Divorcing The Arrogant Ice Hockey Star

Chloe POV:

The truth I'd been too afraid to face for four years finally caught up with me on today-our anniversary: only then was I certain my husband had never been mine.

I had spent four years loving a man whose heart had always belonged to another woman.

I took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto my lips in the reflection.

On the dining table, the Wellington steak I had spent all afternoon perfecting was resting, its pastry shell a perfect golden brown. Beside it, a bottle of '82 Lafite. A gift from the team owner after Landon led the New York Rangers to their Stanley Cup victory last year.

The clock on the wall ticked past eight. An hour late.

My heart sank a little with each tick of the second hand.

Then, the sound of a key in the lock.

My heart leaped. I plastered on the smile I'd practiced and hurried to the entrance.

Landon's tall frame filled the doorway. He brought the scent of sweat and the cold winter night in with him. His blue eyes, the color of a frozen lake, flickered with a faint surprise when he saw me.

As if he'd forgotten.

"You're home," I said, my voice a little dry. "I made your favorite..."

He cut me off, tossing his jacket, the one with the team crest, onto the sofa with a hint of impatience. "I'm taking a shower."

He walked straight to the bathroom without a second glance at me or the table.

I stood frozen, the carefully prepared words lodged in my throat. The only sounds were the rush of water from the shower and the frantic, fading beat of my own heart.

Silently, I moved the steaks to the oven to keep them warm.

He's just tired from practice, I told myself. A lie I'd repeated countless times over the past four years.

When he came out, a towel was slung low on his hips, water droplets tracing paths down the hard lines of his abs. He was built like an athlete, every inch of him radiating power.

He walked straight to the bar and poured himself a whiskey, not to the dining table.

I went to him, trying to wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing myself against his damp, warm back. "Landon, we..."

His body tensed. He sidestepped my embrace without making it obvious, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm tired, Chloe," he said finally, his voice flat.

A knot of suffocation tightened in my chest. I pointed to the table, my voice trembling slightly. "I made dinner. At least... at least have a glass with me? Happy anniversary."

His gaze swept over the table, a slight frown on his face as if he were enduring a tedious ritual. But he picked up his glass and gave me a perfunctory toast.

We ate in silence, the clinking of our forks against the plates unnervingly loud. He ate quickly, his eyes constantly darting to his phone on the table.

"How was practice?" I tried. "Did Coach say anything?"

"The usual," he answered, his eyes still on the screen.

Later, maybe because of the alcohol, maybe just out of routine, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

His kiss was cold. His movements were mechanical, like he was completing a task. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to feel something, anything, but there was only a vast, hollow ache.

When it was over, he pulled away immediately. No warmth, no tenderness. I lay on the messy sheets, feeling like a doll that had been used and discarded.

He went back to the living room. I heard him on the phone, his voice low, but I could still catch the fragments.

"... don't worry... I'll be right there..."

My heart seized.

I knew who was calling. Isabelle Sterling. His ex-girlfriend, the model the media called his "the best beautiful woman."

I padded barefoot to the bedroom door and saw him pulling on his clothes, his movements quick and decisive.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn't turn around. "Isabelle has a situation. I have to go."

"Today..." The words were a choked sob. "It's our anniversary."

Landon finally turned to look at me, his eyes as cold as the ice he skated on. "Chloe, don't be unreasonable."

"She just needs me. Why can't you be more understanding?" he threw at me, grabbing his car keys.

I stared at him, all the strength draining from my body. The man I had loved for four years, the man I had given up everything to support, was calling me "unreasonable" on our anniversary because he was leaving to be with another woman.

I didn't say another word. I just watched him.

My silence seemed to irritate him, or maybe it pricked some tiny, annoying sliver of guilt. He stopped looking at me and strode to the door.

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, closing out the sounds of New York City and extinguishing the last flicker of light in my heart.

I walked slowly back to the dining room. I looked at the barely touched wine, the cold steak.

My marriage, like this leftover meal, was a complete failure.

I didn't cry. Not this time.

I walked to the study, opened the drawer, and took out the marriage certificate that had been sitting there untouched for four years.

I looked at the smiling faces in the photo, then placed it next to my phone on the desk. From this moment on, I would start collecting every piece of evidence. I would no longer be the fool who silently endured everything.

I picked up my phone and typed the first line in my notes: "Landon Miller, affair, Isabelle Sterling."

Chloe POV:

Then,my thumb finding the Instagram app. I pulled up Isabelle Sterling's profile.

Her latest post was from three hours ago. A picture of her in a sexy dress at some lavish party. The caption: "A lonely night."

I was seized by an absurd urge to laugh. Her "lonely night" was about to be comforted by my husband.

Just then, my phone screen lit up. An iMessage from an unknown number.

My heart skipped a beat. A dark premonition gripped me. I opened it with a trembling hand.

There were no words. Just a picture.

An ultrasound.

A tiny, grainy shape. In the top right corner, the gestational age was clearly marked.

A second message came through immediately. This time, with words.

"Don't worry, Landon will handle things with us. After all, he's going to be a dad."

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I was frozen solid. The ultrasound and those words were two sharp knives, plunged directly into my heart.

I stared at the image. The date on it was from two days ago.

Isabelle Sterling was pregnant. With Landon's child.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, landing with a soft thud on the rug. I scrambled to the bathroom, heaving over the toilet, but only dry, painful retches came out.

My stomach churned, but a sharper pain was building in my abdomen. A stabbing, twisting agony erupted from my lower right side.

I curled up on the cold tiles, a cold sweat drenching my nightgown. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe.

I crawled back to the bedroom, fumbling for my phone. The screen was still lit up with Isabelle's taunting message. My fingers automatically dialed the number I knew by heart.

Landon's.

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. The background was filled with loud music and laughter.

