Chapter 1
After three years of marriage, Leonard Shaw slapped divorce papers in my face—all because his first love had come back.
At that very moment, he was down on one knee, gently slipping a pair of globally limited edition crystal slippers onto her feet.
His personal assistant, Elliott Grant, sneered. "Stella Langley, take the 15 hundred thousand dollars and get lost. Stop embarrassing Mr. Shaw.
"Without the Shaw family backing you, a nobody orphan like you will be begging."
I looked down at the crumpled check and laughed.
Right in front of them, I tore it to shreds and stuffed the pieces into the Elliott's mouth.
I scoffed. "15 hundred thousand? That wouldn't even cover the fuel for my private jet."
I dialed a number that hadn't rung in three years. "George, I'm tired of the Shaw Group. I want it bankrupt. You have three minutes."
The moment I finished speaking, Leonard's phone started buzzing uncontrollably. Within one minute, he had lost everything.
And me? I boarded a helicopter surrounded by bodyguards—a world he could never touch.
*****
Sloane Sutton was back.
Leonard's mom, Patricia Shaw, broke the news at dinner.
She gave me a once-over with a critical eye, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Stella, go tidy up the guest room—the cleanest one. Sloane's moving in."
My fork stopped mid-air. "Patricia, isn't that room always kept locked? And... wouldn't it be inconvenient for Miss Sutton to stay here?"
Patricia slammed her bowl down on the table, the sharp clatter echoing through the room.
"What's inconvenient? Sloane has no one overseas. Now that she's back, it's only right for the Shaws to take care of her."
She paused, then aimed her words right at me.
"Besides, you've been married to my son for three years and haven't given us a single child. You still have the nerve to take up the master bedroom? Move to the second bedroom tonight. Sloane gets the master."
My chest ached like a fist was squeezing it.
The bedroom Leonard and I once called our marital home was now being given to his beloved Sloane.
Seriously, how crazy was that?
I looked over at Leonard, eating in silence beside me, hoping for a word of support from him.
"Leonard..." I said softly.
He didn't even bother to look up, his tone icy.
"Mom's right. Pack your things and move."
That one sentence shattered every last bit of hope I had.
That night, I silently packed up my clothes, feeling the weight of it all.
This room, filled with memories of Leonard and me, was about to be handed over to someone else.
In the closet, the shirts I personally ironed for him were still hanging perfectly in place.
On the nightstand, our wedding photo was spotless—I'd always made sure it stayed that way.
Now, I had to erase all of it myself.
Sloane leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching my misery. "Stella, you're working so hard."
She walked in and picked up our wedding photo, tracing her finger over Leonard's face.
"Don't bother with all this. I'll have someone clear it out tomorrow."
Her voice was soft, but it cut through me like a knife.
I stopped what I was doing and stared at her.
"Sloane, what are you really after?" I asked.
She smiled—sweet, but with poison behind it.
"I just want to reclaim what was always mine.
"Leonard's love, and the spot as Mrs. Shaw."
She leaned in close, whispering so only I could hear.
"Stella, a gutter rat from an orphanage like you—do you really think you can compete with me?"
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
So she really did know everything.
Of course she did. Patricia had never approved of my background.
Just as I was about to snap back, Leonard's voice came from the doorway.
"What are you two talking about?"
Sloane's expression shifted instantly—she bit her lip, looking all pitiful, her eyes turning red.
"Oh, nothing. I was just trying to help Stella pack up, but she doesn't seem too happy about it."
Leonard's face instantly went cold.
He marched over, grabbed the clothes from my hands, and threw them onto the floor.
He snapped, "Stella, are you seriously throwing a tantrum again?
"She just being nice and trying to help you. What's wrong with you?"
Seeing him defend Sloane like that, I felt a suffocating pressure in my chest.
"I didn't," I protested.
"You dare talk back?" he snapped.
He grabbed my wrist, squeezing so hard it felt like he wanted to break it.
"I'm warning you—Sloane's not well. If you so much as mess with her, you'll regret it," he said coldly.