The Discarded Wife Is An Unstoppable Tycoon

"Let's divorce."

Three simple words. And just like that, Eleanor Reed became the discarded wife of a powerful family.

She had poured three years of her life into her marriage with Damian Sutton. This was her reward.

Today was their third wedding anniversary. Eleanor had come to his office hoping for a quiet celebration, only to find an expensive necklace sitting on his desk.

For a moment, she thought it was for her.

Damian followed her gaze to the necklace and deliberately closed the elegant box.

"Annabelle is back. This is for her." His words were a clear warning not to get any ideas.

So that was it.

Eleanor lowered her head, her thick, dark-framed glasses masking the bitterness in her eyes.

The woman Damian had always worshipped-his one true love, spoiled beyond reason-was back.

And she, the wife who had never earned a place in his heart, was now just an accessory to be thrown out like trash.

Damian watched her silent, downcast figure and felt a flicker of annoyance.

"I'll make sure you're compensated. Let's finalize this quickly. Don't fool yourself into thinking you can cling to a title that was never yours to begin with." His voice was laced with cold warning.

Truth be told, Eleanor had no real flaws. Her figure, her looks, and her domestic skills were all impeccable. The problem was, she was simply dull.

She was like a tasteless dish-not satisfying, yet not entirely worthless enough to throw away.

A competent housewife. But never the right woman for him.

Seeing her continued silence, he frowned. "I'll give you three days. My patience is limited. Don't make me wait..."

"No need. I'll sign." Eleanor picked up the pen and signed her name on the divorce papers without a moment's hesitation.

They went to the courthouse and processed the paperwork, finalizing their divorce in minutes.

Eleanor stared at the divorce decree. The document stung her eyes. Her heart ached, but beneath the pain, she felt a profound sense of relief.

She was finally free from the exhausting, futile effort of trying to earn his love.

No more being torn between hope and despair, torturing herself day after day.

A clean break was far kinder than a lifetime of slow suffering. It was over.

Damian's phone rang, snapping her out of her thoughts.

He answered, his expression instantly twisting with worry. "What? Annabelle's in the hospital? I'm on my way!"

He hung up, got in his car, and sped off without a single glance in her direction, let alone an offer for a ride.

It was always the same when Annabelle was involved. Damian would become frantic, his world narrowing to focus only on her-the one woman who had ever mattered to him.

After Damian left, a black and red Bugatti pulled up silently in front of Eleanor.

Her best friend, Jennifer Hayes, stepped out in a chic black outfit, a wide grin on her face. "Congratulations on your escape from that hellhole, Your Majesty."

Jennifer tossed the car keys to Eleanor, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Up for a thrill?"

"Get in." Eleanor didn't hesitate. She slammed her foot on the accelerator, and the car shot away from the courthouse.

The Bugatti Veyron raced down Oceancrest Drive, its engine a low, steady hum.

"We have to hit a bar and celebrate! If you hadn't stopped me, I would've popped a bottle of champagne right in that bastard's face!" Jennifer fumed, still looking thoroughly annoyed.

"You plan it. But first, I'm going to a hair salon." Eleanor had no objections. She definitely needed a drink.

"So, " Jennifer pressed, "you've been in hiding for three years. People are looking for you everywhere. When are you going to come out of retirement and shake up the medical world again?"

"I have no plans for now, " Eleanor replied, her expression indifferent.

Jennifer let out a scornful laugh. "I heard your ex-husband has been looking for you, too-to treat his precious, sickly Annabelle. Ha! He'll probably die without ever knowing he was married to The Miracle Doctor."

Eleanor remained silent.

Meanwhile, across town.

Damian was speeding towards the hospital, frantically calling his assistant. "Any news on The Miracle Doctor yet?"

The Miracle Doctor was a legendary doctor who had vanished without a trace three years ago.

No one had managed to find the doctor since. Shrouded in mystery, no one had ever seen their true face or even knew if they were a man or a woman.

