Chapter 2
Three days later, the familiar city's skyline appeared through the airplane window.
No one had been told about the arrival.
A taxi carried me straight from the airport to the company.
The Oceanview Corporation building stood as imposing as ever in the sunlight, its glass facade casting a cold, brilliant glare.
This had been my battlefield for five long years, a kingdom I'd once believed I built with Michael.
Now it just felt like a monument to my own foolishness.
As I stepped into the lobby, the receptionist's eyes darted away the moment she saw me, head bowing to feign busywork.
The walk to the elevators was a gauntlet of stares. Every employee I passed looked at me like I was a ghost.
Their gazes were a swarm of tiny needles pricking with curiosity, pity, disdain, and a touch of schadenfreude.
Whispers bloomed in my wake, dying the instant I turned my head.
Fragments reached me anyway.
"Can she really show her face here?"
"Talk about thick skin. I'd have crawled into a hole by now."
"Look at her, cool as a cucumber. That's our iron lady for you."
My spine straightened. The sharp, rhythmic click of my heels on the polished marble floor was a steady counterpoint to the murmurs.
One step. Another. Crushing the gossip underfoot.
Pity was useless. Their judgment meant nothing.
I'd started this storm; it was only right to stand in its eye.
The executive office was on the top floor.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal Olivia's empty desk. She was probably hiding.
Michael's office door was shut tight.
Without knocking, I pushed the door in.
Inside, chaos reigned.
Papers were strewn across the floor. Shards of a priceless vase littered the expensive rug.
Behind the massive desk, Michael looked wrecked. His eyes were bloodshot, hair unkempt, shirt collar hanging open.
The polished executive aura was gone, replaced by raw, simmering fury.
The door's sound made his head snap up. His stare locked onto me, feral.
Olivia stood beside him, teary-eyed, cheeks streaked with tears, playing the picture of exquisite victimhood.
A perfect duo. The roaring lion and his dainty, wilting lily.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Michael rasped, the words scraped from his throat.
Ignoring him, I walked to the desk and tossed a document folder onto its surface.
The contents slid out.
The bold, black letters at the top read: [DIVORCE PETITION]
"Just what are you up to?" He pushed himself up, looming over the desk, trying to reclaim dominance through sheer physical presence.
"What it says. Divorce," I replied, my voice calm and level.
A soft sob escaped Olivia.
"Emily, please, this is all my fault. Be angry with me. Don't take it out on Michael," she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached for Michael's arm.
A masterclass in performative fragility.
As I watched them, a wave of nausea rolled through me.
I continued, cutting through her act, "My terms are all laid out in the document.
"You get nothing. You walk away with the clothes on your back.
"My claim covers all your shares in Oceanview, every property, car, and bank account in your name, and every single asset acquired during our marriage.
"Additionally, you and Olivia will issue a formal, public apology on behalf of the company. You will acknowledge the damage your affair has caused to corporate reputation and to my personal standing."
The words, delivered quietly, hit like sledgehammers.
Olivia's crying stopped abruptly, replaced by stunned silence.
Michael stared, blinked, then let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Emily, have you lost your mind? 'I getnothing'? On what planet? Everything you have, I gave you. Without me, you're nothing!"
"Am I?" The question hung in the air, flat and unimpressed.
His bluster and rage all seemed so pathetic now. A man who only knew how to roar at his wife.
He said, the laughter vanishing, his face hardening into a grim mask, "Listen to me, Emily. Stop daydreaming. Take this back. Issue the apology yourself.
"Do it, and we can pretend this never happened. Keep pushing, and you won't like what happens next."
Just then, a knock at the door interrupted us.
Michael's assistant entered, looking harried. His eyes flicked nervously between Olivia and me.
"Spit it out!" Michael barked, clearly losing his patience.
"Mr. Stone, the board is demanding your presence. Immediately." He hesitated. "Also, our stock... It's down five percent since the market opened."
The color drained from Michael's face.
Olivia swayed, her hand gripping the desk edge for support.
A cold smile touched my lips.
This was just the beginning.
He thought this was a domestic squabble. A marital spat.
But he was wrong.
I wasn't just divorcing him. I was going to pull him down from that throne he flaunted, with my own hands.
I turned and walked toward the door.
"Emily, stop right there!" Michael's roar followed me.
However, I didn't look back.
My hand was on the door handle when I paused, glancing over my shoulder at his contorted, furious expression.
"Michael, you're about to find out what happens next," I said.