Divorcing The CEO For My Secret Daughter

I forged the blueprints that crowned my husband a mafia Capo, saving him when he was nothing. But after he rose to power, he favored his new female associate, Gia, and handed her my life's work—my coded art book. When I went to retrieve it, Gia slashed my right hand with a switchblade, severing my tendons. My career as an artist died on that floor. My husband rushed into the room, looked at my destroyed hand—and stepped past me to shield her. "Have you lost your mind? She was just following my orders!" He saw what she had done. He chose to look away. He protected the woman who mutilated me, blaming me for starting the fight. I stared at the man I had spent four years building from pieces. He was protecting another woman, willfully blind to the fact that I was the true architect of his empire. Why did I sacrifice everything for a man whose memory and conscience were so easily corrupted? Without a word, I walked past them, letting my blood drip onto his expensive leather shoes. I calmly called the syndicate Enforcers to report a theft, filed for divorce, and froze all his assets. He thought my life was over. He forgot that the woman who built his empire with her right hand could tear it down with her left.

I was an ordinary human who got trapped inside a novel as the Luna of a ruthless Alpha. But for seven years, he never marked me, always prioritizing his adopted sister over my life—a woman who had hated me from the day I first stepped into their world. After a car crash orchestrated by that very sister, I lay bleeding on a hospital bed. My husband rushed in, not to comfort me, but to scold me. "Do not be so theatrical over a few scratches. You are terrifying Selene." In his rush to comfort his completely unharmed sister, he snatched my medical consent form and blindly signed it without reading a single word. He unknowingly authorized a lethal transfusion of Lycan-grade blood for my fragile human veins. As the dark blood tore my organs apart like liquid fire, the healers frantically called him to save my life. But he used his Alpha authority to block the hospital's emergency frequency, too busy renting an entire amusement park to celebrate his sister's safe return. I lay there choking on my own blood, listening to my heart monitor flatline. Why did I spend seven years loving a man who would casually sign my death warrant just to play the hero for a traitor? But he didn't know I had made a deal with a cross-dimensional entity—seven years in his world, one death by his hand, in exchange for my passage home. As my soul left that broken body and I woke up perfectly healthy in my original world, my final gift activated—a dead-man's switch, loaded with every dirty secret they thought they had buried. Now, I was free. And he was about to learn that the fragile human wife he threw away had just detonated a bomb under everything he ever owned.

Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate. Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes." My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life. They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous. They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word. It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash. That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."

The pack was howling in celebration outside, roaring for their new, undisputed Alpha. My husband, Ryker. But inside my study, there was only the quiet scratch of my pen signing my true name. For thirteen years, I had endured a hollow, loveless mating. On the day we met, he publicly humiliated me, claiming my fated scent was just "mud and weeds." Since then, he treated me with nothing but cold disdain, openly flaunting his flirtations with another she-wolf while I desperately tried to be his perfect Luna. I shattered my own soul to build his empire. I spent my nights securing his political alliances and finding his enemies' weaknesses in secret, all to fulfill a deathbed promise to his mother. Yet, he took all the credit, viewing me as a weak, useless accessory. Even his pack warriors looked at me with contempt. Tonight, his power was finally secure, and my debt was paid. But when I laid the ancient Rite of Rejection on the council table, he just smirked. He arrogantly assumed it was a hysterical, jealous tantrum over his mistress, completely blind to the fact that my heart had died to him years ago. "This isn't a threat, Ryker. This is a notice." Using the very treaties I had secretly forged to trap him, I forced the mighty Alpha to accept my rejection, walking away from his wealth and his pack with nothing but the clothes on my back and my long-lost freedom.

I saved a man bleeding out in the snow. He had no memory, so I called him Ben. We lived in a cabin, fell in love, and married by firelight with no witnesses but the ghosts of my parents. Then one day, he disappeared. Two years later, he returned. Not as my husband, but as Bernard Logan, the ruthless Underboss of the city's most dangerous crime family. And he didn't remember me. He brought his cruel new fiancée to my clinic and treated me like a stranger. When she threw my father’s antique music box into a cactus display, he watched as I tore my hands apart trying to save it. He called our past a "drug-induced hallucination" and threatened to destroy me if I spoke up. Worst of all, I found out I was pregnant. He cornered me in the hospital room, his eyes cold and devoid of the warmth I used to know. "Is it mine?" I knew if I said yes, he would turn my child into a killer like him. Or his fiancée would ensure we never survived. So I looked the love of my life in the eye and lied. "No," I said. "It's not yours." I signed his NDA, took his hush money, and vanished to Europe to raise my twins alone. I thought I was free. I found a good man who actually loved me. But three years later, at an art gallery in Zurich, the crowd parted. Bernard was standing there, staring at me with a terrifying hunger. He had found out the truth. And he was ready to burn the world down to get us back.

My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me. She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving. When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying. The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night. He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him. So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success.