“Sign the divorce papers now! I’m sick of looking at your bloated, milk-stained body! I need a young trophy wife worthy of my CEO status, not a pathetic housewife like you!” My husband threw divorce papers in my face while I was still bleeding from an emergency C-section. He brought his mistress secretary to mock me. He didn’t know his CEO title was just a puppet role I created, and I was the real Chairman who owned everything.

The room tilted. “Divorce? Mark, we just had twins. We have a life.”

“I have a life,” he said with a sneer, wrapping his arm around Chloe’s waist and tugging her in. She leaned into him, giggling under her breath. “I run a billion-dollar machine. I’m the face people invest in. I need someone who matches the image—young, driven, photogenic. Someone who belongs beside me at galas.”

He gestured toward me like I disgusted him.

“You’re a stay-at-home wife. A leftover. You sit around while I build the future. You don’t fit the look anymore, Anna. You’re bad for the brand.”

I stared at him and finally saw it clearly.

The arrogance I’d trained into him.
The entitlement I’d fed.

I hadn’t married a man.

I’d manufactured a monster—and now it was trying to swallow me whole.

“You’re leaving me for your assistant?” My voice steadied.

“I’m trading up,” Mark said. “So sign. I even made it generous. You get two years of alimony. I keep the company, the properties, and final authority over the kids. Refuse, and my lawyers will bury you. I’ll make you look unstable. Unfit. I’ll take the twins—and you’ll never touch them again.”

Continue reading…