Chapter 8
I expected maybe a few jokes from friends.
Instead, the internet exploded.
Within an hour, the post had been reposted tens of thousands of times. By noon, it was trending. By evening, verified accounts, socialites, actors, financiers, startup founders, and sons of old families were leaving comments under my photo like they were lining up for an auction.
My messages became unreadable.
My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.
Some comments made me laugh despite myself.
Marry me. I’m six-two, emotionally stable, and my family adores daughters-in-law.
Who let a goddess casually enter civilian life like this?
Please tell me this is AI because I refuse to believe humanity gets faces like this for free.
Then came the messages from people who knew Cole.
Commander Sterling, you idiot.
Bro, is your ex-wife single single?
No offense, sir, but how exactly did you let this happen?
By that night, Cole had called me thirty-seven times.
I blocked him after the fifth.
He came to the old house first, of course, because men like him never believe a woman has actually left until they see empty hangers and clean drawers.
But I had already cleared out everything.
No clothes. No books. No toothbrush in the bathroom. No framed photos. No trace.
Later that night, someone pounded on my apartment door.
I checked the security screen.
Cole.
He looked half-crazed. Still in uniform pants, black sweater, coat unbuttoned, hair windblown. His knuckles were white from how hard he was clenching his hands.
I didn’t open the door.
My phone lit up again.
Cole: Open the door.
Cole: Ava, we need to talk.
Cole: Who is this for?
Cole: Did you post that to make me jealous?
I stared at the messages for a long moment, then typed back one sentence.
You’re overestimating your importance in my life.
He called immediately.
I declined.
He kept knocking for ten more minutes before finally leaving.
Three days later, the divorce was finalized.