"Chloe? What is it?" His voice was impatient, annoyed at being interrupted.

I squeezed the words out of my throat, using every last bit of my strength. "My... stomach hurts... It hurts so bad... Come... help me..."

There was a pause on the line. Then, his voice, even more irritated. "What kind of game are you playing now? Faking sick just because I went out?"

"I'm not... It really... hurts..." My vision was starting to spin.

"Enough, Chloe." His voice was merciless. "Isabelle has a bit of a PR problem, TMZ reporters caught us. I'm dealing with it. Don't cause more trouble for me. Get yourself an Uber to the hospital."

He paused, then added, "And stop calling."

The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in my ear like a funeral bell.

A PR problem. Dealing with his and Isabelle's mess. Don't cause him more trouble.

My husband, while I was possibly dying, was worried about protecting his ex-girlfriend and their scandal.

Despair washed over me like a tidal wave. I gave up on him. With my last ounce of strength, I dialed 911.

The minutes waiting for the ambulance felt like an eternity. The pain was making me black out, but my mind was terrifyingly clear.

I remembered our wedding vows. "In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."

How ironic.

When the paramedics broke down the door, I was already losing consciousness. The last thing I heard was their urgent shouts.

In the emergency room at Mount Sinai, I was diagnosed with a ruptured ovarian cyst and severe internal bleeding. I needed emergency surgery. Immediately.

A kind nurse, Ms. Miller, held out the consent forms. "Where is your family? Do you need us to contact them?"

I looked at her sympathetic eyes and shook my head.

"I don't have any family," I whispered.

From now on, I only had myself.

I signed my own name on the form: Chloe Sullivan. The letters were warped and shaky from the pain.

As they wheeled me into the operating room, I watched the sterile white lights pass overhead, my four-year marriage flashing before my eyes.

Love, hope, expectation-all of it had been crushed to dust tonight.

As the anesthesia entered my veins, I made a decision.

This marriage was over.

Chloe POV:

The anesthesia wore off, and I woke to a sharp pain in my abdomen. The white ceiling, the smell of antiseptic, the cold IV in my arm-it wasn't a nightmare.

I turned my head. The room was empty. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting lonely stripes of light on the floor.

My phone sat on the bedside table, its screen dark. No missed calls. No messages. Landon hadn't contacted me once.

I wasn't surprised. I was almost relieved. I held no more expectations for the man who had coldly told me, "Don't cause more trouble for me."

Nurse Miller came in. She smiled warmly when she saw I was awake. "You're up, Ms. Sullivan. The surgery was a success. You need to rest now."

I managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Ms. Miller. And you can call me Chloe."

Nurse Miller checked my incision and vitals, her touch gentle. "You're very brave, Chloe. Facing all this alone." Her eyes were full of pity.

I shook my head. "I'm not alone," I said.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed my best friend Elara.

She answered almost instantly. "Chloe? You haven't answered my texts all night, what happened?" Elara's frantic voice crackled through the speaker.

A lump formed in my throat, the dam of my composure about to break. I took a deep breath, keeping my voice as steady as I could. "Elara, I need your help."

I quickly told her everything-the ultrasound photo, the pain, the emergency surgery, Landon's phone call.

There was a long silence on the other end, followed by Elara's explosive roar. "That asshole! Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

"Don't, Elara," I stopped her. "Now's not the time. I need you to do a few things for me."

My voice was unnervingly calm. It was as if the Chloe who had begged for love had died on that operating table, and a new soul, one who fought only for herself, had survived.

"First," I said, "I need you to submit my resignation letter to the team's foundation. Effective immediately."

I had worked there for four years as an employee, a pathetic attempt to have a legitimate place in Landon's world.

Elara paused, then understood. "Done! You should have left that damn place ages ago!"

"Second, find me an apartment. Fast. I don't want to go back to that house."

"No problem," Elara said instantly. "Leave it to me. You just focus on getting better."

After we hung up, Elara's housekeeper, Rosa, a kind-faced Mexican woman, arrived at the hospital carrying a thermal flask.

"Miss Price sent me to take care of you," she said, her voice warm. "She said you need nourishment after your surgery."

I sipped the warm chicken broth, the heat spreading through my body, chasing away some of the chill. It was the first warmth I had felt in two days.

My doctor, a serious-looking man named Dr. Evans, came by. He told me the ruptured cyst was dangerous and I was lucky to have gotten to the hospital when I did.

He frowned, looking at my chart. "Your emergency contact is your husband, Landon Knight? Does he know about your surgery?"

"He's busy," I replied calmly. "And we won't be husband and wife for much longer."

Dr. Evans gave me a look but didn't press further, just advised me to rest.

The next two days passed in a blur. Elara visited every day, updating me on the apartment search. Landon had vanished from my world.

I scrolled through the sports news on my phone. The headline read: "NHL Star Landon Knight's Late-Night Rendezvous with Rumored Girlfriend Isabelle Sterling, Is a Reunion Imminent?"

The accompanying photo showed them swarmed by reporters, Landon protectively shielding Isabelle behind him.

I looked at the picture, at the fierce, protective expression on his face that I had never seen before. I felt nothing. Not even a flicker of pain. I almost found it funny.

I turned off the phone and looked out the window. The New York sky was high and blue.

On the day of my discharge, Elara and Rosa came to get me. Elara gave me a huge hug. "Welcome back, Queen."

I got into her car without a single glance back at the hospital.

The car didn't head towards the home I had shared with Landon. It went somewhere new.

Elara pulled up in front of a luxury apartment building in Manhattan and handed me a key. "You're staying with me for now. I've got you."

I held the cold key in my hand, but a fire was burning inside me. I had given up on Landon, and I had given up on the pathetic woman I used to be.

My new life started today.