Divorcing My Cheating Husband

"Take it off," Kade demanded, pulling the escort onto his lap as seventy elites watched me.

The words cut through the champagne-soaked air of the Meridian Club's private dining room like a blade. Around us, the city's most powerful men leaned back in their leather chairs, crystal glasses suspended halfway to their lips, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The woman on Kade's lap—a brunette with surgically enhanced everything—giggled and began unbuttoning her blouse with practiced ease.

But Kade's steel-gray eyes weren't on her. They were locked on me, standing frozen in my custom-fitted black dress at the head of the mahogany table. His lips curved into that cruel smile I'd once thought was charming, back when I was naive enough to believe he loved me.

"Come on, darling," he drawled, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that made lesser men cower. "Don't be shy. Show our friends what they're missing."

The room fell silent except for the soft jazz playing from hidden speakers and the distant hum of Manhattan traffic forty floors below. Seventy pairs of eyes bore into me—CEOs, senators, old money aristocrats who treated women like collectible art pieces. Men who had watched me play the perfect wife for three years, never knowing the truth.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I reached behind my back and found the silk ties of my custom corset top. Without hesitation, I yanked hard, feeling the delicate fabric tear between my fingers.

The sound was sharp in the sudden quiet.

Kade's eye twitched violently. He shoved the escort off his lap so hard she stumbled, wine splashing across her exposed chest. His large hands—hands that bore calluses from his early days working construction before he built his empire—shot out and gripped my bare shoulders with bruising force.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his fingers digging into my skin.

I pulled the divorce papers from my clutch and slammed them on the table in front of him. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

"Exactly what you asked for," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "I'm taking it off. All of it. Starting with your name."

The papers scattered slightly from the force, revealing the bold heading: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. Kade's face went white, then flushed crimson as the implications hit him. Around us, I could hear the sharp intake of breath from his business associates, the scrape of chairs as some leaned forward for a better look.

Kade's hands trembled with rage as he grabbed the papers. With one violent motion, he tore them in half, then quarters, then eighths, letting the pieces flutter to the Persian rug like snow.

"You think you can just walk away?" he hissed, his grip tightening until I could feel my bones grinding together. "Without my money, your mother is a corpse."

The words should have shattered me. For three years, that threat had kept me chained to this marriage, playing the role of the devoted wife while he paraded his mistresses in front of me. The medical bills for Mom's cancer treatment had been astronomical, and Kade had paid them all—for a price.

But my heart felt like it was submerged in ice water, not from fear, but from the bitter irony. He didn't know. He had no idea that Mom had died two weeks ago, alone in that sterile hospital room while I was attending one of his charity galas, smiling for the cameras.

I met his gaze without flinching. "You're right. She would be."

Confusion flickered across his features for just a moment before I reached into my purse again. I pulled out a second set of divorce papers—I'd learned long ago to always have a backup plan when dealing with Kade Mills.

I threw them directly at his face.

The papers hit his cheek and scattered across the table. His face contorted with a rage I'd seen him turn on business rivals, on employees who disappointed him, but never quite this intensely on me.

"You little—"

He lunged forward, his massive frame moving with surprising speed. His hands found my waist and he slammed me backward against the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering cityscape. The glass was shockingly cold against my bare back, the temperature difference making me gasp.

The room erupted in murmurs and nervous laughter from his associates, but no one moved to intervene. They never did. In their world, wives were property, and property didn't get to fight back.

Kade's body pressed against mine, trapping me against the window. His breath was hot against my ear, reeking of aged whiskey and entitlement.

"You want to play games?" he whispered, his voice so low only I could hear it. "Fine. Let's play."

His hand found the hem of my dress, fingers sliding beneath the silk with deliberate, humiliating slowness. The gesture was calculated—not passion, but possession. A reminder of who held the power.

But as his touch moved higher, as the cold glass bit into my spine and the watching eyes of seventy powerful men burned into us, I felt something shift inside me. The fear that had controlled me for so long was crystallizing into something harder, sharper.

Something dangerous.

I could see our reflection in the window—Kade's broad shoulders blocking out most of my form, his dark hair perfectly styled even in his rage, my own face pale but defiant above his shoulder. Behind us, the room full of men who thought they owned the world.

They had no idea what was coming.

Kade's fingers continued their invasive path, and I let him think he was winning. Let him believe he still held all the cards. Because in exactly thirty-six hours, everything he'd built would come crashing down.

And I would be the one holding the sledgehammer.