The Mighty CEO Knelt Outside My Door After I Asked for a Divorce

"Time's about up. Still nothing from the kid's dad?"

The funeral staff in a black uniform asked quietly, their voice nearly drowned out by the low, mournful music.

Stella Hart lifted her swollen, red eyes and stared at the tiny, pale body surrounded by flowers. Sophie looked so cold and still.

Her phone screen showed nothing new-calls still going straight to voicemail.

Like a robot, Stella took a few slow steps forward, gently brushing her daughter's cheek with trembling fingers.

"Sophie, let's not wait for him anymore, okay?"

Even the staff, used to dealing with death, looked uncomfortable.

"If her father doesn't get a chance to say goodbye, he might regret it for the rest of his life. Are you sure we shouldn't wait just a little longer?"

"Regret?"

Stella suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"While my daughter lay on that table, waiting for his bone marrow to save her, he was off playing happy family-with his mistress and her daughter at some amusement park. Do you really think a man like that has any regrets?"

A tear slipped and landed on Sophie's already stiffened face.

Panicked, Stella wiped it off right away.

Her precious girl had suffered too much in this life-she wouldn't let her take tears into the next one.

"Start it. We're not waiting anymore."

...

Stella picked the most beautiful Elsa-themed urn she could find, carefully painting little floral designs onto it herself.

Sophie was scared of the dark, so instead of the somber black cloth from the funeral home, Stella wrapped the urn up in her own coat.

The early winter wind cut like knives, but she didn't feel a thing. Numbly, she flagged down a taxi and gave the driver her address.

The car pulled away from the quiet outskirts and merged into the bustle of downtown. Glitzy displays flashed outside the windows, but all she felt was emptiness.

Her parents were gone. Her daughter too. There was nothing left in this world for her.

A burst of fireworks lit up the windshield, so bright it stung her eyes.

She flinched, turning away-only to catch sight of the massive LED screens lining the street, all showing the same birthday video.

A Disney-style palace glittered on-screen. Olivia Smith, done up in a white princess gown and diamond tiara, rode up in a pumpkin carriage. Charles Hart, the all-powerful CEO, actually bent down to help her off like it was some real fairytale.

He took her hand and walked to where Isabelle Smith waited, grinning. Together they lit ten tiers of a custom cake, and when Olivia made her wish, she kissed both their cheeks with a happy giggle.

The picture-perfect "family of three" practically oozed sweetness off the screen.

"Boom!"

Another round of fireworks exploded in the sky.

The driver let out a sigh. "Man, what a life. Being Mr. Hart's daughter must be a dream come true."

Stella's eyes burned red as she clutched Sophie's urn tighter, a sharp pain stabbing through her chest.

"Take the back roads, please."

Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. It almost sounded like begging.

The driver froze, realizing where he'd picked her up from. His heart sank as the pieces clicked together.

"Sorry, ma'am... my condolences."

He quickly took a turn, avoiding the bright, busy streets.

The backroads were bumpy, but at least there were no more LED screens blaring fake happiness.

An hour later, the taxi rolled to a stop in front of Riviera Court.

Stella thanked the driver, stepped out holding the urn close, and stood under the stark white glow of the streetlamp.

Looking up at the third-floor apartment, she could almost hear Sophie's fingers still dancing across the piano keys.She practiced so hard-even when she was sick, just playing for a bit would leave her drenched in sweat. But she never stopped.

"Mom, if I win a big international piano award, do you think Dad will finally like me?"

Stella felt a sharp sting in her nose as she dragged her heavy legs toward the piano room.

She gently placed the urn on a small stool beside the piano, opened the lid, and slowly closed her eyes.

As her fingers touched the keys, the familiar melody echoed in the room, tearing open her raw grief and the memories she could never let go.

Ever since her parents passed away, she hadn't played.

The piano had become a haunting ghost.

But today, she wanted to play one last time for Sophie.

That piece Sophie had prepared for the competition-Stella played it over and over until her hands cramped up and she physically couldn't go on.

