from Max Bennett, Troy's best friend. He had sent her a video.

She clicked on it.

The first shot was of an enormous bouquet of roses-at least 999 of them. There were so many flowers, the frame couldn't hold them all. 

Then the camera shifted left. Troy appeared, standing beside a woman.

Skyla Summer.

X

Ayla's pupils tightened. Her fingers gripped hard around her phone.

In the video, voices rose with excitement. "Skyla, Troy knew you were coming back to the country today. He's been planning this welcome party for weeks! He really went all out.

"Come on, give him a hug to thank him!"

"A hug? Please, just kiss already. It's not like you two haven't done it before. I still have that video of your three-minute intense kiss."

Skyla shook her head with a smile. "Not anymore; it's not appropriate."

Before she could finish, Troy pulled her into his arms.

"Skyla, welcome back."

He held her so naturally, so gently, it made the whole crowd scream.

The crowd screamed and cheered. "See? He doesn't care one bit!"

"Kiss! Kiss!"

The video ended there-cut off.

Because it had been recalled.

A second later, a new message appeared. "Sorry, I sent that by mistake."

It was recalled so quickly. Max probably thought Ayla hadn't seen it. He never explained further.

Ayla stared at the chat window for a long time.

Then she laughed bitterly.

So this was the "important thing" Troy had been talking about.

She had spent three years trying to warm his cold heart, but instead of waiting for him to love her back, his first

love had returned to the country.

Troy's heart would never belong to her.

It was time to wake up from this greedy dream.

When Ayla got home, she started to pack her suitcase.

Over the years, her life had been simple-work, routine, nothing fancy. She rarely bought anything for herself. Other than clothes and important documents, there wasn't much to take. A single 26-inch suitcase was enough.

In less than 30 minutes, everything was ready.

Then she waited for Troy to come home.

It was two in the morning when the front door was pushed open.

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