"Damian, we've pulled every string and exhausted all our connections. Still nothing on The Miracle Doctor," his assistant replied.

"Then keep looking! Scour the entire globe if you have to! Just find them!"

"Yes, sir!"

Damian screeched into the hospital parking lot, threw open the car door, and sprinted towards the main building.

No matter the cost, he had to find The Miracle Doctor. Annabelle was running out of time.

In a dimly lit, nameless bar.

Eleanor slid off her thick, dark-framed glasses, and her eyes instantly lit up with a mischievous sparkle.

Her once-straight black hair now fell in loose, cascading waves around her shoulders, and her lips were painted a fierce crimson, curved into the hint of a smile.

From the tilt of her head to the casual grace of her gestures, she radiated a magnetic allure. She was the polar opposite of the drab, dull woman she had seemed to be at home.

"Hey, there's a shooting competition next week. Wanna go?" Jennifer asked.

Eleanor dismissed the idea without a second thought. "Nah, I haven't touched a gun in ages. My aim's probably shot."

"Who cares about a little rust? Think of it as blowing off some steam." Jennifer grinned. "Just picture the target is that total jackass, Damian, and light it up!"

Eleanor took a slow sip of her drink. "Now that's an idea."

"Right? And I heard Ace is going to be there-the guy who almost beat you four years ago. He's been the reigning champ ever since you quit. It would be epic to watch you show up," Jennifer said, her excitement growing. "Oh, and the prize? A one-of-a-kind, custom-built Bugatti. The only one in the world!"

She slid her phone across the table, the competition details already on the screen.

Eleanor skimmed the post. Beyond the lavish reward, one other detail stood out.

Every competitor wore a mask and competed under a code name. The champion earned the right to force the loser of the match to unmask.

"If you win, you have to make Ace take off his mask. I am dying to see the face of the man who almost took you down," Jennifer urged.

"Well." Eleanor swirled her wine, a slow, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "If I'm going, let's make it really interesting."

"How?" Jennifer leaned in, her curiosity obvious. Eleanor met her friend's gaze with a knowing look.

"Let's leak a rumor. The champion also gets one consultation with The Miracle Doctor. On The Miracle Doctor's terms, of course. No expiration date."

Jennifer's eyes widened. "A bombshell like that? People will be clawing their way into the competition! That's insane!"

"I'm going to the restroom." Eleanor rose, moving with effortless poise.

She had only taken a few steps when a group of men blocked her path.

"Hey there, gorgeous. Have a drink with us."

They leered, their eyes raking over her body. Eleanor's smile vanished, her expression turning to ice.

"Piss off," she said, her voice devoid of warmth.

"Feisty, huh? We like that. Nothing better than taming a wild one."

Her face completely blank, Eleanor said, "Get out of my way, unless you want to be put down."

The man in the lead just whistled, a smirk spreading across his face as he reached for her chest.

Her patience evaporated. In a blur of motion, her hand shot out, the edge of her palm connecting with his outstretched wrist with a sickening crack.

"Aaaagh!" he shrieked, clutching his broken hand.

"Why you-" Before his friends could finish the thought, a series of swift kicks sent them flying into nearby tables.

In a matter of seconds, they were all sprawled on the ground, groaning and unable to get back up.

Upstairs.

"Wow, check her out. She's gorgeous, and she's got moves. Totally my type," one of Damian's friends commented.

Damian glanced down at the woman with the wavy hair, a flicker of recognition nagging at him. The more he looked, the more familiar she seemed. It couldn't be-his ex-wife, Eleanor.

He was only here because Annabelle Taylor had suggested they stop for a drink after her doctor's appointment. He never expected to run into anyone he knew, let alone her.

"Is... is that Eleanor?" Annabelle asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Are you kidding? That mousy housewife? No way. That bombshell has way too much fire to be the same woman," his friend scoffed.

