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Samson pressed his lips into a straight line. “Margaret, get your ass back here right now!” Margaret let out a Chapter 3 Physical light chuckle. “Just because you tell me to come back, I will? We’re divorced, Samson. No one’s pampering you now?” 

Samson ground his teeth. “About the reason for divorce. I’ll give you another chance. Rewrite it.” Margaret laughed even harder. “Did I write something wrong? Samson, it’s been half a year since you woke up. In all that time, you haven’t even held my hand. Sure, your body’s recovered after three years in a coma, but I have valid concerns about your functionality as a man. Go see a skilled doctor. My best divorce gift to you is a wish for a speedy recovery of your manhood.” 

Samson was speechless. 

The veins in his forehead throbbed visibly. 

Margaret was absolutely out of control! 

“Margaret, I’ll make you regret this. One day, you’ll know what I’m capable of!” “Sorry, but you’ll never get the chance.” 

“Margaret!” 

The call ended. He could only hear the tone ringing. 

Samson sat frozen, unable to vent his anger. The audacity of her drove him mad. 

Margaret! 

*** 

Margaret had already arrived at her best friend Jordyn Scott’s apartment. After she hung up Jordyn immediately burst into laughter. “Maggie, that was brilliant! I bet Mr. Hawthorne is about ready to go mad.” 

Margaret leaned back, smiling faintly. “I guess I was so lowly before. That’s why he treated me like nothing.” 

Love yourself first. 

This was particularly true for a woman. 

Jordyn snorted. “Let’s be real. When Alice found out Mr. Hawthorne was in a coma, she ran faster than anyone. And now that he’s awake, he goes crawling back to her? You’re better off without that man.” 

Margaret unwrapped a candy and popped it in her mouth. The sweetness, though faint, seemed to dull the bitterness in her chest. “Jordyn, I guess this is the difference between being loved and not being loved.” 

Those who were loved were fearless. 

Those who were not live in constant fear. 

Jordyn glanced at the wrappers scattered on the table. “Maggie, you’ve eaten a ton of those.” 

She grabbed Margaret by the arm and pulled her up. “No more wallowing. When 

more wallowing. When you leave one tree behind, you find an entire forest. Tonight, we are 

an entire forest. Tonight, we are throwing a freedom party and I’m going to find male models to celebrate for you!” 

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< Chapter 3 Physical Dysfunction 

Margaret covered her face, laughing softly. 

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Jordyn suddenly plucked Margaret’s black–framed glasses from her face and tossed them into the 

trash. 

Margaret reached out instinctively. “My glasses!” 

Jordyn stopped her. “Maggie, those are for your research work, not your life. You should take 

otes from Alice and start dressing up!” 

Margaret thought of her parents calling her the duckling, while Alice was the swan. Tewasn’t just her parents who thought so. To Samson, she was nothing more than a duckling too. Jordyn grabbed Margaret’s hand. “Come on, we’re going shopping. Hair, nails, clothes, and et erything. We’ll make sure Samson sees just how stunning you can be.” As they headed out, Jordyn paused. “By the way, Maggie, are you really leaving Mr. Hawthorne’s money behind?” 

Margaret shrugged. “I’ve got my own money.” 

“And let Alice spend his money? Do you think she will be grateful?” 

*** 

“What about that band card that Mr. Hawthorne gave you?” 

Samson was always extravagant. He’d given Margaret a platinum card, though she’d never used it. 

Margaret dug it out of her purse and waved it mischievously. “Fine. Tonight’s expenses are on Mr. Hawthorne.” 

**** 

That evening, at 1996 Bar. 

The 1996 Bar was Miami’s ultimate playground for the wealthy. DJ beats thumped, and the dance! floor teemed with energy. 

In a shadowy VIP booth, Samson sat at the center of a plush leather couch. Dressed in a sleek black shirt and matching trousers, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his sculpted forearms and the gleaming steel watch worth millions on his wrist. He radiated wealth and power. His striking presence drew countless admiring glances from women in the bar. 

Beside him, his close friend Barrett Graham laughed loudly, flanked by several other wealthy young men. 

Barrett slapped his knee. “Wait, Samson, are you serious? Margaret wants a divorce?” 

The others burst into laughter. “Everyone knows Margaret worships you, Samson. She practically begged to marry you when you were in a coma. There’s no way she’s serious about leaving.” “How about a bet? Let’s see how long she lasts before begging you to come back.” 

Barrett smirked. “I bet she won’t even last tonight. Any minute now, she’ll text Samson.” Samson’s jaw tightened, his handsome features darkening. Clearly, his mood was sour. 

He pulled out his phone and opened his messages. 

The last message from Margaret was from the night before. She’d sent a photo of a steaming soup. “Darling, even though your bone density is fine now, you should still drink this. Come home early, okay?” 

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Scrolling upward, it was the same story. Margaret had sent countless messages, always warm and caring. 

He had never replied. 

Not even once. 

Today, though, her silence was deafening. No new messages. 

Samson frowned, unease stirring in his chest. 

A notification lit up his phone. 

Barrett clapped his hands. “See? What did I say? Margaret couldn’t hold out!” 

More messages came in. 

Several notifications popped up in quick succession. 

The group roared with laughter. “Knew it! She’s desperate already!” 

Barrett urged him on. “Come on, Samson, open it. She’s probably begging you right now.” 

Samson’s expression flickered, his finger hovering over the screen. 

Was she regretting it already? 

If so, she shouldn’t have sent him the divorce agreement. 

With a quick tap, he opened the messages and froze. 

Barrett leaned over to read aloud. “Dear VVIP customer, your card ending in 0975 was charged $100 at Rainbow Nail Salon…” 

The group fell silent, confusion setting in. 

Samson scrolled further. A charge for $300 at an upscale hair salon. 

$12,000 at Chanel. 

$34,000 at Louis Vuitton. 

There were 

no messages of reconciliation. Just a string of shopping notifications. 

The silence in the booth grew heavy. 

It felt like a slap in the face. 

Samson’s face darkened as he slammed his phone down on the table. 

It wasn’t the money. He couldn’t care less about how much she spent. It was the audacity of her behavior. Margaret, who’d been compliant for three years, suddenly seemed to put up a fight. Barrett cleared his throat. “Samson, is she, uh…trying to dress like Alice now?” “Even if she tries, she’ll never measure up. Alice is Miami’s rose, while Margaret’s just a small–town nobody.” 

“A swan is a swan, while a duck is a duck. Margaret will never be anything but a duckling.” 

the Laughter rippled through 

with tinged though it was 

group, 

unease. 

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Then, a commotion erupted near the entrance of the bar. Heads turned, whispers breaking out among the crowd. “Look! It’s… an angel!”