After Divorce, I Return As CEO

".Oh yes, Reel! Harder-please, fuck me harder!"

The woman's throaty moans filled the screen, her hips arching greedily against the man driving into her-Ivory's husband. Gadreel. His name dripped from the other woman's lips like honey, shameless and triumphant.

Ivory's fingers trembled around her phone. The video played on, the sounds of slick, frantic skin and breathless whimpers clawing at her composure. Five years of marriage. Five years of fighting for him-nursing him back from the edge of death, sacrificing every part of herself-and this was how he repaid her. On their anniversary. On her birthday.

A new notification flashed, the text a venomous taunt:

[Do you like your birthday gift, dear sis?]

Evangeline. Ivory didn't need to see her stepsister's face to imagine the smirk twisting her lips.

[Just a snap of my fingers, and he comes running back. Did you really think your pathetic devotion meant anything? To him, you've always been just a glorified nurse.]

A nurse. A hollow laugh rose in Ivory's throat. Five years of her life, reduced to that? She hadn't expected love-their marriage had been a transaction, after all. But respect? Basic human decency? Apparently, even that was too much to ask.

And Evangeline wasn't finished.

[He'll divorce you soon. And when he does, I'll be the one carrying his heir. We could've had this happiness years ago if not for you.]

Ivory's vision blurred with fury. She was the villain here? After everything?

Five years ago, Evangeline had been the one who was supposed to marry Gadreel. Their love story was sweet-until the night of their engagement party, when a tragic accident left Gadreel in a coma. His condition was so severe that even the doctors held little hope for his recovery. Terrified, Evangeline fled the country overnight.

The Ødegaards couldn't forgive such a betrayal. To keep the family, the father begged Ivory to marry Gadreel in Evangeline's place.

No grand wedding, no declarations of love. Ivory became Gadreel's wife, spending years tirelessly nursing him back to health and enduring his ice-cold resentment. For five years, she had endured all this for the family.

And now, Evangeline had the audacity to blame Ivory for stealing him away? How absurd.

Fury burned through Ivory as she dialed the number, ready to tear into the hypocritical witch-but all she got was a busy signal. Coward. She considered calling Gadreel instead, certain the two were together, only to realize with a bitter laugh that she didn't even have his number.

They had once been inseparable friends as children, but he had already forgotten it. After long years of exile, she returned home only to find Gadreel's heart was completely captured by her stepsister.

Even after recovering, learning she was the one who nursed him for five years, he never spoke to her gently.

"Don't expect love from me. You know who has my heart. You'll only ever be my wife on paper."

How foolish she'd been, thinking this marriage could win her father's pride-or Gadreel's affection.

Being ignored became their routine. She was nothing but a placeholder, a tool to be used when convenient.

But she refused to be anyone's second choice anymore.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she shut off the video. Her gaze fell to the birthday cake she'd prepared-vanilla with buttercream roses, untouched. She struck a match, the flame trembling in her grip as she lit the candles.

The glow flickered, casting shadows across the empty room. Never had she felt so utterly alone.

"Happy birthday, Ivory," she whispered. "And happy every day from now on."

As the wax dripped, a quiet resolve settled over her. She leaned forward, extinguishing the flame with a single breath-marking not just the start of a new year, but the end of her anniversary with Gadreel.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and like the crown prince of high society that he was, Gadreel strode in. He flicked on the lights, banishing the darkness that had swallowed the house whole.

His sharp gaze landed on Ivory immediately-still as a statue at the dining table. He took in the untouched feast she'd prepared, then her hollow expression, before turning away without a word.

She expected silence. The disdain in those glacial blue eyes said enough. But as he moved toward the stairs, something in her snapped.

Ivory shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor.

"Aren't you going to say anything to me?"

He paused, glancing back with narrowed eyes. "What is there to say?"

His voice was Arctic. No guilt. No warmth. Just the unspoken truth: their marriage had always been a transaction.

She swallowed the bitterness clawing up her throat, forcing her voice steady. "It's our anniversary. And my birthday."

Gadreel's gaze flickered over the candles, the cake, then back to her. "So?"

So?

The word was a blade twisting in her ribs. She dug her nails into her palm, the pain the only anchor against the dizziness threatening to consume her. Of course. She was nothing to him.

