Trevor Engelson Drops the Nuclear Bombshell: “Harry’s Her THIRD Husband” – Meghan’s Toronto 2016 Nightmare Almost Torched the Royal Romance!
From Hollywood hustler to duchess darling, Meghan Markle’s glow-up hid a trail of shattered vows and shadowy nights that could have derailed it all. Now, her blindsided ex, Trevor Engelson, is ripping the veil off in a tell-all that’s got the palace in panic mode: secret flings, a near-meltdown in Toronto’s elite underbelly, and whispers of a “third husband” curse that started with him getting dumped by certified mail. Picture this: 2016, Soho House pulsing with power players, Meghan dodging paparazzi hell while one wild night – fueled by masked parties and elite connections – nearly exposed her double life before Harry even whispered “forever.” Trevor spills it raw: the betrayals, the hidden heartbreaks, the “irreconcilable differences” that weren’t so different from the royal fallout. Is this the revenge that’s finally flipping the script on the Sussex fairy tale, or the truth bomb that buries it for good? Harry’s tea with Charles feels like child’s play now – the real storm’s brewing across the pond.
The receipts are scorching – click to uncover the Toronto secrets that could end the duchess dream!
It landed like a grenade in a garden party, right as the leaves were turning gold in Montecito: Trevor Engelson, Meghan Markle’s first husband and the producer who once lit up her Hollywood dreams, breaking radio silence with a memoir that’s less “happily ever after” and more “happily never after.” Titled Blindsided: A Hollywood Love Story Gone Wrong, the book dropped on September 15, 2025, via HarperCollins, clocking in at 320 pages of raw, unfiltered regret. No ghostwriter sugarcoating here – Trevor penned it himself, drawing from seven years of emails, texts, and that infamous package of returned rings that arrived like a Dear John letter in a FedEx box. “She wasn’t just my wife; she was my world,” he writes in the prologue, his voice cracking through the page like a man who’s spent a decade nursing wounds in the shadows of success. “But worlds end, and when they do, the truth doesn’t stay buried – it explodes.” And explode it has, with the biggest blast aimed at that fateful 2016 night in Toronto, a whispered scandal so close to the surface it could have snuffed out her spark with Prince Harry before the Invictus Games even kicked off.
I’ve been chasing the Sussex saga since the Oprah glow-up in 2021, when Meghan’s tears on the couch felt like the opening act of a family opera gone off-script. But Trevor’s book? It’s the prequel no one saw coming, flipping the narrative from “ambitious actress meets ginger prince” to “serial reinvention artist leaves wreckage in her wake.” At 48 now, remarried to heiress Tracey Kurland since 2019 with three kids under five, Trevor’s living the upgraded life in a Beverly Hills spread that’s all modern lines and family bliss – a far cry from the cramped LA apartment he shared with Meghan back in the Suits grind. “I traded up,” he quips in chapter three, a line that’s already meme’d across X with 200k likes. But don’t mistake this for petty – it’s cathartic, laced with that producer’s eye for drama he honed on sets like Remember Me and Snowfall. The advance? A cool $2.5 million, per Variety, with film rights snapped up by Netflix (irony alert) for a biopic starring a yet-unnamed heartthrob as Trevor himself.
The core shocker – the one screaming from every headline – is the “third husband” tag on Harry, a jab that reframes Meghan’s matrimonial tally like a bad sequel nobody asked for. Trevor doesn’t pull punches: He was husband numero uno, married in a sunset-soaked Jamaican ceremony on September 10, 2011, after seven years of long-distance hustle (her in Toronto for Suits, him grinding scripts in LA). Then came husband two, the shadowy Canadian chef Cory Vitiello, whose 2016 romance overlapped their split like a bad crossover episode. “Irreconcilable differences,” the divorce papers read in October 2013, but Trevor’s take? “She was already scouting exits while we were still saying ‘I do.'” He details the freeze-out: texts going unread during her Toronto shoots, weekends vanishing into “networking” at Soho House, that exclusive club where Toronto’s elite – actors, moguls, and whispers of more – rubbed elbows under velvet ropes. By summer 2014, Meghan was posting coy Instagram shots with Cory at his rotisserie Flock, testing roast chicken recipes like it was foreplay. Trevor got the ring-mail in August 2014, a no-fault filing that wrapped in February 2015. “Blindsided doesn’t cover it,” he writes. “It was like auditioning for your own eviction.”
But the real detonator is chapter seven: “The Toronto Tempest,” a 40-page deep dive into that 2016 night that almost torched her trajectory. Meghan had been in the city since 2013, renting a leafy Seaton Village pad at 10 Yarmouth Road for $1,800 a month – a far cry from Windsor Castle, but ground zero for her glow-up. Suits was peaking, season six wrapping, and she’d just blind-dated Harry at Soho House London in July, per his Spare confessions. Back in Toronto by fall, the secret simmered: Harry sneaking in twice monthly, incognito in beanies and hoodies, crashing on her couch while paparazzi circled like vultures. But October 31, 2016 – Halloween, of all nights – it all teetered on a knife’s edge. Trevor paints the scene from insider dispatches: Meghan, masked as a low-key Zorro at Soho Toronto’s annual bash, sipping cocktails with her tight circle – Jessica Mulroney, yoga guru friends, and that enigmatic Soho fixer Markus Anderson, the club’s global membership wizard who’d vetted her London intro to Harry.
