Chapter 1

My husband, the man who was supposed to be sterile, somehow got a college girl pregnant.

He was thrilled—so thrilled that he planned to keep it a secret until the baby was born.

But fate had other plans. I caught them together at the hospital.

When I confronted him, shaking with rage, I demanded to know how he could betray me, the wife who had helped him secure multi-billion-dollar business deals.

He didn't even flinch.

Instead, he handed me a divorce agreement and said coldly, "You can't give me a child. Emmy's already in her second trimester, and she needs me. I'm going to marry her and give her a real home."

Then came the final blow. "Sign it. If we end things peacefully, you can keep your place in the company."

I refused. That was when his revenge began.

He had me thrown in jail, froze all my assets, and—worst of all—took my parents, both suffering from heart conditions, and strapped them to a drop tower ride.

"Divorce me, and I'll let them go. Refuse, and you can watch them die."

I broke down, sobbing and begging, and finally signed the papers on my knees.

But the moment my pen left the page, the drop tower released.

I watched, screaming, as my parents plummeted. Their bodies shattered midair, blood and bone raining down on me.

"No!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the moment Charles Foster had handed me that divorce agreement.

This time, I slammed both the divorce papers and my resignation letter on his desk.

"As you wish."

*****

As soon as I finished speaking, my husband Charles let out a cold laugh.

"Olivia, you're quitting? I ask for a divorce, and your response is a resignation letter? Do you actually think you can threaten me with that? That I'll suddenly grow a conscience and beg you to stay?"

He picked up a pen, signed his name on the divorce papers, and tossed them in front of me.

"I gave you a chance," he said sharply. "You chose not to take it. If you want to fight, don't blame me for being ruthless."

After signing, he didn't even glance back. He simply turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, staring at his retreating figure.

And just like that, I remembered five years ago, when the company had just been getting off the ground.

Back then, during countless business dinners and negotiations, it was I who downed glass after glass for him because he was allergic to alcohol. I ended up in the hospital with stomach bleeding, but I still went back to work as soon as I could.

As his wife, I never once slacked off. For three years, I worked myself to the bone, pushing our company to the top and eventually taking it public.

On the night of our IPO celebration, he had held me in his arms, tears in his eyes.

"Liv," he said, voice shaking, "I can't give you children. You still chose to marry me, to fight beside me through everything.

"For that, I swear—if I ever betray you, may I be struck by lightning and never know peace again."

That promise had chained me for half my life.

I believed that if I loved him enough, if I stayed through every hardship, we'd grow old together.

Even when I caught him cheating, even when I found out another woman was carrying his child, I still clung to the foolish hope that he would come back to me.

But he didn't. He destroyed me instead—had me thrown in prison, took everything I owned, and drove my parents to their deaths.

That was the day I finally woke up.

Even the most passionate young love had turned into mutual resentment.

True feelings could change.

I smoothed the crease on my resignation letter, my face calm and unreadable.

I would never make the same mistake again.

If he could be heartless, then so could I.

I called my parents, "Mom, Dad, I've opened a new branch in Britannia. Can you go ahead and help me with the setup? I'll join you in two weeks, once I finish things here."

They didn't question me. After hanging up, I handed the signed divorce papers to my lawyer and returned to the company to pack my things.

But when I opened the office door, I froze. A young woman with a five-month pregnancy bump was sitting in my chair.

"Ms. Wynn," my secretary, Mia Parker, followed in behind me. Her eyes were red, her voice barely above a whisper.

She continued, "Mr. Foster issued a new order this morning. He wants Ms. Hart to take over your position. But she hasn't even graduated from college. And that's not all—"

My voice was calm. "What else?"

Mia gripped my sleeve tightly. "Ms. Hart also said your one-million-dollar performance bonus for this quarter will be transferred to her name.

"And the thirty-two senior staff in your team... she's reassigning all of them to janitorial duty."

My nails dug deep into my palms as I pressed my lips together.

Those thirty-two employees had been with me since the very beginning.

Mike Warren once stayed awake for seventy-two hours straight to finish a project, only to collapse in the conference room.

He had been battling cancer, yet he still showed up first every morning, trying to get as much work done as he could.

Jackie Turner spent three days and nights waiting at an airport just to meet a foreign client. He finally earned their trust and signed a major contract.

He recently bought his first home and hadn't even taken his honeymoon leave, still working overtime to meet deadlines.

And then there was Tommy Wright...

Each of them had helped the company land massive deals, bringing in millions in revenue. None of them had ever bragged, never quit, never complained. They gave everything to this company.

And now, because of one woman's pettiness, they were being sent to clean toilets.

It was beyond ridiculous.

Just then, a burst of laughter came from the doorway.

A group of college students strolled in, dressed in flashy designer clothes.

They dropped into the employees' seats like they owned the place.

"Wow, this office is amazing!" a blond-haired boy said, knocking Mike's framed photo off the desk.

"Emmy's fiancé is seriously the best," another chimed in. "He's paying us thousands a month and doesn't even care when we show up. We can come and go whenever we want."

The moment I heard her words, the color drained from my face.

Just a few weeks ago, our team had spent three relentless months working day and night to secure a billion-dollar deal.

At the celebration dinner, I had gathered my courage and asked Charles to give everyone a two-thousand-dollar raise as a reward for their effort.

His expression instantly darkened. He slammed his glass down, shattering it on the floor.

"The company may have landed a huge deal," he snapped, "but cash flow is tight. How dare you even suggest a two-thousand-dollar raise? Do you think pulling in three billion makes us invincible? Have you ever considered the cost of manpower?"

I had believed him. I thought he was being cautious about finances, that the company genuinely couldn't afford it.

But now, seeing this group of clueless college kids—none of whom could even read a financial report—earning tens of thousands a month, I finally understood what he meant by cash flow problems.

Apparently, the company was only "broke" when it came to paying the people who built it. Being heartless toward me was one thing. But treating the loyal employees who helped him build this empire as disposable? How could his conscience stand it?

Mike bent down carefully to pick up the photo frame that had been tossed aside. It was a picture of his daughter.

"Hey, old man," one of the boys sneered, kicking Mike's chair. "Move your junk already. You're in the way. We're trying to play a game here."