Unaware-or indifferent-to her turmoil, he turned away. "I don't have time for this."

"Wait!" The plea tore from her before she could stop it.

His shoulders tensed, but he didn't look back.

Ivory forced a brittle smile. "Since I won't be getting a gift from you today." She inhaled sharply. "Let me give you one instead."

Gadreel finally turned, his frown deepening. That martyred look on her face-like she'd sacrificed everything for him-made his jaw tighten. No one had forced her into this. She'd gotten the Ødegaar name, limitless wealth, and every material privilege. What more did she want?

"Don't bother," he said coldly.

But Ivory was done hesitating. "Listen, Gadreel Ødegaar."

Her voice was steel now.

"Consider this my anniversary gift to you." A beat. "Let's divorce."

Gadreel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing visibly before he slowly turned. His piercing gaze raked over Ivory's petite frame, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

"Excuse me?" The words rumbled low in his chest like distant thunder before a storm.

Ivory stood her ground, spine straight. "I said let's get a divorce." Her voice didn't waver as she met his glare head-on.

For several heartbeats, the only sound was the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. Then Gadreel's lips twisted in a humorless smirk. "Is this your pathetic attempt at revenge?"

His mocking gaze swept over the untouched birthday feast before returning to her. "Because I missed your little celebration? Or our precious anniversary?" Each word dripped with icy disdain, devoid of even a shred of remorse.

The verbal blows landed like physical strikes, making her chest constrict painfully. Hot tears threatened, but she forced them back with practiced control.

"Revenge?" Ivory let out a brittle laugh. "I'm setting you free. Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

A dangerous shadow crossed his features. She pressed on before she lost her nerve: "Evangeline's back in Paris, isn't she? Why prolong this charade any longer?"

CRACK.

Gadreel's fist slammed into the wall beside her head, the impact vibrating through her body. His eyes burned with glacial fury that would have made a weaker woman crumble.

But Ivory had reached her limit. Years of loving a man who would never love her back had drained her soul dry. She refused to fade away completely.

"So this is really about your jealousy?" Gadreel sneered, completely blind to her inner devastation. "Your insecurity over your own sister?"

His towering frame seemed to absorb all the light in the room, casting shadows that made Ivory instinctively flinch. She willed herself to hold steady, but his proximity was overwhelming-the crisp bergamot scent of his cologne, the way his tailored suit stretched across his shoulders as he caged her between his arms.

When he leaned down, their faces mere inches apart, she hated how her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs while his remained perfectly controlled.

"Pathetic," he hissed, the word laced with venom. "The entire city knew Evangeline and I were destined. You knew it, too."

"Yet you seized your chance like a vulture circling carrion."

His breath fanned across her lips as he spoke, a cruel parody of intimacy.

"And now you dare play the wounded martyr?"

The accusation ignited something primal in her. Years of suppressed fury surged through her veins like wildfire.

She'd been the sacrificial lamb-tending to his broken body while society painted her as the scheming stepsister.

Not a single soul acknowledged her five years of devotion while weeping over Evangeline's "tragic" separation.

A bitter realization struck her: Had Gadreel never awakened, would his precious Evangeline have rushed back to his bedside?

The thought almost made her laugh. What did it matter now? She'd chosen this path like a fool chasing fairy tales. But no more.

"I'm not playing games," she said, matching his glacial tone. Her fingers dug into the table's edge as she tilted her chin up. "I'm folding my hand while I still can."

Gadreel's expression darkened, but for the first time, the storm in his eyes didn't make her flinch.

"I gambled my youth on what I thought was an ace," she continued, lips curling in a mirthless smile. "Turns out I drew the Joker."

His jaw tightened. This wasn't the trembling mouse he'd grown accustomed to.

"Enough riddles," he snapped. "Name your price."

The dismissal in his voice cut deeper than his cruelty. After everything, he still reduced her to a gold-digger, just like the rest of them. She saw it then-the unspoken verdict in his gaze.

To him, she'd always be the uneducated stand-in, barely worthy of the Ødegaar name.

The five years she'd spent changing his bedpans, massaging his atrophied muscles, reading to his unresponsive body-all of it meant less than nothing.

