The Verdict on My Husband the Judge: GUILTY novel Chapter 62

Chapter 3

Kieran and I gave each other the silent treatment for almost a month after that.

Eventually, his mom caught wind of our domestic cold war and orchestrated a birthday dinner to play marriage

counselor.

Before Kieran showed up, she cornered me in the living room for what was clearly going to be a heart–to–heart.

“Aurora, you and Kieran have been through hell and back together since day one.”

“I know he’s been treating you like furniture while he builds his empire, and I know that’s killing you inside. But I also need you to understand that Kieran has always been emotionally constipated. When he screws up, he has no idea how to dig himself out of the hole. But he does love you.

Kieran’s mom was unicorn rare among mother–in–laws–she actually had boundaries.

In seven years of marriage, she’d never once meddled in our relationship or made demands.

She’d always maintained that marriage was between two people, and family members should mind their own

business.

And she actually lived by that philosophy.

For her to break her own rule and play peacemaker, Kieran must have been absolutely desperate.

Her concern felt genuine, so I decided to lay it all out:

“But Mom, I didn’t get married to be a CEO’s wife. I wanted a real partner. Someone to burn dinner with, to binge terrible Netflix shows together, to wander around Target for no reason, to share all the boring, beautiful moments that actually make up a life.”

“But now? I eat alone. When I’m sick, I’m alone. When I’m in the hospital, I’m alone.”

“When something amazing happens and I want to celebrate he’s in a meeting. When everything falls apart and I need someone to hold me, he’s on a business trip. What’s the point of a marriage like that?”

I’d been asking myself this question for months. What was the actual point?

Everyone around me kept insisting I should cling to Kieran because he was this rising star with an even brighter future, and I’d ride his coattails to the top.

My future kids would want for nothing.

But I asked them, “So when he eventually cheats on me, should I just sinile and pretend not to notice?”

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They all went quiet. After an uncomfortable pause, someone mumbled, “Marriage becomes more like family anyway.”

But they forgot that I had my own thriving career. I didn’t need to social–climb by attaching myself to his success.

All I’d wanted from the beginning was an actual partnership.

Now I knew he was fundamentally incapable of giving me that.

And I wasn’t about to comfort myself with “marriage becomes family” bullshit while my husband was falling for someone else.

When you stop loving someone, you stop loving them. Why wrap it up in pretty lies?

Kieran’s mom was quiet for a long moment, then patted my hand gently. “I’m so sorry you’ve been going through

this alone, sweetheart.”

Those words almost shattered me completely. Yes, I was heartbroken–for the woman I used to be, for the dreams I given up, for the life I’d let slip away.

Why had I allowed my world to shrink down to this?

The family dinner was scheduled for 6:30, but Kieran’s chronic lateness turned it into an indefinite waiting game.

At 8:00, his dad finally lost patience: “We’re not waiting anymore. Let’s eat.”

The housekeeper had to reheat everything. “Good come to those who wait, right?”

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At 8:30, Kieran finally graced us with his

pres.

He had the audacity to sound apologetic: “Sorry everyone, emergency client call.”

I smiled with maximum venom: “See, Mom and Dad? We’ll always come second to everything else.”

Kieran always had emergencies, so family dinners were never on time–not even for my birthday.

He approached with a designer gift bag like some kind of peace offering. “Babe, I’m really sorry about the timing. Happy birthday.”

“Look, these finally came in today–those designer heels you’ve been obsessing over.”

I’d mentioned loving those shoes once, maybe six months ago, and every time Kieran traveled, I’d half jokingly asked him to grab me a pair.

He never remembered.

With his parents watching this performance, I had to accept the gift box and paste on a fake smile.

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The packaging was gorgeous, with an elegant handwritten card on top:

“Dear Mila, May you be happy every day.”

I stared at it for a beat, then looked up at him with pure malice. “Who the hell is Mila?”

I shoved the card back at his chest. “Make sure your Mila gets her love note.”

Then I walked out of that living room like I was walking off a stage.

From the hallway, I could hear his parents quietly ripping him apart.

“Kieran, work will never end. You need to prioritize Aurora before you lose her.”

Kieran’s voice was defensive and exhausted: “I know, I know. Once we go public, things will calm down and I car

I didn’t stick around for another round of empty promises.

This mansion was Kieran’s guilt gift to his parents after his first big exit. I rarely visited, so I’d never really explor the sprawling back garden.

I found a swing set tucked between rose bushes and sat down, trying to process the evening’s fresh humiliation.

An old friend I barely talked to anymore sent me a link with a bitchy little message:

“Looks like someone’s husband is making headlines again. Living the dream, huh?”

She used to be my best friend before jealousy turned her toxic.

I ignored her snark and clicked the link.

Some entertainment blogger had written:

“Crosswind Tech’s massive new campaign just announced Mila Bennett as their brand ambassador. Anyone else think Mila might actually be the CEO’s secret wife, and that Instagram post was her way of soft–launching their

relationship?”

The attached photo showed Mila in oversized sunglasses, sitting in a car outside Crosswind’s headquarters, laughing at someone in the driver’s seat.

The top comment read: “I’m obsessed with this power couple Someone start planning their wedding!”

I liked the comment and closed the app, laughing darkly at the irony.

When I turned around, Kieran was standing behind me,

“Aurora, how long are you going to keep punishing me?”

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Chapter 3

“Can you give me ten minutes? I can explain everything.”

I looked up at him with dead eyes. “Sure.”

“I asked Mila to pick up those shoes since she was flying back from London today. The salesperson must have assumed they were for her, so they wrote that card.”

I laughed, not bothering to hide my contempt. “And how do you explain getting me size 8 shoes? Our brilliant CEO doesn’t even know his own wife’s shoe size.”

He looked like a kid who’d been caught stealing cookies.

“I’m sorry.”

I stared at him for what felt like forever before finally saying, “I want a divorce.”