Page 2 of Filthy Business (Obsessive Age Gap #1)

Magnus

The scotch was smooth—just what I needed while we waited for our food.

“I’m getting a divorce lawyer,”

I said, swirling the ice in my glass.

“How many times have you said that to me over the years?”

he scoffed.

“I’m forty-five next year. It needs to happen this year,”

I said, draining the glass.

My friend eyed me suspiciously before nodding.

“I can recommend someone. She handled mine.”

“The first marriage or the second?”

I smirked.

“Fuck you. I’ve just been unlucky in love. At least I didn’t stay with my college girlfriend for twenty-five years.”

“I know Warner Reid through the company,”

I said, changing the subject—because he was right.

“He doesn’t usually handle divorces, but he’s made exceptions for friends.”

“Hmm. I used Lizzie McGuire for both of mine. Sharp lady—even knocked me back for a dinner date.”

I glanced away, trying to flag the waiter for another round.

“You asked your divorce lawyer out on a date?”

I asked flatly.

“I didn’t say it was clever at the time,”

he said, tapping a finger on the table.

“Brave of you.”

I shook my head.

The waiter arrived and took our drink orders.

When he left, I leaned in.

“I’ve got it bad for a new girl in the office.”

He didn’t even blink.

“When was the last time you and Leona fucked?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a year ago… or longer.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“What’s the point of being married?”

“I’m trying to rectify that now, dickhead,”

I snapped.

He gave me a rueful smile. “True.”

“She’s kind of young,”

I said, toying with the coaster, avoiding his eyes.

“And?”

I looked up, surprised.

“You’re the perfect age to be a sugar daddy.”

“Ugh. You’re disgusting. She’s nineteen months younger than Luke.”

“That’s a pretty precise number,”

he said with a smirk.

“Not a bad idea, though. Catch them young, train them up, be a sugar daddy in return.”

“How are you not in jail?”

“Hey, it’s a win-win. I might start accepting applications for wife number three.”

I opened my mouth, but the waiter returned.

“I thought you’d talk some sense into me,”

I muttered, leaning forward.

“But I forgot who I’m speaking to.”

He took his drink with a smug grin.

“This is exactly why you came to me.”

That shut me up.

I took my glass and drained it in one long pull, trying to quench a thirst I knew wouldn’t go away.

***

The partition came down, but my driver didn’t say anything. He knew better. I glanced out at the house—three storeys of tasteful pretence—and lifted my laptop bag. The lunch had gone long. I needed to catch up on work and clear my head.

Nick was already out of the driver’s seat, waiting.

He opened the door with his usual professional nod.

“Thanks, Nick. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The air in the house felt colder than outside.

Too still. Too polished.

Lived in, but lifeless.

I went straight to my bedroom. Separate bedrooms had become the solution to everything years ago—no fights, no awkward mornings, no pretending. Now it was ideal. We hardly saw each other. The charade ended when Luke was a teenager. Maybe earlier, if I was being honest.

I changed into something more comfortable, sat at the dining table with my laptop, and waited. The wine would draw her out. It always did.

Right on cue, Leona entered the room, heels clicking against the marble like a metronome of disdain. She poured her glass without a word and turned to leave.

“I want a divorce,”

I said, dabbing my lips with the napkin. Calm. Measured.

She didn’t pause.

“We’ve been through this, Magnus. Leave it be.”

Dismissive. Predictable.

“The papers will be with you in a week,”

I continued, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“I’m moving into the city apartment until it’s finalised.”

That stopped her.

She spun around too quickly, wine sloshing over the rim, trailing down her silk blouse like blood down marble.

“I’ll take your precious company,”

she hissed.

“Even if that prenup holds—it’s Luke’s inheritance.”

Her voice was tight, trembling at the edges. Not from pain. From fury.

The Botox robbed her of expression, but her eyes—those still burned.

Cold. Calculating.

I’d known for years she used me for my name, my wealth, my stability.

And I let her. For Luke. For peace.

But the boy was a man now. And Leona? Her mask was cracking.

“If Luke doesn’t clean up his act, I’ll sell the company before handing it to him,”

I said, voice low, detached.

“As for the prenup—you always knew what my grandfather thought of you.”

Her face contorted, or tried to. Anger pushed past the plastic calm.

“Fuck you, Magnus.”

I stood, adjusting my watch.

“No, thanks.”

I left her standing there, wine-stained and seething.

I felt something close to peace for the first time in a long time.