“So you called a lawyer because of this?”

Maxwell asked, his voice tight with anger.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his jaw looked like it could crack from how hard he was holding it. The funny thing was that he looked offended, like I had done something unforgivable, like I was the one who betrayed him.

I should have been excited today. I should have been holding my pregnancy test in my hands, smiling like a fool, waiting for the perfect moment to tell my husband that I was carrying his children. Twins. Two tiny lives that had already started growing inside me without anyone’s permission.

But instead of joy, I was standing in front of him with divorce papers on the table, while his mistress sat comfortably in my home like she belonged there.

What else did he expect me to do?

I had suspected his cheating long before today, but I kept lying to myself because I didn’t want to believe the truth. It started with calls from friends who sounded excited and happy for me, telling me how lucky I was.

“Ariana, you and Maxwell looked so good together.”

I would freeze and ask, “What are you talking about?”

“At that hotel. You both looked like newlyweds. He’s so romantic.”

At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then the messages started coming in. People congratulating me. People praising my “perfect marriage.” People telling me how my husband took me out to expensive restaurants while I was at home cooking his meals or sitting in his office organizing his files like I was his unpaid assistant.

The worst part was that they weren’t lying. Maxwell was doing those things. He just wasn’t doing them with me.

One day, my friend sent a picture. It was Maxwell stepping out of a hotel lobby with a woman by his side. They were wearing matching scarves like it was some romantic couple thing. My whole body had gone cold as I stared at the screen.

If that wasn’t you, Ariana, then I guess your husband is a cheating bastard. He’s been visiting this hotel for months now.

I had read that message again and again until my eyes burned. Still, I tried to convince myself there was another explanation. Maybe he was meeting a client. Maybe it was business. Maybe it was nothing.

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

And now he didn’t even bother hiding it anymore because he had brought her into the house. Into my space. Into the home I once believed we were building together.

Divorce was the only way forward. But it wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to happen on his terms.

The lawyer left minutes later after Maxwell agreed to my conditions, and I knew he didn’t agree because he respected me. He agreed because he feared what would happen if I stopped being quiet. He agreed because he cared about his reputation more than he ever cared about my heart.

“Never knew there was this side of you,” Maxwell said after the lawyer left, dropping the pen in front of me like it disgusted him. His lip curled as he looked at me. “I never expected you to be a gold digger.”

Gold digger.

That word nearly made me laugh, but my chest felt too heavy for laughter. I didn’t even have the strength to argue with him because I had spent too many years arguing for a marriage he was already destroying behind my back.

A wave of nausea rolled through me, sharp enough to make me grip the edge of the table.

My hand moved to my stomach instinctively as discomfort spread through my body. I hadn’t gone back to the hospital after the doctor revealed I was two weeks pregnant, and I still hadn’t fully processed that I was carrying twins for this arrogant man.

This wasn’t how I imagined my life. This wasn’t how I imagined love.

A week passed after the divorce papers were drafted, and the house stopped feeling like his. I moved differently. I breathed differently. I no longer hovered around him, waiting for crumbs of attention like a starving dog. I no longer asked about his schedule, or stayed awake pretending I cared when he came home late smelling like another woman.

I lived like someone who already had one foot out the door.

Maxwell noticed the change, of course he did. Men like him always noticed when a woman stopped begging.

One afternoon, he walked out of his office with his coat in hand, his face calm like he wasn’t the reason my world had cracked open.

“I’ll be home late,” he said casually.

I looked up from my laptop, my expression calm even though my heart wasn’t. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?”

He froze mid-step like he didn’t expect me to speak. Slowly, he turned back, and I saw surprise flash across his face before it twisted into irritation.

“And how does that concern you?” he asked coldly.

Then he stepped closer, like he wanted to intimidate me into silence. “Why? What do you want now?”

I closed my laptop slowly and stood up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “We’re still legally married,” I said flatly. “So you’re not bringing your whore here, you’re not to be seen with her publicly, and you’re not going to humiliate me in front of your father and my friends before this divorce is done.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or who I can see.”

“I do,” I replied calmly. “Until the divorce is finalized.”

He stared at me like I was a stranger, like he was searching for the woman who used to lower her eyes and swallow her words. That woman wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

His phone rang then, cutting through the tension like a knife.

I folded my hands and watched him check the screen. The moment he saw the caller ID, his whole expression softened, like someone had turned on a light inside him, a light I hadn’t seen in months.

He answered immediately.

