Divorcing the Ruthless CEO

Vance noticed I hadn't posted a "payment requisition" in the family group chat for a week. He probably figured I’d finally broken my cheap, nickelanddiming habits.

He tossed a black AmEx onto the dining room table, like throwing a scrap to a stray. "I cleared your dad's dialysis bill," he stated, not looking up from his phone. "Stop bothering me with this lowclass garbage.

I know your family is a black hole for cash. But you're my wife now. Stop acting so desperate." My fingers brushed the cool plastic.

What he didn't know was the ink had already dried on the divorce papers. I walked out the door.

The fabric of the plain white tshirt I wore the day I moved in scraped against my wrists. No one in this city would believe it.

The wife of Vance, the man who held half the entertainment industry by the throat, had to snap a photo of a fivedollar tampon receipt and text it to his assistant for approval.

To him, I was just a gold digger. Hand me a dollar, and I’d show my true, rotten colors. A week ago, my dad's kidneys gave out. He needed an emergency transfusion.

I dropped to the floor, pressed my forehead to the cold tiles, and begged Vance for a thirtygrand advance.

Kendall, the woman he actually loved, went into the system and denied the transfer. She claimed she was doing me a favor, stepping in to cure my greedy little habits.

Vance never grasped the reality. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I took the hits.

I let them walk all over me, all just to keep my dad plugged into the lifesupport machines at his private clinic. Now, the machines were off.

They pulled my dad's tubes over unpaid bills. He was already reduced to ashes in a cheap urn. I didn't need to play the obedient, silent dog anymore.

Chapter 1 My phone buzzed against the table. A text from Vance lit up the screen, dripping with his usual arrogant charity. [ I've reinstated your dad's treatments.

Behave yourself from now on, and stop lying to get more cash out of me. ] [ I know people from your background have it rough, but I'm not a walking ATM. ] I stared at the glowing pixels.

My chest didn't tighten. My breathing didn't hitch. I typed a single letter. [ K. ] I set the phone face down.

My pen scratched against the thick paper of the divorce agreement, leaving my signature on the dotted line. Vance probably thought my threeday silence was just a tantrum.

He thought I was giving him the silent treatment because I hadn't submitted a single expense report all week.

For the past three years, I had lived like a stray, begging for scraps just to keep my dad breathing. I had zero income. Vance banned me from working.

He told me the wife of a billionaire CEO shouldn't be out embarrassing him with a ninetofive. But he didn't give me an allowance, either.

Every single cent I spent had to be routed through his company's internal expense portal. Groceries required approval. Tampons required approval.

Even a twodollar subway swipe meant scanning a crumpled receipt. And the person rubberstamping my survival was his executive assistant, Kendall.

The same woman who had clung to his side since college, parading around as his "soulmate." Three days ago. The hospital handed me the critical condition notice.

Dad suffered a massive brain hemorrhage. He needed surgery immediately. Thirty grand. To Vance, that was the price of a vintage bottle of scotch.

My thumb smashed his contact name over and over. Ten missed calls. Fifteen. Finally, the line clicked open. Kendall’s voice drifted through the speaker. "Freya?

Vance is in a board meeting. Is it an emergency?" Tears blurred my vision. I dug my nails into my thigh. "Kendall, let me talk to Vance. My dad is dying.

I need thirty thousand for his surgery. Now." A soft, breathy chuckle came through the receiver. "Freya, you know company policy. Thirty grand isn't pocket change.

You have to submit a formal requisition through the portal." "Vance hates it when people bypass the rules. If you demand cash like this, he'll just get annoyed.

Go submit the ticket. I'll approve it the second it hits my queue." The line went dead. My hands shook.

I nearly dropped the phone on the hospital floor as I frantically logged into that damn expense portal. [ Reason: Dad's emergency surgery ] [ Amount: $30,000 ] [ Attachment: Critical_Condition_Notice.jpg ] [ Status: SUBMITTED ] I stared at the screen.