After sitting through the night, she came downstairs the next day looking like a walking ghost.

The bright morning sunlight felt like knives in her eyes.

A tall man in a sleek black coat stepped through the door, the chilly breeze clinging to him, his coat brushing the hallway floor.

Charles had finally shown up.

Without even glancing at her, he took off his coat and hung it up, tone cold and indifferent.

"Sophie's still in bed?"

Stella let out a bitter laugh.

Sophie had been gone for three days now-was he finally done playing house somewhere else and suddenly remembered she existed?

Disgusting.

Charles clearly didn't expect that. His eyes darted up, locking on her face-and for a split second, he froze. Then his brows knit, slow and tight, like a storm building behind his eyes.

Seriously? Was this going to be another one of her over-the-top acts?

He couldn't be bothered.

"I canceled my morning meeting and rushed back. Go get Sophie-I'll take her to piano class."

Just hearing the words "piano class" nearly broke Stella.

Sophie had lessons three times a week, all in the mornings.

She never dared ask him on weekdays; Saturdays were the only day she worked up the nerve, only to hear "no" every time.

As her health declined, she cut down to once a week.

Before her last surgery, Charles finally agreed to take her.

She'd barely slept out of excitement, dressed up in her prettiest white dress. His assistant picked her up.

Stella thought she'd have a lovely morning.

At 9:30, the piano teacher called.

By the time she rushed over, Sophie had already collapsed.

That's when she learned Charles had bailed-the assistant dropped her off but didn't go in.

Charles never understood that Sophie begged and begged just so she could have one moment where her classmates wouldn't laugh at her for not having a dad.

She just wanted him to show up-just once.

But he skipped more than the piano class.

When she was lying on the operating table, waiting for a chance at life, he never came.

Stella could only imagine how heartbroken her baby girl must've been at the end.

Her eyes bloodshot, she stared at Charles like she wanted to burn a hole through him. Her voice bled hate.

"Don't bother. You're never taking her again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charles frowned, annoyed.

So he missed one time, and now she's acting high and mighty?

"I don't have time for your games. Go get her."

Stella snapped. Her voice cracked, wild and ragged.

"She's gone! Sophie is dead!"

"Stella!"

For the first time, Charles lost control of his temper.

He always knew this woman had a mean streak, but he didn't expect her to go this far.

"That's your own daughter! Are you seriously cursing your own kid? Are you out of your mind?"

He didn't even want to argue anymore, too tired to drag this mess out in front of their child.

With a cold look, he turned and headed upstairs. Just as he passed by Stella, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

The moment he answered, the harshness in his expression melted away.

"Isabelle, what's wrong?"

A gentle female voice came through the phone, soft with nervousness and guilt.

"Charles, did you make it back to Riviera Court? I'm really sorry... Olivia woke up and started crying when she didn't see you..."

"Daddy, I want your scrambled eggs-you said you'd make them for me"

The little girl's sweet, clingy voice flowed through the air, warm and happy like syrup, dragging the already cold and silent house into deeper stillness. Every word was like a blade across Stella's heart.

"Olivia, be good. Daddy promised to stay with Sophie today. Mommy will make you pancakes, okay?" Isabelle coaxed gently.

The girl stopped pleading, quietly muttering an "okay," her voice full of disappointment.

Charles tossed a look-cold and distant-at Stella's grim face, but his voice on the phone was soft enough to melt.

"If Olivia wants it, she's getting it. I'm on my way."

He didn't even glance back as he hung up and strode downstairs.

Soon, a car horn blared from the yard. He'd left in such a rush, he didn't even grab his coat.

All that... just to make scrambled eggs for Olivia.

Stella clutched her chest, pain surging so sharply she could barely breathe.

This kind of fatherly warmth? Her daughter had never gotten even a taste of it.

Ever since Isabelle came back with Olivia, Charles barely even spoke to Sophie.

But Sophie was his daughter too. His real daughter.

