Mia, Ever Nonchalant

I’ve been divorced nine times, and I’ve used the same lawyer for every single settlement.
So, when I walked in for my tenth divorce, the stoic man of law finally cracked.
“You’ve had a busy year, haven’t you?”
I arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Isn’t this the career path you opened up for me?”
He let out a sharp sigh and tossed the divorce papers onto the desk in front of me. “I’m your first ex-husband, Mila, not your personal divorce attorney. Stop coming to me for this.”
Later, when all nine of my other ex-husbands showed up trying to win me back, he was the one who blocked their path, grabbed my hand through gritted teeth, and declared, “That’s it. We’re going to Vegas. The kind of married you can’t get out of.”
I pulled my hand away and echoed the same cold tone he’d used on me years ago.
“Sorry. You were just a substitute.”

1
I strolled into the law firm, designer bag swinging from my arm, and placed the necessary documents on the polished mahogany desk.
“Mr. Watson, darling. I need you to draft a divorce agreement for me.”
The man, previously engrossed in a file, looked up. The eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses narrowed almost imperceptibly.
He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hah.”
I met his gaze, a playful smile on my lips. “Is that how you treat your clients now, Julian? Should I file a complaint?”
Julian glanced at me, his expression an unreadable mask. I tapped my nails impatiently on the desk, and he finally fixed me with a look of pure exasperation.
“This firm has plenty of excellent attorneys who specialize in family law. You don’t have to come to me every single time.”
“But I only trust you,” I said, my expression one of utmost sincerity.
He was the first to break. “IDs, marriage certificate. Any children? Division of assets?”
I calmly pulled up a chair. “No kids, no marital assets. I’m the at-fault party. I’ll walk away with nothing.”
The rhythmic clacking of his keyboard stopped. Julian took a deep, controlled breath, clearly reining in his temper.
“This is the tenth time, Mila. What the hell are you playing at? Ten divorces in one year. Every time, you’re the one ‘at fault.’ Every time, it’s right after the one-month cooling-off period. Is marriage just a game to you?”
I looked at him, my face a picture of innocence. “Have I broken any laws?”
“…No.”
“Well, there you go. Consenting adults can get married and divorced as they please. It’s my right. What does it have to do with you?”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “It has nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I’m one of your ex-husbands. Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to keep coming to me?”

2
“Inappropriate? But didn’t you teach me this was how it’s done?” I asked, tilting my head with a saccharine smile.
He ignored me, slapping the freshly printed divorce agreement down on the desk. “I hope this is the last time.”
“I’ll take that as a blessing.”
I scooped up the papers and headed out. Leaning against a sports car parked outside was a young man in a baggy baseball jacket and a cap pulled low. He watched me approach with a lazy, roguish grin.
This was my current husband, Leo Sterling, the rebellious younger son of the Sterling empire. A notorious playboy who valued his freedom above all else. And, very soon, my ex-husband.
“All settled?” he asked.
I waved the papers. “Done. Take a look, make sure it’s all good. If so, our marriage is officially over.”
He took the agreement, his eyes scanning the text. “Huh. I thought you’d try to find some excuse not to sign, like all the other girls who tried to trap me. No demand for a payout?”
I gave him my best professional smile. “Please don’t insult my work ethic. This is part of the service. You can still contact me during the cooling-off period if needed.”
Leo pouted, a flicker of genuine disappointment in his eyes. “Right. Well, thanks for this. If it weren’t for you, my family would be forcing me down the aisle with some heiress I can’t stand.”
I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep our divorce quiet for now. How long we can keep up the charade is up to you.”
That’s right. I’m a professional wife.
My clients are almost exclusively from the upper echelon: single, wealthy, handsome men who, for one reason or another, need a wife but don’t want a real marriage. Some are fending off pressure from their families; others are high-powered executives who need a spouse for corporate events but fear a messy attachment.
That’s where I come in.
I play the part of the perfect, flawless wife. We sign a detailed prenuptial agreement. When my services are no longer needed, we divorce, and they pay me a very generous fee. It’s purely transactional. No messy feelings involved.
I was about to bid farewell to my latest client when a sleek limousine pulled up to the curb.

