At the county courthouse, my husband demanded the house, the cars, and the company I helped build, then leaned toward me and murmured, “Make this easy.” He didn’t notice the blue binder my lawyer set down, or the way his mother smiled like she’d already won. Now his girlfriend paces the hallway, the judge is reaching for the final page, and one quiet sentence is about to turn his victory into something else.

His lawyer leaned in and whispered five words. Just five. And Vincent’s face—that smug, self-satisfied face I’d stared at across the breakfast table for 15 years—went completely white.

His hands started trembling. The papers he’d been so eager to sign were shaking like leaves in a storm. And me, for the first time in three years, I smiled.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning, because you need to understand how we got here—how a woman everyone thought had lost her mind actually played the longest, most patient game of her life. My name is Alexis Dunst.

I’m 34 years old, and until three months ago, I was married to Vincent Mercer. Fifteen years of marriage. That’s longer than most Hollywood relationships, longer than some small countries have existed, and definitely longer than my patience should have lasted.

But I’m a stubborn woman. I get it from my grandmother. I met Vincent when I was 17.

I’d graduated high school early—not because I was some genius, but because I was practical and motivated and really, really wanted to get out of my parents’ house. I got a job at Henderson and Price Law Firm as a file clerk: minimum wage, maximum paper cuts, but it was mine. By 18, I’d worked my way up to legal assistant.

I was good with details, good with numbers, good with keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open. Vincent was 24 when we met at a client event—charming, ambitious, full of dreams about building a real estate empire. He talked about the future like it was already his, like success was just waiting for him to show up and claim it.

He said he was going to build something incredible. I said I’d help him file the paperwork. Romance, right?

We got married when I was 19. Tyler came along when I was 20. I kept working at the law firm part-time while raising our son, building up my 401k, saving every spare dollar.

My grandmother always said a woman should have her own money. Not secret money, she’d clarify—just her own. Something nobody could take.

At 23, Vincent’s business finally took off. He asked me to quit the law firm and help him full-time. He needed someone to manage the books, handle clients, coordinate with contractors—someone he could trust completely.

So I became his unpaid everything. Bookkeeper. Office manager.

The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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