A female voice came through, shaky and dramatic. “Max… I think I sprained my ankle. Are you coming tonight? I’m so scared.”

Selene.

My throat tightened so fast I couldn’t breathe.

Maxwell didn’t respond right away. He looked at me first, and in that look I saw it clearly: he wasn’t guilty, or ashamed, or even sorry. He looked annoyed. My presence was an inconvenience, a problem standing between him and the woman he actually wanted.

Then he turned away and spoke into the phone, his voice instantly gentle.

“Stay where you are,” he said softly. “I’ll be there now.”

The words hit me like a slap.

I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. I should have been used to it by now. I should have been numb. But watching him care for her, hearing the tenderness in his voice the same tenderness he once reserved for me, made something inside my chest crack.

I turned my face away, blinking hard, forcing the tears back. I refused to cry in front of him. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

When he ended the call, he reached for his coat as if he were already halfway out the door.

“Selene is hurt,” he said, as though issuing an instruction. “She needs me.”

I stared at him, disbelief rising like fire. “And you think I should just accept that?”

His face tightened. “Don’t be unreasonable, Ariana.”

Unreasonable.

That word again. The word men use when women stop tolerating disrespect.

He sighed as though I were exhausting him. “Why are you being so heartless?”

Heartless?

The word struck me so hard I almost laughed. My hands trembled, but my voice came out steady. “Heartless?” I repeated slowly. “If anyone is heartless here, it’s you.”

He frowned, anger building behind his eyes. “She’s hurt. She needs help.”

I slammed my palm against the desk. “If I were heartless,” I said through clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t have stayed in this marriage. I wouldn’t have tried to make it work while you were out there humiliating me.”

His face twisted with rage, and he raised a finger as though I were the one who had sinned. “Where is this attitude coming from? Who the hell do you think you are?”

My lips curled. I didn’t even recognize my own voice when I replied, sharp and bitter:

“Go to hell, you cheating ass.”

His eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and stormed up the stairs, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

“What the hell does that mean, Ariana?” he shouted after me.

I stopped halfway up, my body shaking with anger and pain. Slowly, I turned back. He stood there holding his coat, still playing the victim.

“And don’t forget to transfer the billion before you go,” I said calmly, even though my chest was burning. “Unless you want to wake up tomorrow and see your infidelity all over the media.”

His mouth fell open. “Are you threatening me?”

I didn’t give him an answer. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.

I ran into my room, slammed the door, and the moment it closed, all the strength left my body like a pulled plug. I collapsed onto the bed and broke down, sobs tearing out of me before I could stop them.

This is supposed to hurt, so why am I crying like I’m the one who did wrong?

I buried my face in the pillow and cried until my throat burned. I cursed him. I cursed Selene. I cursed this marriage that had eaten me alive.

Finally, I sat up slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My reflection stared back from the mirror across the room, mascara streaked, eyes swollen, hair a mess.

I looked destroyed. And I was done looking like this.

My phone buzzed beside me on the bed. I grabbed it and opened my banking app. The notification was already there.

One billion.

I stared at the screen, something cold and sharp settling in my chest. If he could pay a billion just to keep me quiet for one night, then he had more to lose than I thought.

And I had more power than I realized.

I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and washed my face. The cold water stung, but it cleared my head. When I looked in the mirror again, I didn’t see a victim anymore.

I saw someone who was about to take everything he thought he owned.

Over the following days, he ignored me completely, returning to the house only when he needed a change of clothes.

His life now revolved entirely around Selene. I swallowed the pain in my chest. I’d already promised myself not to cry. Instead, I made a choice: every one of his excuses became an invoice.

A doctor’s appointment Selene needed. A panic attack she claimed she had at midnight. A lonely night she didn’t want to spend alone. A business dinner she insisted he attend with her.

Each time he chose her, I smiled and named a price.

A commercial building downtown. Ten percent of the shares in one of his subsidiary companies. Debit alerts. Asset transfers. Legal confirmations.

His phone kept lighting up.

At first, he tried to hide it, turning the screen away, silencing notifications, pretending it wasn’t happening. After a while, Selene noticed.

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly, sitting beside him in the hotel bed, her voice full of concern.

He forced a smile. “It’s just work stuff.”

But rage boiled underneath his skin. I could feel it even from miles away.

That night, my phone rang.

"What do you actually want?" he snapped the moment I answered. "This isn't about money anymore."

I leaned back on the couch, one hand resting unconsciously on my stomach. "I'm taking my life back."