One second. Two. Ten minutes crawled by. A notification pinged. It wasn't a bank deposit.

It was a rejection email from the portal. [ Rejected by: Kendall ] [ Reason: Attachment blurry. Please rescan and upload. ] Ice water flooded my veins.

I scrambled to snap another photo of the crumpled medical notice. My hands were trembling so badly the camera wouldn't focus.

I forced myself to hold my breath and took another shot. Every ticking second was bleeding my dad dry. I hit submit again.

Five minutes later. [ Status: REJECTED ] [ Reason: Amount too large. Itemized breakdown required. Down to individual medication unit prices. ] My lungs constricted.

He hadn't even gone into the OR yet. The doctors were still trying to stabilize him. Where the hell was I supposed to get an itemized breakdown of surgical meds right now?

I switched apps and fired off a text to Kendall. [ Please. Just approve the funds. It's a matter of life and death. ] [ I'll get the itemized bill later.

Kendall, this is a human life! ] A little animated cat sticker popped up on my screen. Then, her reply. [ It's not that I don't want to help, Freya.

That's just the corporate finance structure. My hands are tied. You've always been a bit too undisciplined. ] [ You can't drag those lowerclass habits into high society.

Vance said it himself. We need to teach you some boundaries. ] Chapter 2 My knees hit the linoleum floor outside the OR.

I clutched my phone, feeling like a spineless, desperate stray. I spammed Vance’s number. Texts. Voicemails. [ Vance, please. Just approve the transfer.

I'll do whatever you want. ] [ I'll stop complaining. I won't be jealous of Kendall anymore. Just save my dad. ] Thirty minutes later. A voice memo popped up from Vance.

Heavy bass throbbed in the background. His words were slurred with expensive liquor and annoyance. "Do what Kendall says. Stop bothering me." Right then.

The red light above the OR doors snapped off. The surgeon stepped out. He pulled down his mask and gave a slow, heavy shake of his head. "I'm sorry.

If we had cleared the medication even ten minutes earlier…" Static filled my ears. It drowned out the rest of his words. The world went dead silent. The man who raised me.

The man who collected scrap metal just to put me through school. Gone. All because of an "improperly formatted" requisition ticket.

He bled out in the middle of this glittering, billiondollar city. As his body went cold, whatever I felt for Vance withered and died with him. Three days passed.

I handled the arrangements. Cremation. Burial. I didn't tell Vance. There was no point. He was so terrified I was scamming him for cash, right?

Well, he never had to worry about my hands in his pockets ever again. I stared at the text he had just sent—his little act of charity.

The muscles in my face pulled into a tight, humorless smile. He thought I was playing games for his attention. He had no idea. This was me burying him.

An Instagram notification popped up on my screen. A new post from Kendall. A picture of highend omakase.

Resting next to the sushi was a man's hand, a Patek Philippe gleaming on his wrist.

The exact watch I had scraped pennies together trying to buy for Vance. [ Thanks to the boss for the Michelinstar treat. Some people only know how to ask for handouts.

What a buzzkill. ] I doubletapped the screen. A little red heart bloomed. It was the first time I had ever liked one of Kendall's posts.

A second later, Vance’s name flashed on the screen. An incoming call. He probably saw the like and thought I was being petty. I let it ring out.

He fired off a text. [ Freya, what's with the attitude? Don't start drama with Kendall. She was just doing her job. ] [ Remove the like.

Don't make me freeze your cards. ] Doing her job? Was her job murdering my father? A dry laugh scraped up my throat. I opened the comment section under her post.

My thumbs flew across the keyboard. [ Kendall climbs the corporate ladder by withholding lifesaving funds from the CEO's wife. Enjoy the blood money. You two deserve each other.

A match made in hell. ] Send. Block. Power off. Silence. I went into the bedroom to pack. There wasn't much to take.

Three years in this sprawling mansion, and my footprint barely existed. The walkin closet was massive. The left side was crammed with Vance's bespoke suits.