3
A stunningly beautiful woman with delicate features stepped out. She froze for a second when she saw me, because we were dressed almost identically: a soft pink knit dress paired with a light mocha-colored cardigan. The trendy, gentle "cool stepmom" look.
The only difference was that her outfit was a limited-edition designer original, and mine was a high-end replica.
She shot me a glance, a smirk of pure disdain playing on her lips.
I knew her. Isabelle Croft. Hollywood's new "it girl," fresh off her win for Best Actress at the Crystal Spire Awards. A bona fide superstar.
A moment later, a tall, impeccably dressed man emerged from the law firm. It was Julian.
Isabelle’s face lit up as she rushed to his side, linking her arm through his. “I’ve been waiting forever. You didn’t answer my texts, so I just came to find you. You’re not mad, are you?”
A rare, faint smile touched Julian’s usually cold face. “Let’s go. I just finished up. What are you in the mood for tonight?”
Isabelle didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes drifted back to me, a sly smile on her face. “Your ex-wife was pestering you again, wasn’t she? I wondered why you weren’t responding.”
Her voice was just loud enough for the four of us to hear.
It wasn’t surprising that Isabelle and I knew each other. We went to the same acting conservatory. Her career skyrocketed from day one. And me? With my uncanny resemblance to her, I became her official body double after she hit it big.
Yep. I was the one who took on all the scenes she deemed beneath her.
Even my bizarre, short-lived marriage to Julian was her doing. She was the goddess, the one that got away. I was just the stand-in.
Julian and Isabelle’s college romance was the stuff of campus legend. But after she became a star, she dumped him, fearing he would tarnish her image. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, Julian found me—the budget version of Isabelle—and married me.
I was clueless for the longest time. It was only after a drama-filled saga worthy of a 50-episode TV show that they finally reconciled their misunderstandings and got back together.
Julian generously gave me half of his assets and kicked me, the budget wife, to the curb so he could be with the premium model.
That whole sordid affair was a revelation. It hit me: if being a substitute wife was this lucrative, why stop at one? Ten would be even better. It was a clear path to financial freedom, and it paid a hell of a lot more than being a body double.
Julian’s gaze flickered from me to Leo, his voice laced with ice. “She was here to file for another divorce.”
“Another one?” Isabelle looked me up and down with contempt, then sized up Leo. “Tsk, tsk. Looks like your standards have slipped. You’ll take any street punk you can find now. First, you were my stand-in to marry Julian, and now you’ve found a new way to grift, have you?”
I snapped my fingers and grinned shamelessly. “You’re right. I can’t compete with your market value. My ex is just a plain, unassuming trust-fund kid.”
My eyes darted to the man beside me. The "plain, unassuming trust-fund kid" in question, Leo, raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. Then he whipped off his baseball cap, revealing a face handsome enough to grace magazine covers, and slung an arm around my shoulders.
“She’s right. I’m just a regular guy with a few billion to my name. Nothing special.” He winked at me. “By the way, ex-wife, what are you planning to do with the fifty million I’m giving you in the settlement?”

4
I had to physically restrain myself from applauding. The man was a genius.
Isabelle, for all her fame, had only been a big name for a few years. She came from a modest background and had clawed her way to the top. Just last week, she’d boasted to the media that she didn’t need to marry into wealth because she was the wealth. A bold claim from someone whose net worth probably hadn’t even hit nine figures yet.
I knew Leo was backing me up, so I played along.
“First, I’ll buy a yacht. Then a private estate. Then maybe I’ll acquire a production company and hire a certain A-list actress to be my body double.”
Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Good. You’re thinking about your career, not just squandering it. My guidance is clearly paying off.”
Predictably, the smile on Isabelle’s face froze. Her eyes flickered towards Leo, as if she was suddenly trying to place him. She was an actress, after all, and she recovered quickly. Her expression shifted from aggressive to one of gentle, pitying concern as she addressed him.
“You probably don’t know this, handsome, but that’s just how Mila is. Money means more to her than anything. You should be careful. Don’t let her fool you.” She then delicately tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tightened her grip on Julian’s arm. “Darling, we’re going to be late for our reservation. Let’s not let irrelevant people ruin our evening.”
Before leaving, she even had the audacity to ask Leo for his number. Right in front of Julian.
I watched with a smirk. Leo just shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a married man. We’re in our cooling-off period, but I can’t be unfaithful to my wife. I must politely decline all advances from beautiful temptresses.”
Isabelle’s face turned a shade of puce as she stalked off. Julian’s expression wasn’t much better. He shot me a final, complicated look before they sped away in their luxury car.
Perfect. Our little performance had clearly gotten under their skin.
As the car disappeared, I turned to Leo and held out my hand. “So, ex-hubby. About that fifty million…”
He gave me a high-five. “Are you kidding? I don’t have fifty million. What about the two million we agreed on for my fee? Can I pay you in installments?”
Great. I’d met someone who was an even bigger bullshitter than me.
“No way. No delays, not one penny less. If you’re short, I’ll show up at your family’s estate and make a scene.”
He was even more shameless than I was. “Or… we could make this marriage real. Then all my money would be your money. What do you say?”
In his dreams. I was a career woman, and my career was making money.