She staggered toward the kitchen, shaky but determined. She still had too much to do-she couldn't collapse.

She made herself some honey water. Just as she finished drinking it, a knock came from the door. A staff member was standing there, holding a few medical reports.

"Ma'am, Mr. Hart left these in his coat. Please keep them safe."

Stella wasn't planning to take them-until she caught a glimpse of the bolded words on the paper.

"...Not suitable for bone marrow donation..."

She snatched the papers, flipping through them fast.

Seconds later, with the staff still staring in confusion, she bolted out of the room like someone possessed.

...

Transplant Department, Heartland Hospital.

Charles carried Olivia, fresh out of her check-up, into the VIP ward.

"The date's set. Don't worry. The international specialists will be here right on time. Everything will be fine."

Once Olivia was settled, Isabelle clutched his wrist, her face full of worry.

"Charles, the surgery will hurt you too. If there was any other way, Olivia and I... we wouldn't have pushed for this..."

Her voice trembled, tears slipping down her face, her fragile look tugging at his heart.

Charles handed her a tissue.

"Olivia's my kid. Giving up just a small piece of liver? That's nothing. If sacrificing the whole thing could save her, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Olivia threw her arms around him.

"Daddy, the doctor said after the surgery, we'll be connected forever, right? We'll always be together?"

"Yes, sweetheart. We'll never be apart," Charles said, ruffling her hair with a doting smile. "You two rest now. I'll head to the pharmacy and be right back to take you home."

Isabelle followed him to the door.

Once it closed, she lowered her voice.

"Charles... you've been taking all those anti-rejection meds for Olivia's transplant. Will it mess with your ability to donate bone marrow to Sophie? Stella might get mad, right?"

Just thinking about Stella's cold face and snark back at Riviera Court made Charles scowl.

Throwing a tantrum over a piano class? Clearly, Sophie's health isn't nearly as bad as Stella makes it out to be.

Probably just another one of her tricks to get him to care again."She can wait. Olivia can't. I'll handle the rest after the surgery."

Barely had he left when Stella stormed out from the stairs, pushing straight into the attending doctor's office like a gust of wind.

"Who are you? You can't just barge in here."

Slamming the test report on the desk, Stella stared at him, eyes bloodshot, voice trembling with anger.

"Is Olivia's condition really that urgent?"

The doctor blinked, a little thrown off.

He had just examined the child-no signs of the liver damage spreading, everything well under control.

Brows furrowing, he picked up the report from the desk, flipping through it.

"Who are you to the patient? How do you have Mr. Hart's medical test results?"

Holding back the storm raging inside her, Stella tried to keep her cool.

"Old Mrs. Hart sent me to ask."

Ah. That made sense.

The doctor didn't press further.

"Tell her not to worry. Mr. Hart is only donating a small portion of his liver-won't cause him any lasting harm. As for Miss Olivia, the damage is stable, has been for a while. He just can't stand seeing her on meds and getting poked with needles, that's why he wants the surgery done fast. He even flew in a top specialist from overseas-the procedure's practically guaranteed."

Stella's body started shaking. She could barely stay upright, fingers digging into the desk for balance.

"So... you're saying Olivia won't die even if the surgery gets delayed?"

"Of course not."

The doctor's words crushed whatever hope was left in her.

That man-he chose easing Olivia's discomfort over saving Sophie's life.

When she first saw the test report, she assumed Olivia was dying too.

Two children's lives on the line. A beloved ex and a wife he could barely stand. She thought maybe it was because of how unloved she was, that he gave up on Sophie.

But reality hit even harder.

Charles never planned to save their daughter.

Stella wandered dazed through the hospital corridor, a ghost drifting in daylight. She turned a corner and collided with someone.

"Sorry."

She apologized instinctively, reaching out to help, but her legs gave in, and she stumbled, accidentally brushing the woman's neck.

"Stella! What are you doing?!"

The startled, shrieking voice snapped Stella back to reality.