The right side held glassfront cabinets secured with biometric locks. That was where the diamonds and designer bags lived. Kendall held the keys and the fingerprint access.

Every time I had to attend a gala, I had to request the jewelry from her like I was checking out library books. I had to return them the second the night ended.

Once, I accidentally spilled champagne on the hem of a borrowed gown.

Kendall stood in the middle of our foyer and made me write a threethousandword apology letter in front of the housekeeping staff.

She even docked my "living expenses" for the next month.

Vance had stood right beside her, watching me with dead eyes. "Kendall is just teaching you a lesson," he had said. "Those things are expensive.

You could never afford to replace them." Chapter 3 Yeah. I couldn't afford it. I was an orphan. To them, I was just street trash.

I pulled open my designated corner of the massive closet. A few pilled sweaters and faded jeans hung limply from the racks.

The only decent piece of clothing was the plain white tshirt I wore the day I moved in, three years ago. Back then, I wasn't just Vance's wife.

I was the youngest geology grad student at MIT. A prodigy with a clear path forward. Vance told me he loved my edge. He looked me in the eye and said, "Freya, marry me.

Let me give you a real home." I bought it. I shredded my fellowship offers. I ignored my mentors' warnings. I traded the lab for a gilded cage, turning myself into a punchline.

I stripped off the oversized hoodie he hated so much. I pulled on that old white tshirt. The jeans sagged at my waist. I'd dropped twenty pounds in three years.

I dragged a beatup duffel bag out from the corner. A few textbooks, a stack of Polaroids, and a heavy brass urn. My dad's ashes.

Other than that, nothing in this mansion belonged to me. I hauled the bag down the sweeping staircase. The housekeeper was dusting a Ming vase.

She caught sight of the duffel and rolled her eyes. "Running away again, ma'am? Mr.

Vance said if you walk out that door today, you can stay out." She went back to wiping the porcelain. "Also, he wants his soup for dinner.

Don't forget to prep it." Even the hired help treated me like dirt. They knew the "lady of the house" didn't even have the authority to sign their paychecks.

Hell, my monthly "allowance" was less than their salary. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and locked eyes with her. "Make it yourself.

Or tell Kendall to do it." The housekeeper froze, her mouth slightly open. She wasn't used to me having a spine. "Excuse me? Wait until I tell Mr.

Vance about this attitude—" "Do it." I adjusted my grip on the bag and walked out the front doors without looking back. The sunlight hit my face like a physical blow.

I raised a hand to block the glare. Three years. I was finally walking out of my own grave. Vance showed up faster than I expected. He must have seen my comment and blown a fuse.

He didn't rush back to check on me, of course. He came to defend his precious pet. I stood at the gated entrance of the estate, failing to flag down an Uber.

Tires shrieked against the asphalt. A black Maybach swerved and blocked my path. The heavy door slammed open. Vance stepped out, his jaw locked in a rigid line.

Kendall trailed right behind him, her eyes rimmed red like she was the victim of some grand tragedy. "What the hell is wrong with you, Freya?" Vance grabbed my wrist.

His grip bruised. "Apologize to Kendall right now. What kind of garbage are you spouting on Instagram? Does ruining her reputation get you off?" I stared at the face I used to love.

Acid burned the back of my throat. "Garbage?" I ripped my arm out of his grasp and shot a dead look at Kendall. "Why don't you ask your assistant if it's garbage?

Three days ago, my dad was bleeding out on an operating table, waiting for lifesaving funds." "Kendall denied my requisition. She said the formatting was wrong.

She said the amount was too high. Did she mention that to you, Vance?" Vance’s eyes snapped back to mine. He froze. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

It was obvious he didn't know the details. He probably only knew I had asked for cash and Kendall told him I bypassed the rules. His head whipped around to look at Kendall.

Chapter 4 Kendall shrank back. Tears spilled over her lashes instantly. "Vance… I didn't." She clutched his sleeve. "I was just following standard corporate protocol.

And… Freya was yelling, I didn't realize it was actually a lifeordeath situation." "Besides, I told finance to prep the funds later.