5
After parting ways with Leo, I went straight to the bank. Sure enough, a short while later, two million dollars appeared in my account. I took a deep breath and checked the balance. Excellent. My first major financial goal was within reach.
Soon, my phone rang again. The caller ID read: ‘Ex-Husband #9.’
“Hello, Ms. Thorne? There’s a family gathering this Saturday at 8 p.m. that requires your attendance. The usual fee will be deposited into your account.”
Ex-Husband #9 was a top-tier surgeon named Dr. Aris Thorne, age 32. Consumed by his work, he had no time or interest in dating. Like my other clients, he was using me to fend off relentless pressure from his family to get married. We had finalized our divorce last month, but our contract stipulated that for six months post-divorce, I was still obligated to play the part of his wife as needed.
Business was booming.
I pushed all thoughts of Julian and Isabelle out of my mind. No man, no matter how infuriating, was going to get in the way of me making money. My one and only focus was the hustle.

6
On Saturday evening, I dressed in a very domestic, yet subtly expensive, outfit. A certain level of investment in my appearance was necessary; I couldn’t embarrass my clients.
Aris was a busy man with a touch of social anxiety, a love for quiet, and a severe case of germaphobia. So, I took a cab to the address he provided. He was waiting outside, dressed in a casual white jacket. At 6’2”, he was tall and lean, his hair impeccably styled. His handsome face had a cool, distant air. As I got closer, I caught the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic.
I glanced down at my own outfit. Good. Also white. For a true germaphobe, any color other than white was just a different shade of dirty.
He gave me a slight nod and, like a gentleman, offered his arm. I saw the pristine white gloves on his hands and chuckled nervously. I didn't dare place my bare hand on him. I slipped on the pair of lace gloves I’d brought for this exact purpose before taking his arm. The slight frown on his face instantly relaxed.
I followed him into a grand European-style villa in an opulent neighborhood. He’d called it a “family gathering,” but there were at least thirty or forty people already seated. How awkward. We were the last to arrive, putting us right in the spotlight for public scrutiny.
As soon as we sat down, a wealthy-looking woman next to Aris’s mother began her attack.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up. We never see you at our get-togethers. I hear you’re a housewife? What do you do all day?”
What do I do? I count money, lady. My time is billable by the second.
Aris frowned, glaring at the woman. I kept my composure and replied softly, “Aris works such long hours. As his wife, it’s my duty to manage our home. But I also focus on my own intellectual pursuits. He calls me a housewife because he worries about me and respects my choices. I’m actually quite independent.”
The subtext was clear: Mind your own business. My husband is happy to support me.
The woman was effectively silenced. I reached over and placed a hand on Aris’s. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
A rare smile touched his lips. “My wife is absolutely correct.”
The atmosphere had just settled when a discordant voice cut through the room. “Oh? A housewife? So, you have no other source of income, Ms. Thorne? You just rely on Dr. Thorne to support you? That doesn’t sound very independent to me.”
I looked up and, to my astonishment, saw Julian. And next to him was Isabelle. He was in a tailored suit, she in a lavish evening gown. In this so-called “family gathering,” they looked ostentatiously out of place… and frankly, ridiculous.
Julian’s gaze on me was colder than ever. I hadn’t expected to see him at Aris’s family event. He wasn’t on the guest list Aris had prepared for me.

