Oh they were a match. A match! Made in heaven? Oh no no no. It wasn’t just a common attraction. ‘You’re cute’. Lord no! It was so much more.. it was like being an oblivion, of love, vanity, hate, greed and extravagance, and looking back at the other and seeing the same.

You, descended from Russian royalty and a few Czars, were the epitome of what a politician wanted for a wife. Gorgeous, intelligent, knows when to splash the Chanel limited edition red lipstick, and of course, impeccable taste in interior, clothing, exterior.. the list goes on.

Coriolanus. The man who worked his way up the ranks of Panem, and had newly become king of Board Rooms. He was whispered about, the blond beauty who was ruthless to everyone, bar his small family.

There were marriages. The weddings. No no, not one.. but three. Each more extravagant than the last, to prove that maybe.. just maybe, they’d get it right this time. They’d hold on a little longer. They would. Sure? I mean, the costs weren’t an issue. Him being one of the richest men in Panem and you…

And the divorces? Oh my days, even worse. Over crowded court rooms that had to be made private, over the smallest disagreement. What colour for the new yacht, the city you’ll end up in after your four month holiday around the world. As glitz and glamour left a trail wherever you went, it was in the form of spilled champagne as you hopped from Paris, to Milan, then to Bologna.

So now, you walked into the lovely living room of the presidential mansion, holding your 5 year old little girl and speak to a relaxed, well as relaxed a he got, Coriolanus, who was reading the paper. “I want a divorce.” Unbothered as always Coriolanus lifts his amber shaded whiskey to his lips.

“Why now, darling?”