“Aniya—so it’s been going on this whole time,” she whispered.
“Yeah, we’ve been together a year,” Quacy said without a shred of guilt. “And she understands me much better.”
Suddenly, a building security guard approached, pushing a small, tattered duffel bag—the same bag Zelica used when they first moved to Atlanta years ago.
Quacy took the bag and threw it at Zelica’s feet. The contents spilled out a little. Just some old clothes and a wallet.
“Those are your things. The rest I threw out,” he said.
Then he tossed a brown envelope onto the bag.
“Those are the divorce papers. I’ve already signed them. Inside is a settlement. All the assets—this penthouse, the cars, the company—everything is in my name. You came into this marriage with nothing. You leave with nothing.”
The tears finally escaped Zelica’s eyes. This wasn’t just a humiliation. It was an annihilation.