Freya was the one who abandoned the ticket." Abandoned the ticket. My dad was dead. Who the hell was I supposed to submit it to? The grim reaper? Vance’s jaw tightened.

He turned on me, his eyes dark. "You really disappoint me, Freya. Kendall was doing her job." "Do you have to be this vicious? Your dad's condition is chronic.

Don't act like it was suddenly critical." "You're dragging Kendall through the mud online over a few thousand dollars. Where is your class?" Class.

He wanted me to show class to my father's murderer.

A dry, harsh sound scraped out of my throat. "Vance, you are completely blind." I tightened my grip on the duffel strap. "If you believe her, we have nothing left to discuss.

The divorce papers are on your desk. Sign them." I turned to walk away. He snatched my bag and slammed it into the concrete. The cheap zipper busted.

My things scattered across the pavement. A few frayed clothes. Some textbooks. And a heavy brass urn. It rolled across the asphalt and hit the toe of Vance's custom Italian loafer.

Vance froze. His pupils contracted as he stared down at the metal cylinder. "What is this?" I knelt on the hot asphalt.

I gathered the urn against my chest and brushed a speck of dirt off the lid. "It's my dad." I looked up at him. "Are you happy now, Vance?" Vance went rigid.

His eyes darted between the urn and my face. "Dead?" The word scraped out of his throat. "How?

He was fine three days ago." "He was." I held the urn tighter. "If that thirty grand had cleared, he would be in the ICU recovering right now." "But Kendall didn't like my formatting.

And you thought I was trying to scam you." The air turned into lead. All the color drained from Kendall's face.

She shrank behind Vance's broad shoulders. "Vance, I swear I didn't know… I thought she was just making up excuses to buy a new designer bag like before…" Vance took a sharp breath, his jaw locking tight as he tried to stabilize his tone. "Why didn't you bypass the system and come straight to me for something this big?

If you had just talked to me normally, would I have said no?" "You insisted on using the portal. You insisted on picking a fight with Kendall.

Freya, you wasted your own time!" A hollow laugh died in my throat. This was Vance. Untouchable, flawless Vance.

My father's ashes were literally at his feet, and he still found a way to blame me. I didn't have the energy to fight. My bones felt heavy. "Right.

It's all my fault." I gave a slow nod. "That's why I'm leaving. You won't have to look at me anymore." I reached for the broken duffel. "Give me my bag." Vance didn't move.

Instead, he planted the sole of his shoe right over the clothes spilling out on the concrete. Right over that faded white tshirt. Chapter 5 "Leave?

Where do you think you're going?" Vance grabbed my arm. "Don't think you can use a dead man to guilttrip me into forgiving you. Get inside." I sidestepped.

Instead of pulling away, I clamped my hand around his wrist and dragged him toward the staircase. "What are you doing? Let go!" He tried to pry my fingers off.

I ignored him, hauling him all the way up to the master closet.

Kendall scrambled up the stairs behind us. "Freya, please don't do anything crazy—" I pointed at the massive biometric safe. I looked dead at Kendall. "Open it." She froze.

I grabbed one of Vance's titanium golf clubs resting in the corner. "I said, open it." I swung. The metal head smashed against the reinforced steel door with a deafening crack.

Vance flinched. "Are you insane?" "Open it." I kept my eyes on Kendall. Her hand shook over the console. She pressed her thumb to the scanner. [ Beep. ] The heavy door clicked open.

Rows of Cartier diamonds. Hermès Birkins. Limitededition Rolexes. The shelves were stuffed to the brim. Vance scoffed. "See? Is this how poorly I treat you?

Every single item in there is worth a fortune." "Treat me?" I dropped the golf club. It clanked against the hardwood.

I dug into my pocket, pulled out a thick stack of folded papers, and hurled them right at his face. The receipts fluttered to the ground. "Open your eyes, Vance.

