Out Of Your League, Dear Ex-Husband

On our third wedding anniversary, I was on my knees scrubbing a wine stain out of a hotel carpet for my in-laws.

That same night, my husband, NHL star Armani Tillman, won the MVP trophy on live TV, thanked his fake PR girlfriend, and called me to demand a divorce.

He sent a lawyer the next morning with an agreement leaving me with absolutely nothing but a strict gag order.

Worse, when I checked our home security cameras, I saw him tangled in our bedsheets. The woman wasn't his public girlfriend, but my best friend, Ima.

When the betrayal triggered a severe allergic reaction that landed me in the ER, Armani and Ima stood by my hospital bed, looking at me with pure disgust.

"Faking a suicide attempt just to stop a divorce? Pathetic."

I had given up my dreams to be his hidden, unpaid maid for three years, only to be thrown away like trash by the two people I trusted most.

Ima even smiled and told me to just sign the papers and go away quietly.

But they didn't know I wasn't just a useless, unemployed housewife.

I am Westwind, the legendary anonymous graphic novelist that Armani's biggest sponsor is currently desperate to collaborate with to save his crumbling image.

I calmly tore his insulting divorce agreement into pieces and called the most ruthless lawyer in Chicago.

This time, I'm taking everything.