“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.

“Look at you, Anna.”

“I just had surgery,” I whispered, dragging the sheet higher over my chest. “It was hard. I lost blood.”

“You’re a disaster,” he said, stepping closer but staying just out of reach. “You’ve been a disaster for months. Pregnancy made you massive. Puffy. Exhausted. And honestly… dull.”

His cruelty was so casual it took a second for my brain to accept it.

“I gave you children,” I said, confusion mixing with pain.

“You gave me heirs,” he corrected. “Your job is done. And I’m done pretending.”

He snapped his fingers.

Chloe moved, opening the briefcase and pulling out a thick blue folder.

Mark took it and dropped it onto my bed like trash.

It landed on my legs.

“What is this?” I breathed.

“Your new reality,” he said. “Divorce papers. Custody terms. And an NDA.”

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