Those are the checkout logs from the last three years." [ May 20th. Checked out: One Hermès Birkin for a charity gala. Returned the next morning. Signed by Kendall. ] [ August 15th.

Checked out: Cartier necklace for your family dinner. Returned that night. ] [ Minor scratch detected. Five grand docked from my allowance. ] [ January 1st. Haircut requisition.

Amount: Eighty dollars. ] [ Rejected by Kendall. Reason: Hair grows back, cut it yourself, stop wasting company funds. ] Vance slowly bent down. He picked up a receipt.

His fingers gave a slight tremor. He stared at the ink. Kendall's handwriting. I pointed to the pathetic, empty corner of the closet. "That is my wardrobe.

Aside from the cheap clothes I brought with me before the wedding, you haven't bought me a single thread in three years." "You told me to be a stayathome wife.

You told me I'd never have to worry about money. And the reality?" "I had to write a thousandword essay just to get my dead ends trimmed!

Is this the billionaire lifestyle you promised me, Vance?" "The imported wagyu you feed your golden retriever has more dignity than I do!" The blood drained from Vance’s face, leaving a sickly, ashen gray behind.

He snapped his head toward Kendall. "What is this? I told you to wire a monthly allowance to my wife's account. Every single month." Kendall's knees gave out.

She collapsed onto the plush rug, sobbing hysterically. "Vance, I was just scared she'd blow it all… She grew up poor." "I didn't want the sudden wealth to ruin her… I put it all in a savings account.

I was saving it for your future kids…" "Saving it?" I pulled a printed bank statement from the pile on the floor. "Saving it under your own name, you mean?" "Last month, a luxury condo downtown was suddenly registered under your name.

Paid in full. Cash." "Where did that come from? Was that my 'allowance'?" The blood drained from Kendall's face. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.

Chapter 6 Vance squeezed his eyes shut. The muscles in his jaw ticked. He wasn't an idiot. Even with his blind trust in Kendall, the paper trail was right there in black and white.

But his pride wouldn't let him back down.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, smoothing his expression back into an impenetrable mask. "Enough." His voice was stiff. "Kendall stepped out of line.

I'll handle it." He turned back to me.

His tone softened into that familiar, patronizing drawl. "Freya, you've had a rough few days." He pulled a sleek black AmEx from his wallet and held it out. "Here.

I'll wire a hundred grand to your personal account every month." "No more expense portals.

This card has no limit." He gestured toward Kendall. "But as for Kendall… she's been with me for years. She works hard." He pushed the card closer. "Apologize to her.

You were too aggressive just now, and you scared her." "Do that, and we wipe the slate clean. We go back to normal." I stared at the matte black plastic.

My stomach churned like I was looking at roadkill. Apologize? My dad's life. Three years of being treated like a parasite.

And he thought a hundred grand and a 'clean slate' would fix it? Even now, his first instinct was to shield Kendall. I reached out and took the card. Vance’s shoulders dropped.

He exhaled, thinking I had caved. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ghost of a smirk pulling at Kendall’s lips. Snap. The sound echoed in the closet.

I bent the heavy metal card until it fractured, snapping it cleanly in two. I tossed the jagged pieces right at Vance's pristine face.

They bounced off his cheekbone and clattered to the floor. "You make me sick, Vance." I didn't blink. "Keep your dirty money." "Use it to buy Kendall a coffin." I spun on my heel. "Freya!" His voice boomed through the hallway. "If you take one step out that door, I will cut every cent of your dad's medical coverage!

I'll dig up his plot if I have to!" My Converse stopped dead on the hardwood. I turned around.

I stared at him like he was entirely unhinged. "Are you having memory issues, Vance?" My voice was dead calm. "My dad is dead. You and your perfect assistant killed him.

You want to dig up his grave? Go ahead." "He didn't get to enjoy his life anyway. He won't care about a patch of dirt.

As long as his ashes are away from you two, his ghost will rest easy." I grabbed the broken strap of my duffel and walked out. A loud crash shattered the silence behind me.