They all stared, trying to reconcile the image below with the woman they knew. But there was no denying it. The stunning, dangerous woman on the main floor was, impossibly, Damian's ex-wife. They were speechless.

Savannah Sutton, Damian's sister, sneered. "Look at her, dressed like a slut. What else do you expect? My brother just dumped her, and now she's trolling for a replacement. She has to sell her body to survive."

Her words were met with a chorus of sniggers.

"That's what they do. They can't live without a man."

"You were right to divorce her, man. A woman who dresses like that is just waiting to cheat."

"She's a leech. Without a man to cling to, she's nothing. Born to be a whore."

Their ridicule made Damian's blood boil. "Shut up," he snarled, his voice low and seething.

His glare cut them off. Without another word, he turned and headed in Eleanor's direction.

"Damian!"

"Damian, wait-please!"

Savannah and Annabelle's voices called out, one after the other, as they hurried to catch up to him.

They cut him off, stepping directly into his path.

"Damian, you're not seriously going after that woman, are you?" Savannah demanded in disbelief.

Damian's brow furrowed. "Savannah, where are your manners?"

"Damian, don't be angry with her. She's still young; she doesn't know any better." Annabelle's voice was soft and placating. "If you still have feelings for Eleanor, just tell me. I won't force myself on you. I can leave right now."

Her eyes reddened, and looking utterly betrayed, she turned to walk away.

"Annabelle!" Damian moved quickly, catching her hand. "It's not what you think. There's nothing going on between me and Eleanor. Don't misunderstand."

"Damian, be honest with me. Is she still in your heart? It's... it's okay. I'll accept it." Her voice trembled, thick with unshed tears.

Seeing her so hurt made Damian's heart ache. "You're overthinking things. If she wants to humiliate herself in public, that's her business. It has nothing to do with me."

"Maybe she has her reasons for dressing like that. Perhaps we should go help her," Annabelle said, her tone thoughtful and considerate-the very picture of wounded grace.

A wave of affection washed over Damian. "Annabelle, you're just too kind. There's no need to worry about her. I've given her more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life. If she's chosen to debase herself for a cheap thrill, that's on her."

"But..." Annabelle seemed about to say more, but she suddenly swayed and crumpled backward.

Damian's face went pale. He caught her immediately, holding her tightly as his voice rose in panic. "Annabelle!"

"I... I'm fine. It's just too loud in here. My head's spinning. Let's go back to the private room." She slumped against him, a dead weight in his arms.

"I told you to rest at the hospital for a couple of days, but you had to be stubborn," he murmured, his tone a mix of worry and adoration.

He turned to his sister. "Take her to the room first. I'm going to the restroom. I'll be right back."

"You're not sneaking off to see Eleanor, are you?" Savannah guessed, her eyes narrowing.

Before Damian could reply, Annabelle spoke up. "Savannah, it's alright. Eleanor's clearly lost right now. It's only right that Damian goes to reason with her. Stop her from this... self-destruction. After all, she's still his ex-wife. If word of this gets out, it would be a public embarrassment for the entire family."

"Annabelle, you're too good. You're still defending that wh-" She swallowed the word, glancing nervously at Damian, who was already glaring at her.

"Just hurry back, Damian. Annabelle still hasn't fully recovered. If something goes wrong, that'll be on you, not me!"

With that, she took Annabelle's arm. "Come on, let's go."

...

In the restroom hallway.

Eleanor stepped out, running a hand through her loose waves. As she moved, men throughout the bar stopped to watch her, their conversations faltering as their eyes followed her every step.

Damian watched them, his jaw tight. Their gazes held the same raw, predatory hunger, as if each one wanted to own her.

"Eleanor!" he barked, his irritation spiking.

Her eyes landed on him. She gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, and a cold smirk touched her lips as she arched an eyebrow. "What do you want, ex-husband?"

Her tone was so light, so dismissive, that his chest tightened.

Something twisted deep in his gut.

He strode forward and seized her slender wrist. "Outside. Now."