The Search for the Duchess’s Husband

“We’re getting a divorce.” Artia said.
Lloyd’s eyes widened, and then he let out a crooked laugh.
Like he’d heard the funniest joke in the world.
When he finally stopped laughing, he leaned down and grabbed his wife’s chin as she lay on the floor.
“Go ahead, divorce me. If your goal is to separate from me, it would be much easier to hang yourself than divorce me.”
There was not the slightest trace of affection for his wife in his cold voice.
And it was the same for Artia. Three years of marriage had left her with nothing but a longing to end this tiresome relationship.