7
Aris leaned in and explained. Julian was the high-priced legal counsel for his mother’s company. She had apparently taken a liking to him and invited him personally.
In a year and a half of doing this job, this was the first time I’d had two ex-husbands in the same room.
But it was fine. I could handle this. So, Julian wanted to humiliate me? Just you wait.
I pasted on a smile and instinctively snuggled closer to Aris. “Honey, it sounds like someone is questioning my integrity.”
Two could play at the innocent, manipulative game.
Aris proved to be an excellent employer. He spoke in a calm, level voice. “Of course, she has other income. But my wife’s personal ventures are just small hobbies. Nothing compared to the businesses you all run. We wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”
Julian scoffed. After taking his seat, he made it clear he wasn’t done with me. “What kind of investments are we talking about? Perhaps I could offer some analysis, Ms. Thorne?”
He kept calling me “Ms. Thorne,” making it painfully obvious to everyone that we knew each other. Even Aris noticed. He squeezed my hand, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You know him?”
Know him? He’s ex-husband #1. The man who started it all.
“Mr. Watson is a competent lawyer, is he not? I’m sure he has a code of ethics. Since when did you branch out into investment banking?” I stared him down. If he said one more word, I was going to lunge across the table and rip his smug mouth off his face.
He fell silent. But Isabelle, who had been quiet until now, couldn’t resist. She was a big star, but among these old-money matriarchs, she had zero clout. She was desperate for attention.
Seeing me next to Aris, she put a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my goodness, Mila! Wait a minute. I just saw you at Julian’s office a few days ago, getting divorce papers. How are you Mrs. Thorne today? Julian, darling, have I been filming too much? Tell me I’m not seeing things.”
Her words were a grenade thrown into the quiet dinner party. Every head turned, eyes wide with gossip-hungry curiosity. Beside me, Aris’s body went rigid. His handsome brow furrowed, and he began to rub his wrist—a nervous tic.
My employer was angry. This was not good. My cover was about to be blown.
I shot to my feet, my eyes instantly welling with tears as I fixed my gaze on Isabelle. My voice trembled with righteous indignation. “Ms. Croft, I have no idea what you mean by that. As a public figure, you should be more careful with your words. Aris and I have been married for over a year. And I will not stand by and let someone spread malicious rumors about our relationship!”
Isabelle stared at me, momentarily stunned, before a sly, triumphant smile spread across her face. “Rumors? Is that what you call it? You’ve already moved on to another man, and you’re still trying to play the victim?”
Damn it. She wasn’t taking the bait. She was determined to destroy me.
Aris’s parents, recovering from their shock, now looked furious. “Ms. Croft, is what you’re saying true?”
Isabelle lifted her chin smugly. “Dr. and Mrs. Thorne, don’t be too upset. I know this woman. We were classmates. You probably don’t know about her glorious past. While we were still in school, loan sharks came looking for her. Her own mother jumped from the roof of our university’s main building.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “What kind of person could come from a family like that? I felt sorry for her, so I hired her as my body double. And what do you think she did? She tried to seduce a producer in the middle of the night, trading her body for a role… heh.”
She paused, looking at me with relish. “Mila, do I need to go on? Stop deceiving everyone.”
In an instant, every gaze in the room turned on me, filled with the same contempt and disgust I remembered from all those years ago.
A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I tightened my grip on my wine glass.

8
I started calculating. If I scarred her face, how many months would I get?
Just then, Aris, who had been silent, stood up. He gently placed his hand over mine, pulling me into his side. He looked at the room, his expression calm and unwavering.
“I apologize to you all. My wife and I have had some disagreements recently, but we have never considered divorce. I had no idea our private matters would be used by someone with malicious intent to stir up trouble. I am so sorry. Had I known, I never would have brought her to this dinner, only to have her slandered and unjustly accused.”
He turned to me, his eyes filled with sincere concern. “Darling, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I was so moved I could have cried for real. I leaned against his shoulder, squeezing out a few fake tears while secretly patting his back in gratitude. Where else could I find such a perfect client? My mistake had almost blown our cover, and here he was, this socially anxious man, stepping up to defend me. I decided right then and there: I was giving him a 30% discount on my fee.
At that moment, Julian also stood up. He grabbed Isabelle’s arm, stopping her from saying anything more. He adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Isabelle, you’re drunk.” He then addressed the room. “My apologies, everyone. My girlfriend has been working too hard lately and seems to be confusing reality with her movie scripts. I have never seen Ms. Thorne in my office. We only know each other from a brief conversation at a banquet some time ago.”
Isabelle stared at Julian in disbelief. I was just as shocked. I never thought Julian, of all people, would have a sudden attack of conscience and cover for me.

9
The dinner party, needless to say, ended on a sour note. Aris led me out, but as we reached the garden, we ran into Julian, who had used the excuse of taking a drunk Isabelle home. He had clearly been waiting for us.
The two men faced each other, the air crackling with tension. Aris took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s getting chilly. Don’t catch a cold.” Only then did he look up at Julian. “Mr. Watson. Can I help you?”
Julian’s eyes were fixed on the jacket around my shoulders. His voice was hard. “I need to speak with Mila.”
A corner of Aris’s mouth lifted in a scornful smile. “I’m afraid that’s not convenient. Your girlfriend has deeply upset my wife. She needs to rest.”
“Is that so? My apologies. In that case, would Ms. Thorne herself be willing to speak with me and accept my apology?”
I wanted to say no, but I knew I needed to talk to him. He had drafted all my previous divorce agreements; he knew every one of my ex-husbands. His presence here tonight felt too calculated to be a coincidence.
I gave Aris an apologetic look. “Wait for me in the car. Give me five minutes.”
Aris was a gentleman. Even though I could feel his anger, he just squeezed my hand tightly before letting go. He smoothed down a stray piece of my hair and leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.” Then, in a clear act of possessiveness, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His breath was warm against my skin, and I was stunned. It was the first time Aris had ever initiated such close contact.
Before he left, he shot one last, cold glare at Julian.
The moment he was gone, Julian strode toward me, backing me against the garden wall. “Mila, are you going to tell me what you’re doing or not?” he hissed. “Three days ago, you were filing for divorce from that rich kid, and now you’re playing wife to your ex-ex-husband. What kind of sordid business are you running?”

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