What went down? Trevor claims a “perfect storm” of booze, bad decisions, and buried connections. Per his sources (unnamed Toronto insiders, he says), Meghan crossed paths with a “high-roller crowd” – whispers of Ghislaine Maxwell’s orbit, that Epstein-tainted web of elite enablers who partied hard in Toronto’s underbelly. No direct Maxwell link – Trevor stops short of that libel minefield – but he drops a bombshell photo tease: a grainy iPhone snap, allegedly from that night, showing Meghan laughing with a silver-haired Brit in a tux, arm-in-arm with Anderson. “Prince Andrew?” No, but close enough to ignite forums: The man? A Canadian financier with Epstein flight-log ties, per leaked docs from Maxwell’s 2021 trial. Trevor alleges the night spiraled – shots at the bar, a private lounge lock-in, Meghan venting about “the pressure of it all” as Harry’s texts buzzed her phone. By 3 a.m., a tipsy near-miss: She dodged a freelance photog staking her exit, but not before a heated exchange that had security scrambling. “One wrong flash, and the world’s ‘fairy tale’ dies in a tabloid blaze,” Trevor writes. “She called me at dawn, slurring apologies for old times. I hung up knowing it was goodbye – again.”
The why now? Timing’s everything in Trevor’s producer playbook. It dropped days after Harry’s September 10 tea with Charles – that 55-minute Clarence House huddle amid cancer whispers and Invictus prep – and weeks before Meghan’s October Netflix reboot, With Love, Meghan, a lifestyle puff piece tying into her “As Ever” brand (those jam jars and cookie kits rebranded from American Riviera Orchard in February). Approval ratings? Scraping 25% per YouGov, with Hollywood Reporter dubbing the Sussexes “Hollywood’s most expensive headache” after a September 2024 staffer exodus. Trevor’s book? It’s catnip for the critics: Piers Morgan crowed on Uncensored that it’s “the revenge arc we deserved,” while royal scribe Tom Bower (fresh off his Thomas Markle pod) calls it “the missing Spare chapter.” X exploded – #TrevorTellsAll trended with 300k posts, blending legit gripes (the ring-mail brutality) with wild spins (secret kid theories, hysterectomy hints from Quora fever dreams). One viral thread: “Trevor traded the duchess for a dynasty – three kids, zero drama. Harry’s still chasing ghosts.”
Zoom out, and it’s a mosaic of reinventions gone rogue. Meghan’s Toronto chapter was her chrysalis: From latchkey kid (despite Thomas’s lighting-gig dad cred) to Northwestern poli-sci grad, calligrapher side-hustle, to Suits starlet rubbing elbows at World Vision galas. Trevor bankrolled the early bets – $50k for headshots, intros to agents – but by 2013, the distance (her 2,200-mile commute) bred resentment. “She wanted Oscars; I was scripting indies,” he laments. Post-divorce, Cory Vitiello was the rebound glow: A 2014 Toronto Life profile gushed over their “culinary romance,” her taste-testing his chicken at Pai. But it fizzled by 2016 – Harry’s arrival timed like a plot twist. Trevor claims overlap: “Emails from her begging ‘one last shot’ while she was already packing for Windsor.” The divorce? No-fault, but messy – she kept the LA pad, he got the residuals from her early gigs.
The scandal’s ripple? Palace panic. Insiders whisper Meghan’s “fuming,” per People, viewing it as “another ex-pat hit job” echoing Thomas’s age bombshell last week. Harry’s in Kyiv for Invictus, dodging Guardian jabs about his “clear conscience,” but Trevor’s line stings: “She collects husbands like Emmys – shiny, then shelved.” Camilla’s camp? Silent, but gleeful – her “villain” tag from Spare feels quaint now. And the kids? Archie (6) and Lilibet (4), still HRH-titled but photo-free for Gramps Thomas, now collateral in this crossfire. Trevor pleads for peace in the epilogue: “No grudges, just growth. Tell the grandkids their stepdad’s stories someday – the real ones.” But with As Ever jars gathering dust (sales dipped 15% post-drop, per Nielsen) and Netflix eyeing cuts to their $100m deal, growth feels like a pipe dream.
Critics pounce: Andrew Morton, whose 2018 bio painted Meghan as “Hollywood princess,” now calls Trevor’s tome “the unvarnished sequel.” Feminists cry foul – “Misogynist mail-order revenge,” per Jezebel – but Trevor’s got receipts: Scanned texts, that ring photo (a Cartier Love bracelet she still wears, per eagle-eyed fans). The Toronto night? Unverifiable, but the photo’s authenticity buzzes Reddit’s r/SaintMeghanMarkle, where locals spill: “Soho was her playground – elite, edgy, Epstein-adjacent whispers everywhere.” One ex-staffer: “She thrived on the edge, but one slip…” Police logs from November 2016 back the frenzy – officers at her door after “stalking” complaints, dismissed as “royal perks.” Chief James Ramer clapped back in 2022: “Exaggerated – we did our job.”
For Trevor, it’s closure: Post-book tour (kicking off in LA October 1), he’s eyeing a family hike in the Hills, far from the frenzy. “I loved her once – fiercely,” he told Vanity Fair in a sit-down. “Now? I love the truth more.” Meghan? Silent, but her camp’s lawyering up, per TMZ. As Harry jets home from Ukraine, the question lingers: Third time’s the charm, or just another chapter in the reinvention racket? Toronto 2016 was her pivot – from actress to duchess – but Trevor’s unmasking it as a tightrope over scandal’s abyss. In the royal game, secrets don’t age; they ambush. And this one’s got teeth.