Something heavy and glass breaking against the walls. I didn't flinch. I didn't look back. The wind hit my face as I stepped off the porch. It felt incredible.

I didn't book a hotel. I didn't call any friends to cry. I took the subway straight to MIT. I knocked on Warren's office door. Warren almost didn't recognize me.

I was a ghost of my former self—twenty pounds lighter, swimming in a yellowed tshirt. But his eyes locked onto mine, and the hesitation vanished.

He saw the cold clarity in them. "Warren," I said, my voice steady. "I want back on the research team." He stared at me for a long time.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "You've wasted three years, Freya. Is your brain still functioning?" I unzipped my duffel and pulled out a battered leather notebook.

I had filled it while hiding in the marble bathrooms of Vance's mansion over the last three years. Pages of geological modeling. Hypotheses on new synthetic materials.

Even while playing the subservient little housewife, my mind never stopped running. Chapter 7 Warren flipped through the pages. His eyes lit up. "Good.

This is good." He looked up, meeting my gaze. "We leave tomorrow for the southwestern ranges. The conditions are brutal.

Can you handle it?" "I wouldn't have it any other way." The next morning, I took a pair of scissors to the long hair Vance loved so much. I hacked it into a blunt bob.

I swapped my faded tshirt for cargo pants and heavyduty hiking boots, then followed the research team deep into the mountains. Out here, there was no cell service.

No corporate expense portal. No toxic gaslighting from Kendall. Just dirt, rock formations, and endless streams of data. My muscles burned.

I spent every day trekking through rivers, my clothes caked in mud. But my chest felt lighter than it had in years. I finally found the old Freya.

The Freya who belonged in a lab, analyzing the earth. Two weeks later, we hit a massive breakthrough. We discovered a new symbiotic mineral attached to a rare ore deposit.

The find was worth billions. Warren was ecstatic, promising me lead author credit on the paper.

We were popping cheap beers at the base camp to celebrate when a convoy of offroad SUVs rolled into the clearing. The Vance Corp logo was plastered across the doors. Of course.

Vance Corp was one of the primary grant sponsors for this expedition. Vance stepped out. And he brought Kendall.

Kendall wore a pristine Chanel hiking outfit, her makeup airbrushed to perfection. She looked completely ridiculous against the rugged backdrop.

Vance wore a sleek Arc'teryx jacket and dark sunglasses, playing the untouchable CEO. They spotted me immediately.

I was logging data on a tablet, my hair wild, dried mud streaked across my cheek.

Kendall let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Oh my god, is that Freya?" She covered her mouth in exaggerated shock. "You've been gone for two weeks and you look like a homeless person.

Hanging out with a bunch of grunt workers… you're completely humiliating the Vance family." The rest of the team paused, glaring at her.

I calmly wiped a smudge of dirt from my jaw. "Kendall, this is an active geological site, not a runway." I tapped my tablet. "The lowlevel radiation from these rare ores is known to warp fresh silicone.

I'd keep that face of yours at a safe distance." A few of the grad students burst out laughing.

Kendall’s perfectly contoured face twisted in fury. "You—!" Vance yanked off his sunglasses. His jaw clenched as he scanned me up and down.

The muscles in his neck tightened. "Are you done throwing this tantrum?" He marched over, towering over me. "Is this your version of independence?

Rolling around in the dirt like a beggar just to get back at me? Pack your things. Go home, wash up, and apologize to Kendall.

I'll pretend this entire stunt never happened." I rolled my eyes.

Honestly, communicating with this level of delusion was harder than solving quantum gravity. "Get lost." I turned my back to him.

Being dismissed in front of an audience made the veins in Vance's forehead bulge. He whipped out his phone and dialed his executive assistant. He hit the speaker button.

He raised his voice, making sure everyone in the camp could hear him. "Cut off all medical funding for Freya's father, immediately!" "Throw the old man out of the hospital!

Let's see how tough she acts when she's footing the bill!" Dead silence fell over the camp. Everyone stared at him like he had lost his mind