She blinked, and there they were-Isabelle pulling up Olivia protectively, glaring at her like she was some kind of threat.

They looked so alive... so vivid.

But all Stella could think of was her little girl lying cold under that sterile, white sheet in the operating room.

Rage. Hate. Despair. It all came flooding in.

Her nerves had been stretched so damn thin, they were about to snap.

Suddenly, Olivia burst out crying.

"Mommy, Auntie Stella tried to choke me! She's scary! She tried to hurt me!"

A strange gleam flickered in Isabelle's eyes as she shoved Olivia behind her, dropping to her knees with a dramatic thud.

"Stella, we had no choice coming back. I don't want my daughter to die. Please, I'd never dream of interfering with you and Charles. I beg you-just let us be, okay?"

"Stella!"

The angry shout from behind slammed into her like a brick.

Her thoughts, all muddled and out of focus, cleared up in an instant.

She watched him storm past her without a second glance-straight to Isabelle.

Charles lifted her up with care, rocking the crying Olivia in his arms, gently patting her back like she was the most precious thing.

It was the same damn scene all over again.

To him, Stella and Sophie had never belonged in his world.

No matter how obvious the scheme, how badly acted the pitiful stunts, Charles always chose to trust and protect Isabelle and her daughter.

"Daddy, Aunt Stella tried to kill me. Is it 'cause I took you away from Sophie today?"

The girl draped herself around Charles's neck, whimpering her complaint.

Isabelle, of course, was sobbing quietly beside them.

"Stella, if you're angry, be mad at me. Just... don't hurt my child. Please."

Stella's eyes turned icy.

"Fine. Then let's trade-my daughter's life for yours."

She lunged forward and grabbed Isabelle's neck with all the strength she had.

Before she could really do anything, though, Charles yanked her wrist and threw her aside hard. She stumbled back, smashing straight into the wall. Blood immediately started trickling down from her forehead.

Charles froze. He looked like he was about to step forward, but Isabelle threw herself into his arms first, trembling like a leaf and clutching her neck.

"Charles... I thought I was gonna die..."

Olivia was crying hysterically too, arms wrapped around Charles's neck like she couldn't breathe.

Charles's face darkened. His voice was low and heavy. "Stella, stop pretending."

The pain and dizziness were almost unbearable. It took Stella a few tries just to stand up.

Blood streamed down her pale forehead, dripping onto her eyelashes. She forced her eyes open and stared at the man in front of her-arms around one woman, holding another in his embrace.

Four years of secretly loving him. Six years of being his wife. One moment of death, one moment of injury.

And this... this was what she got from the man she gave everything to.

A wave of bitterness surged in her chest. Fueled by grief and rage, she stepped forward, stopping right in front of him. Then, without hesitation, she slapped him across the face.

"Smack!"

The sharp sound echoed. His face twisted with the force, and an angry red handprint bloomed on his cheek.

She hadn't held back.

"Charles, I'm divorcing you."

The intensity in her voice stunned everyone into silence.

She turned around and staggered out, her slim figure hunched, clothes wrinkled, hair messy, and hands still shaking.

Disheveled, but proud.

Behind her came a cold, mocking snort.

Stella didn't need to look back. She knew Charles wouldn't believe she'd really go through with it.

In his mind, the woman who drugged her way into his bed wouldn't willingly give up the wealth and status she'd gotten.

That's always how he saw her.

She'd spent six years defending herself-saying it wasn't her who drugged him back then.

He never believed a word of it.

Charles bit the inside of his cheek, eyes locked on her retreating back. His gaze burned, unreadable-dangerous.

That slap-Stella, how dare you?

-

The day before his surgery, Charles returned to Riviera Court one last time.

Considering he'd be recovering in the hospital afterward, he figured he wouldn't be home for at least a week.

After a shower and a change of clothes, he decided to give Stella a chance to talk things through.

But no matter where he looked, there was no sign of her in the villa.

Even all of Sophie's stuff was gone.

Damn woman. She actually ran off with the kid!