How could she have ever loved this man? The realization burned through her like acid. But it wasn't too late-she'd carve her freedom from his arrogance yet. If he demanded a reason, she'd give him one he'd never forget.

Ivory's gaze dropped pointedly to his groin, her lips curling into a razor-edged smile. "No one wants an impotent husband, Gadreel."

The moment the words left her mouth, she shoved against his chest-hard. A thrill shot through her at the flash of shock in his eyes. Let him choke on his own hypocrisy. They'd sent that vile video to torment her; she'd return the favor with interest.

"What?" His hand clamped around her wrist like a steel manacle, his pupils dilating with dangerous intent. "Impotent?"

She twisted against his grip, but he only tightened it, forcing her to meet his searing glare.

"I'm a woman," she hissed. "Five years in a sexless marriage is four years and eleven months too long. Let's end this farce."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbled from his chest. Without warning, he seized her chin, dragging her face so close she could count the flecks of gold in his irises.

His thumb brushed her lower lip-testing, probing-as if discovering its existence for the first time.

"So this is your grievance?" His voice dropped to a velvet-rough whisper. "You're. frustrated?"

The traitorous heat flooding her cheeks infuriated her. Gadreel seemed not to notice, too absorbed in the way her lips yielded under his touch. They were softer than he'd imagined, cool but plush, the kind that begged to be bitten-

No. He shoved the thought aside, his expression hardening.

"I wasn't aware my wife was so desperate to spread her legs for strangers," he sneered. "Tell me, Ivory-would any man do, so long as he fucks you well enough?"

The accusation struck like a slap. Her palm connected with his cheek before she could think, the crack echoing through the room.

"Before you moralize," she spat, "maybe your dick should learn which bed to rise in."

She whirled toward the table, gripping its edge until her knuckles bleached white.

"I'm saving us both. You belong with Evangeline-Go. To. Her."

Gadreel's hands seized her shoulders, spinning her around with enough force to make the silverware rattle. No one-no one-turned their back on him after striking his face. The heat radiating from his body contradicted the glacial fury in his voice as he trapped her against the table.

"You think this is your decision to make?" His breath fanned across her lips, laced with whiskey and venom. "That you can snap your fingers and end what I allowed to begin?"

A cruel laugh escaped him. "You're nothing. A placeholder. A shadow where a woman should be."

Each word landed like a scalpel, precise and vicious. Ivory's vision blurred, but she refused to let the tears fall-not here, not for him.

"Enough with the wounded doe act," Gadreel sneered, finally releasing her with a shove. "It's nauseating."

He straightened his cuffs, the gesture dripping with disdain.

"But if you're so desperate for freedom, don't let me stop you. Just remember-when you come crawling back, I won't so much as glance in your direction."

His footsteps echoed up the marble staircase, each one a hammer strike to her composure. Only when the study door slammed did the dam break.

Her knees buckled. The silverware she grasped clattered to the floor, a stray shard slicing her palm. Blood welled-crimson beads against porcelain skin-but the physical pain barely registered. Not when her chest felt cleaved open, her heart pulsing in the wreckage.

Curled beneath the dining table like a discarded doll, Ivory finally surrendered to the sobs clawing up her throat. The tears were hot, shameful, final.

Somewhere between the salt on her lips and the blood on her hands, an iron resolve crystallized:

Never again.

Tonight marked the end-of the humiliation, the hope, the girl who believed love could bloom in barren soil. When she rose from this floor, it would be as someone new. Someone who wouldn't break.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

The mansion felt unnaturally still as Gadreel descended the staircase the next morning. The usual hum of activity-the faint clink of breakfast dishes, the rustle of newspapers-was absent. An oppressive silence hung in the air, as though the very walls were holding their breath.

"Good morning, Mr. Ødegaar," Jennifer greeted, her voice unnaturally bright. She extended his usual coffee with hands that trembled slightly.

He took the cup automatically, the rich aroma hitting him before the first sip even touched his lips. Bergamot. A hint of cinnamon. His grip tightened around the porcelain. This was her blend-the one Ivory meticulously prepared whenever he'd had a particularly grueling day at the office.

Was this her idea of an olive branch?

