Sage

6

Harry.

"You fucking piece of shit!" Quinn shouts, her breathing erratic as she tosses a picture frame into the wall, making it shatter on the grey pine flooring.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose before looking up at her with an exhausted look, "Are you done? Are you really fucking done,"

Her eyes widen in disbelief at this and she stands up straight, pulling down her sports coat and swallowing harshly, "You have no fucking idea what this will do to the company- my company!"

"I don't give a shit about your company, Quinn," Her name used to sound undeniably sweet on my tongue, but now, it's laced with nothing but venom and bitterness. "Sign the papers."

The divorce lawyer stressfully rubs his eyebrow at the scene, having homed himself on my Alemanno couch.

I'd had plenty of regrets in my life, but marrying at 18 had to be at the top of the list, and more importantly, being married to Quinn White.

The marriage was a pressured one, our fathers both worked together in property investments before retiring. I grew up with Quinn, we shared nannies for fucks sake. Nobody ever told us we had to get married, but it was heavily insinuated each time we hang out together. When I turned 18, my father bought me a ring to give to her.

And I did, and we got married.

The first year was entirely hectic. Our parents bought us our houses and gave us jobs working for them. I didn't want it, my interest had always been music. But I knew at the time, I was just a piece in their fantasy and had no choice.

The jokes became too serious at that point. After we decided to move to the states, they were no longer about us being cute as husband and wife, but when we planned on having children now that we were married. I wanted to tell them to fuck off, that I was only 19, but Quinn let it get to her dirty blonde head.

I wouldn't dare try to count the number of times I'd come from a day's work to find her in my bed in overly compensating roleplaying outfits, anything to get me hard and fuck a baby into her. She's not ugly and never has been, so on the rare occasion, I would.

After two years, when no baby came, Quinn had dragged me along to the hospital to get her eggs checked out, only to find out that she had low AMH levels. In easier words, her chances of getting pregnant were slim to fucking none.

While she cried her eyes out on the hospital bed, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.

A switch had flipped in her at that moment. She made a lot of money working for our fathers that she'd put away, so she used it to buy a clothing company that was rebranded in her image; HER.

Stupid fucking name if you ask me.

But it made her a shit ton of money. She was never home, and I enjoyed it. There were times when she had fashion shows out of the country while I stayed working for the investing company, having my fair share of rotating pussy in our bed. Anything to feel my age.

Eventually, I grew to realize that if she got to leave the business and do what she wanted, why couldn't I?

I did the same, using the money I'd saved and started my own record-producing company. The first year was pathetically slow, but it soon picked up. And when it did, I was the happiest I'd ever been. I always loved music, so getting to learn how to produce and manage a variety of voices had me on cloud 9, until HER's sales suddenly plummeted.

And Quinn was instantly home too much for my liking.

She sold her company to the only person who would buy and tried to start a new one where she made clothes inspired by early 2000s fashion, but her marketing was completely off. A single tank top shouldn't cost 50 dollars when your target audience is a bunch of teens, but she didn't listen.