by Marie Johnston
When Aiden King asked me out four years ago, I went from mousy librarian to wife of the most wanted bachelor in Montana in four months flat. No longer the nerdy girl from the wrong side of the tracks, I was a CFO’s wife in a mansion by the river—and my husband was the man of my dreams. I almost couldn’t believe my good fortune.
Turns out, I shouldn’t have believed it. After years of rattling around that mansion alone while Aiden put in long hours at the office, I learned his secret: he’d needed to marry someone, anyone, to fulfill his trust requirements, and the nerdy girl from the wrong side of the tracks had been an easy target.
I never thought I’d be the girl asking a handsome millionaire for a divorce. Now, my pride and I just want to limp back to my family and start over. But to do that, I’ll have to swallow one question. If the trust only required him to be married for a year, why has it been four years since we said I do?
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