Anniversary Divorce: My Queen's Rise

My husband handed me divorce papers on our anniversary. It was a "temporary maneuver," he said, to appease his pregnant mistress until she gave birth to his heir.

Then he left me to die in a storm and forced me to give my blood to save her, threatening my parents' graves when I refused.

He called me a "blood bag" and expected me to wait patiently for his return.

He thought he knew his practical, loving wife.

He was about to meet the queen who would take his crown, his company, and his entire world.

Chapter 1

Aimee Ramirez POV:

My husband handed me divorce papers on the fifth anniversary of the company we built from nothing. He called it "a temporary legal maneuver."

The crisp, heavy paper felt cold against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth of the champagne flute I' d just set down. Outside the penthouse window, the city glittered, a sprawling galaxy of lights we had conquered together. Inside, the scent of the roasted duck I' d spent all afternoon preparing filled the air, a testament to a celebration that had just died.

"I don't understand," I whispered, my voice a stranger's. My eyes scanned the bold text: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. Below, in neat, typed letters, were our names: Kyle Lopez and Aimee Ramirez.

Kyle loosened his tie, his movements casual, as if he were discussing quarterly earnings. "It's simple, Aimee. Karma is pregnant."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Karma Wells. His new, ridiculously young executive assistant. The air left my lungs in a painful rush. The crystal glass, the city lights, Kyle' s perfectly handsome face-it all blurred into a nauseating swirl. Five years. Five years of what I thought was a partnership, a love story written in late-night code and shared dreams. All of it, a lie.

"Pregnant?" The word felt like swallowing shards of glass. "You... you told me you never wanted children. We agreed. Because of... because of what happened to me." My past trauma, a wound so deep we' d built our entire future around protecting it. He had held me through the nightmares and sworn that I was all he would ever need.

He had the decency to look away, his gaze falling on the flickering candlelight between us. "Things change."

"A temporary maneuver," I repeated, the words tasting like ash. My mind was scrambling, trying to find a version of reality where this made sense. This had to be a test. Some cruel, elaborate game to appease an unstable mistress. "You want me to sign this... as a sham? To placate her?"

"Exactly," he said, a relieved smile touching his lips, as if I' d finally grasped a complex business concept. He leaned forward, his voice dropping into that familiar, persuasive tone he used to close deals. "She needs security. A contract. Once the baby is born and she' s settled, we can tear this up. Nothing will really change between us, Aimee. You' ll still be my partner. My wife, in all the ways that matter."

"You want to divorce me, marry her, have a child with her, and then you expect me to just... wait?" I stared at him, searching for the man I married. The man who once traced the scar on my palm and told me it was a map of our shared journey. He was gone. In his place was a stranger, a monster wearing his face.

"She' s young. A bit unstable. This will calm her down," he explained, completely missing the hurricane tearing through me. "Think of it as an investment in peace and quiet. We can't have a scandal affecting the company, not now."

"So I' m just... a line item in your crisis management plan?"

"Don't be dramatic." He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. His touch, which once felt like home, now felt like a brand. I flinched, pulling my hand away as if from a flame.

The rejection registered on his face, a flicker of annoyance. "Aimee, we built this empire together. You and me. That doesn't change."

"Everything just changed!" My voice cracked, the sound echoing in the silent, opulent room. "You' re having a baby with another woman! You' re asking me for a divorce! Are you insane?"

He sighed, the sound steeped in impatience. "I knew you would overreact. Look, after a year, maybe two, I' ll arrange a quiet divorce from her. I'll provide for her and the child, of course. Then you and I can remarry. No one even has to know."

A cold, horrifying clarity began to settle in my chest. "And her? And the baby? What happens to them when you' re done with your 'temporary' family?"

He shrugged, a gesture of supreme indifference. "She' ll have a settlement that will set her up for life. The kid will have a trust fund. It' s what men in my position do, Aimee. It' s practical." He leaned back, a picture of calm reason. "And to show you my commitment, I'm not even contesting the asset division. You keep your full fifty percent of the company. You'll move into the waterfront condo. It' s a good deal."

A good deal. He was talking about the end of our marriage, the shattering of my world, as if it were a real estate transaction. The kind, loving man I knew had vanished. He hadn't been stolen; he had never existed. This cold, calculating narcissist was the real Kyle Lopez.

"What did you expect, Kyle?" I asked, my voice eerily calm. "Did you expect me to thank you?"

"I expected you to be smart," he snapped, his patience finally breaking. "I expected you to understand what's at stake. I still love you. You are the only woman I've ever seen as my equal."

The memory of him whispering those same words years ago, under a sky full of stars on our honeymoon, made a fresh wave of nausea roll over me. He had loved my mind, my ambition, my partnership. He had loved what I could help him build. But he had never truly loved me.

"You're right," I said, the words flat and lifeless. "It's a very good deal."

I picked up the pen he' d so thoughtfully laid beside the papers. Its weight felt immense in my trembling hand.

He watched me, a smug smile of victory already forming on his lips. He thought he had won. He thought I would fold, just like I always had, for the good of the company, for the good of us. He had no idea that the 'us' he was referring to had just died a violent death.

As my fingers tightened around the pen, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. The cold CEO vanished, replaced by a look of such tender concern it stole the breath from my lungs.

"Hey, baby," he murmured into the phone, his voice a soft caress. "No, of course you're not bothering me. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I watched, frozen, as he listened, his brow furrowed with worry. I watched as his face flooded with adoration, a look he hadn't given me in years. He was looking at his phone, but he was seeing her. His new family.

"The doctor said what? Okay, don't panic. Stay right where you are. I'm on my way." He stood up, pocketing his phone, his eyes already distant. He was already gone.

He paused at the door, turning back to me as if remembering a minor detail. "Just sign it, Aimee. We'll talk tomorrow. Wait for me here."

Then he was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the ruins of my life. The roasted duck sat untouched, its rich aroma now a sickening mockery.

Wait for me here.

A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. It was the sound of a woman breaking.

I didn't wait. I grabbed my purse and the divorce papers and walked out of that penthouse, leaving the candles to burn down over our last supper.

I drove straight to my lawyer's office, my hands steady on the wheel. The city lights blurred through my tears, no longer a symbol of our victory, but a witness to my desolation. I pushed the papers across his desk.

"File them," I said, my voice resolute. "First thing in the morning."

He looked at the document, then at my face. "Aimee, are you sure? There's a mandatory sixty-day cooling-off period, but once this is filed..."

"I'm sure," I cut him off, the words like stone in my mouth.

There was no going back. I had just set fire to my own life, and all I could feel was the chilling, liberating cold.