Annoyed, he pulled out his phone and opened his chat with Stella.

The last message was from a few days ago.

"Where are you? Please come to the hospital. Sophie really needs you."

His assistant said that the day she took Sophie to piano class, the kid seemed totally fine.

He should've known. Stella was still the same-manipulative, calculating. Even her own daughter's health wasn't off-limits if it meant getting what she wanted.

Disgust filled him, yet his mind kept flicking back to the image of her bloodied forehead.

Irritated, he typed out four short words: "Get back home. Now."

The moment he hit send, his screen lit up with a bright red exclamation mark.

She'd blocked him.

For a second, Charles could only laugh grimly.

For six whole years, Stella'd played the obedient wife. And now? She finally lost it, acting just like that defiant girl she used to be.

Meanwhile, Stella had already returned to the old Johnson family house.Back when Stella's family went bankrupt and her parents died in an accident, it was Old Mrs. Hart who stepped in-paid off their debts and took Stella into the Hart household. On her eighteenth birthday, she even bought back the Johnson family home as a gift.

But Stella had never dared return here-until now.

Standing once more in the worn-out living room, she stared at the small memorial shelf where her parents' framed photos stood, with Sophie's urn placed gently beneath them. Her mind was torn between gratitude toward the Harts and the bitter hatred she still felt for Charles.

A part of her just wanted to end it all.

A sharp screech of tires cut through the silence of the courtyard, making her flinch.

Her mind instantly flashed back to when she was fourteen. Back then, debt collectors had trapped her in the same spot.

"Kid, your family messed with the wrong people. If you don't step out, don't blame me for selling you off to the black market."

Terrified like a hunted animal, she didn't think much about it at the time. But now she wondered-was there more to the Johnson bankruptcy?

She turned and bolted toward the sound.

But instead of the thugs from her past, it was Charles standing in the yard.

The blur between past and present made her head spin.

Charles was already striding toward her, voice laced with sarcasm and a chill that could bite.

"Wow, Stella. You really had the guts to show up here?"

That all-too-familiar scent on him-it wasn't just his own. Some other woman's perfume clung faintly to his clothes.

Stella stepped back, took a breath to steady herself, and locked eyes with him.

Those eyes of his-calm, unreadable.

"Got the divorce papers ready? Or should I go ahead and file myself?"

His gaze flicked to the dried blood on her forehead.

Two days, and she hadn't even treated the wound. What, trying to look pitiful?

Irritated, he looked away.

"You walk out of this marriage, don't expect a single cent."

"Fine."

Her answer came without hesitation, stunning Charles into silence. His narrow eyes darkened as he stared at her.

She pointed toward the house behind her.

"This place? It was a gift from your grandma when I turned eighteen. The deed's in my name. I'll pay her back every cent she spent-but it's mine. Not yours. You've got no say."

Charles was thrown-what had gotten into her? Still, he couldn't be bothered to argue. He brushed past her and walked into the house.

"Hold on," Stella called, hurrying after him.

But her legs were no match for his stride. By the time she caught up, he was already on the couch in the living room, flipping a box open as he waved it off.

"Bought this for Sophie-for her competition. Thought I'd come give it to her myself."

He waited, fully expecting to hear little footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Sophie always lit up when he brought her things. She'd clutch the gifts with a shy smile and whisper, "Thank you, Daddy."

Sure, she wasn't as sweet-talking as Olivia, but setting Stella aside-he didn't hate the kid.

But upstairs stayed quiet-dead quiet.

"Where is she?"

He turned, confused, looking at Stella.

She'd walked in and was staring at the gift box, eyes instantly welling up.

Inside was a white chiffon dress, dotted with sparkling rhinestones, and on top, a delicate little princess tiara.

It was the same outfit Olivia had worn at her birthday party.

Now here he was, saying it was for Sophie. What a sick joke.

"I asked you-where's Sophie?"

His patience snapped, and he stepped toward the stairs.

"She's gone."