Divorcing The CEO: Watch Me Shine

On our sixth wedding anniversary, I sat at a cold dining table, waiting with a luxury watch I had spent months sourcing for my husband. But a vehicle tracker led me to an upscale restaurant, where he was throwing a lavish party for his "sick" assistant, Jasmine. What shattered me wasn't just the family heirloom he fastened around her neck. It was seeing our six-year-old daughter happily cutting the cake for her, forming a perfect family portrait. When they returned home, my daughter angrily accused me of ruining their night. Then, my assistant handed me a file revealing a sickening truth: Jasmine was infertile. The wealthy Harris family only married me so I could be a womb to breed a pure-blood heir. Conrad even bought Jasmine a replica of our mansion and let her wear a copy of my custom wedding dress. When I confronted them and tore the stolen gown off her, my own daughter violently shoved me into a sharp wooden banister. "You're a bad woman! Stop hurting Aunt Jasmine!" she shrieked. Writhing in agony, I watched my husband wrap his jacket around his weeping mistress, completely ignoring my injured back. He carried her away, while my daughter casually kicked the scattered diamonds from my ruined dress like dirt. Years ago, I nearly died taking a fatal blow for him, yet he gave Jasmine the credit and treated me like disposable trash. As I watched them walk away, my heart finally turned to ash. I slowly stood up, pulled out my phone, and called the world's top oncologist to cancel Jasmine's life-saving surgery. If they wanted her to live, it would cost them exactly fifty percent of their family empire.

I dragged my burned, battered body back from a cartel execution squad, disguising myself as a hired cleaner to enter my own New York penthouse. Instead of a grieving family, I found my husband, my five-year-old son, and my best friend throwing a party to celebrate my assassination. "We are celebrating because the bad lady is never coming back," my son chirped. He had sold the sacred protection medallion I bought him to buy his father's mistress a diamond bracelet. As I scrubbed the floors in secret, I listened to them laugh. My husband had been sleeping with my best friend for seven years, secretly draining my elite Syndicate payouts to fund her lavish lifestyle. My pregnancy was a calculated setup just to breed an heir for them so she wouldn't ruin her body. They even pulled the fangs out of my loyal dog and sold him to an underground fighting pit because he tried to protect my memory. I had taken bullets in the dirt and built our entire mafia empire from the shadows. Why did the people I loved and protected repay my blood with such venomous betrayal? But my husband made one fatal mistake when he orchestrated that cartel ambush. He didn't make sure I was actually dead. When the absolute ruler of the Syndicate arrived to deliver my posthumous honors, I wiped the medical concealer from my jagged scars. I stepped out of the shadows and demanded a blood tribunal.

Vivienne Sterling was bound to a steel chair in a derelict warehouse, trembling as the metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth. The thug torturing her put his phone on speaker, revealing a truth that shattered her world: her kidnapping was ordered by her best friend, Sophia. Worse, her fiancé Brant was on the line, his voice dripping with an intimacy he never showed Vivienne. "Of course I love you, baby. The engagement to Vivienne is just business. As soon as the project is finalized, I'm telling her it's over." Every sacrifice she had made for Brant—giving up Yale, fighting her family—was just a pathetic joke. As she choked on her blood, trying desperately to scream, a thug brought a heavy steel pipe down on her spine. In her fading vision, she saw Brant's formidable uncle, Julian Carlisle, bursting through the warehouse doors too late. How could she have been so utterly blind to their deceit? She died consumed by a tidal wave of regret and burning hatred, her soul screaming that if she had another chance, she would make them pay in blood. Suddenly, the absolute darkness was ripped away. Blinding sunlight stabbed her eyes. She wasn't dead on a cold concrete floor. She was sitting in the plush passenger seat of Brant's Bentley, wearing a Chanel gown from exactly one year ago. She looked at the man who had discarded her life so easily, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face.

To repay a family debt, I pretended to have the mental capacity of a three-year-old and married the ruthless billionaire, Bryant Carson. My own sister, Keshia, hated me for it. Right before the wedding, she defaced a photo of our dead mother, slashed my face with it, and called me a retarded freak. She didn't stop there. Thinking I was just a helpless idiot, she hired thugs to kidnap me in the middle of a storm. Over a burner phone, she coldly ordered them to slice my throat and dump my body in the ocean. My biological father was no better, abandoning me entirely while desperately trying to save his sinking business contracts with the Carsons. They all thought I was a pathetic, broken toy they could abuse without consequences. They thought I was an easy target who would just cry, suck my thumb, and hide in the corner. What my rotten family didn't know was that the "idiot" bride was actually a lethal operative. After manipulating Bryant into destroying my father's company, I hacked into Keshia's devices and sent her an encrypted death threat under my alias, "Rose". The game of revenge had officially begun. But as I lay in bed faking sleep, Bryant suddenly leaned over, pressing his fingers to my racing pulse in the dark. "Little liar," he whispered.

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband's "best friend," Jade, told a room full of people about the night she spent kissing a scar on his hip. My husband, Julian, just laughed. He chose her, not me. That night, I found their secret group chat. They called me "the ball and chain." But the worst message was from Julian. He confessed he'd been swapping my birth control pills with placebos for a year, all while promising to be a sperm donor for her. He had held me while I cried over my "unexplained infertility," telling me I was all he needed. It was all a sick, calculated lie. The next morning, he left for her birthday trip, forgetting it was my birthday too. He told me to stay home. Instead, I got in my car and followed them. I was done watching my marriage die. It was time to burn his world to the ground.

On the day Colby married Ruben the heir to the Gibson Group, not a single member of the Gibson family attended the wedding to offer their blessings. Only Brenda, Ruben's grandmother, made a phone call to her. "Want to make a bet? If, by the third year, you both are still in love, I will persuade the Gibson family to accept you. On the contrary, you must leave Ruben, and I will find him a woman whose family status aligns better with his." Colby agreed confidently. Ruben loved her as if his life depended on it, even willing to cut off his family for her. How could their love not last three years? But she never anticipated that in the third year of their marriage, Ruben would betray her.