If so, it was a pathetic attempt. She'd struck him. Him. Did she really think a cup of coffee would make up for that?

He thrust the cup back at Jennifer. "Where's Ivory?"

The housekeeper flinched as if struck. Gadreel's patience snapped. "I asked you a question."

Jennifer paled. "Sh-she left, sir. Early this morning. Packed her things and-" The words tumbled out in a rush-"She told me to make sure your coffee was ready before work!"

Gadreel went very still.

Before he could respond, the front door swung open. Ezekiel, his secretary, strode in, holding a crisp brown envelope. "Mr. Ødegaar," he said with a slight bow. "Madam asked me to deliver this to you personally."

Gadreel snatched the envelope, his fingers brushing against thick, expensive paper. Finally. An apology. An explanation. Maybe even-

The bold black letters struck like a physical blow:

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

The envelope crumpled in Gadreel's grip, the crisp paper buckling under his whitened knuckles. His expression-momentarily stunned-froze into glacial fury.

She'd actually done it.

Not an apology. Not a plea. A divorce agreement.

His jaw locked. Ivory's bite had always been worse than her bark, but this? This was outright mutiny.

"Sir." Ezekiel's hesitant voice cut through the silence. The secretary extended a smaller envelope like a man offering meat to a starving lion. "She left this as well."

Gadreel snatched it, his composure cracking as he read:

Dear husband,

If you're reading this, you've seen the documents. Don't be stubborn. Sign them. I want nothing from you-no money, no assets. Just my freedom. Consider it compensation for the years I wasted.

Sincerely,

Your ex-wife.

The words burned through him. Wasted? She'd called five years of luxury, of carrying the Ødegaar name, a waste?

His phone was in his hand before he could think. The line connected after three rings-three agonizing rings where his temper climbed with each second.

"Ivory." Her name came out like a curse.

Her voice was different-cool, detached. "Gadreel."

"What the hell is this?" he demanded. "You think throwing a tantrum will-"

"It's not a tantrum." Her interruption was calm, final. "It's exactly what it looks like. I told you last night-we're done."

His grip on the phone threatened to shatter the screen. "Enough. Come home now."

A soft, mocking laugh filtered through the line. "Why? So you can continue ignoring me? So I can watch you pine for Evangeline?"

Her voice hardened. "I'm done being your placeholder, Gadreel."

The words struck deeper than she knew. Before he could retaliate, she delivered the final blow:

"I don't love you anymore. Sign the papers."

The line went dead.

Silence.

Gadreel stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear, the echo of her words ringing louder than any scream.

For the first time in his life, the great Gadreel Ødegaar had been dismissed.

Gadreel stood motionless, his profile carved from marble in the flickering light. Only the pulsing vein at his temple betrayed the storm beneath his carefully constructed calm.

Ezekiel watched, transfixed, as his Boss's jaw worked rhythmically-clench, release, clench-like a predator restraining itself from the kill. The air grew thick with unsaid fury.

Gadreel's gaze dropped to the document in his hand. The terms were laughably generous-she asked for nothing but her freedom. His lips twisted in a sneer until his eyes caught the damning clause:

IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES AND SEXUAL DYSFUNCTION

The bold letters seemed to leap off the page, branding themselves across his vision. His grip turned vice-like, crumpling the edge of the paper.

Sexual dysfunction.

The accusation burned hotter than the fireplace beside him. Who dared-how could she-when she'd never even-

"Sir?" Ezekiel's voice was barely above a whisper now.

Gadreel's head snapped up. The look in his eyes made the secretary take an involuntary step back.

"Find her." The command came out guttural, raw.

Ezekiel's throat clicked as he swallowed. "P-Pardon?"

The explosion came without warning. "I said FIND HER!"

The secretary scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the rug in his haste to obey.

When the door clicked shut, Gadreel turned back to the fire. With deliberate slowness, he fed the document to the flames. Orange tongues licked hungrily at the paper, blackening Ivory's bold accusations to ash.

But he didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched as the last corner curled into nothingness, his reflection warping in the heat.

Oh, she wanted dysfunction? She wanted proof of his inadequacy?

Very well.

He'd show her exactly how functional an Ødegaar man could be.