Ch. Divorce My H 12 Divorce My H 12

Chapter 12 

Jackson stood outside the gates of the 

DeVere estate, once again turned away by 

the guards. He had hoped–prayed, even— 

that Trina might be here, back with her ailing 

father. But even her own people, loyal to a 

fault, gave him nothing. No hints. No 

locations. No hope. 

He slumped into his car and let the silence 

suffocate him. 

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This was where it all started. Years ago, Trina 

had chosen him over her father. He had stood 

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right here beside her, as her father’s voice 

thundered through the marble halls: “You 

marry that man, you are no longer welcome 

here.” 

And she didn’t flinch. Not once. 

She chose him. 

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Not the inheritance. Not the security. Not the 

legacy. 

Him. 

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Back then, she had told him with a soft smile, 

“You’re all I need, Jackson. I don’t regret this. 

Not one second of it.” 

And what had he given her in return? 

Years of cold shoulders. A home filled with 

tension. A daughter raised by a woman who 

wasn’t even her mother. 

Now she was gone. And not even the earth 

could seem to give him a trace of her. 

That night, Jackson sat at his office desk, 

MIVI 

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eyes glazed over as the TV played in the 

background. He wasn’t really watching–until 

the name caught his attention. 

“…Jackson Dela Torre and longtime business 

partner Donna Reid are officially engaged. 

The couple announced their upcoming 

spring wedding earlier today, stating it was 

the natural next step in their professional and 

personal relationship…” 

“What the hell?” Jackson snapped, sitting up. 

His mouth hung open, stunned by the images 

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flashing across the screen. Donna. In a 

wedding dress. Him. Standing beside her, in a 

manipulated promotional shot. 

His blood turned to fire. He stormed out of 

the office, made the drive to Donna’s estate 

in record time, and pushed open the door 

without knocking. 

Inside, Donna was helping Tania zip up a 

dress for what looked like an upcoming bridal 

shoot. 

Jackson didn’t waste time. 

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“What the hell is going on?!” 

Donna turned, startled, but quickly put on 

that all–too–familiar smile. “Jackson, calm 

down.” 

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“Calm down?” he barked. “You told the press 

we’re getting married?” 

“We are,” Donna said casually. “You agreed. 

Long ago. Back when Trina was still around. I 

told you once she was gone, we’d finally be 

together.” 

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“I never agreed to this,” he hissed. 

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Donna narrowed her eyes. “Why? Because 

you still think she’s coming back? News flash, 

Jackson—she’s not. She left you. She 

divorced you. And she hasn’t looked back 

since.” 

Tania stood beside them, arms folded, clearly 

annoyed. 

“Dad, she’s gone. She left both of us. You’ve 

been chasing a ghost,” Tania added coldly. 

“Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe now she’ll 

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see what she missed. Maybe she’ll regret it.” 

Jackson’s jaw clenched. He wanted to 

believe them. He wanted to believe that he 

could move on, that this–whatever this 

engagement was–could erase the pain. 

But deep inside, something whispered no. 

Then Donna said softly, almost mockingly, 

“Come on, Jackson. Do you really think she’d 

come back after everything we did to her?” 

And there it was. The guilt he tried so hard to 

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bury rose like bile in his throat. 

He had hurt Trina. Time and again. Ignored 

her, doubted her, blamed her. Let Donna’s 

voice grow louder in his life than his own 

wife’s. Until Trina had nothing left to give. 

That night, Jackson ended up at a dim, half- 

forgotten bar downtown, a place he used to 

frequent before he ever met Trina. He drank. 

Too much. Whiskey, neat, over and over. Until 

the world began to blur and every voice 

sounded like hers. 

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Then he saw him. 

A man at the counter. The same man from 

the photos Donna had shown him. The 

supposed “lover” Trina had been caught 

smiling at in their bakery. 

Jackson’s vision turned red. 

He stormed over, grabbed the man by the 

collar, and slammed him against the counter. 

“You!” Jackson barked. “Where is she?” 

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The man, shocked, shoved him back. “What 

the hell is your problem?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Jackson shouted. “You 

were with her! You and Trina–don’t act like 

you don’t know!” 

The man blinked, confused. “Trina? The 

baker?” 

Jackson’s fists clenched tighter. “Don’t act 

like you didn’t sleep with her.” 

“I didn’t!” the man barked back. “Are you her 

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husband? Or were?” 

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Jackson reached into his coat, yanked out his 

phone, and pulled up the old photos. The 

ones Donna had shown him. “Explain these, 

then.” 

The man stared. Then laughed bitterly. 

“She was making cupcakes,” he said. “We 

were talking about buttercream frosting.” 

“Liar.” 

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The man shook his head. “You’ve been lied 

to, alright—but not by me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

The man hesitated. Then exhaled. 

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“Your friend–Donna, right? She paid me. Paid 

me to get close to Trina. To flirt. To touch her 

arm. She even sent me drinks to offer her— 

drugged ones, I later found out. But Trina 

never took them. She kept talking about you. 

Kept saying how she believed in you, how 

she was trying to fix your marriage.” 

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Jackson’s stomach twisted. 

“I couldn’t go through with it,” the man continued. “I told Donna I wouldn’t help her 

anymore. I didn’t want to hurt your wife. She 

was the kindest woman I’d ever met.” 

Jackson stepped back, dizzy. 

“Donna…” he muttered. “Donna set this up?” 

“Yes. She wanted Trina out of the picture. 

Permanently.” 

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