"You already have more money than most people will ever see."

"And you still have your reputation," I replied. "Your father. Your companies. Your future. You never once lost any of it."

There was a tense pause on the line.

"Is there another man?" he asked suddenly.

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "You really can't imagine me standing on my own, can you?"

He let out a low, derisive chuckle. "I'll look forward to seeing how long you last on your own. Don't bother crawling back. I won't accept you."

Crawling back? He really thought that highly of himself.

What the hell did he think he was?

My mind was made up. I was done waiting here like a fool while he enjoyed his life with other women. I just needed to make a call, and I’d get the hell out. I was going to resume my career. It was time to stop being the pathetic bride.

“Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m not some desperate wife chasing after her cheating husband. I wouldn’t come between you and your pathetic love.”

Two days later, I made my final request.

We sat across from each other in his study.

"This is the last one," I said.

He folded his arms. "Make it quick."

I slid the document across the desk.

He read it once. Then again. His breath left him slowly, as if someone had punched it out of his chest.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he said hoarsely.

I stood. "You want me gone. This is the cost."

"This isn't just money," he snapped, slamming the paper down. "This is my inheritance. My father's trust."

"Yes," I said calmly. "It is."

His eyes lifted to mine, sharp and searching. "How do you even know about this?"

I didn't answer. The document wasn't just an asset transfer; it was a restructuring request. A clause activation, one that required my signature as his legal spouse. The incomplete divorce was the point.

His phone buzzed on the desk between us. He glanced at the screen and froze, the color draining from his face. I didn't need to see the name to know who it was. His father's lawyer never called twice.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

I looked from the papers back to him. "I made sure," I said softly, "that when I leave, I don't disappear."

His phone buzzed again. This time, he answered. "Yes," he said stiffly. "She's here."

He looked up at me as the voice on the other end grew louder, sharper. "I'll put her on."

With a shaking hand, he slid the phone across the desk toward me.

"Ariana," his father's voice came through the speaker. "We need to talk. Immediately."

I rested my palm flat against the document and smiled faintly. "Of course. I was waiting."

And for the first time since our marriage began, I saw it clearly in his eyes: Maxwell wasn't in control anymore.

The conversation with his father lasted exactly twelve minutes. I didn't need to explain much. The old man already knew what his son had done, the affair, the humiliation, the reckless disregard for the family name.

"You've been patient, Ariana," the old man said, his voice rough with age but still commanding. "More patient than he deserved."

Maxwell stood there listening, his face growing redder by the second.

"I didn't raise him to disrespect his commitments," his father continued. "And I certainly didn't arrange this marriage so he could make a fool of both families."

I said nothing. I didn't need to. The documents spoke for themselves.

When the call ended, Maxwell looked at me as if I had just stabbed him in the back.

"You went to my father?"

"No," I said calmly. "Your father's lawyer reached out to me three weeks ago. He wanted to know why you were liquidating assets without board approval."

His mouth opened, then closed.

"Every transfer you made to keep me quiet triggered alerts. Your father's legal team has been watching this whole time."

The realization hit him like cold water. He had been so focused on keeping me silent that he hadn't considered the paper trail he was creating.

"You used me," he said quietly.

"No," I corrected. "You used yourself."

He sank into his chair, hands gripping the armrests as if he needed something solid to hold onto. For once, he had nothing to say.

I stood up and started walking away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I already knew what I’d see. I could feel his rage.

Three days passed in silence. He stayed in his office or vanished to wherever Selene was. We didn’t speak or acknowledge each other.

My lawyer called every morning. Maxwell’s team was scrambling. His father had frozen several accounts pending an audit. The restructuring clause I triggered meant any major financial move needed my signature until the divorce was final.

He was trapped. And he knew it.

I rested. I slept without flinching at every sound. I ate meals without guilt. Sometimes my hand drifted to my stomach, a habit I hadn’t broken.

I still hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy. Not my lawyer. Not my friends.

On the fourth day, my phone rang.

I picked it up and checked the caller ID.

Durrell.

Maxwell's cousin. The one who seemed to make it his mission to piss me off with every word that came out of his mouth.

I wanted to ignore it, but decided to answer.

I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "What do…" He didn't let me finish.

"Get to the hospital now! Your dad's been shot," he said frantically, before hanging up.

My phone slipped from my hand, and for a moment I couldn't move.

"What is it?" Maxwell's voice cut through the haze.

I picked up my phone with trembling hands, my heart racing. "It's my dad," I whispered. "He's been shot."