After Reborn, I Divorced the Richest Man

The day Madeline moved in, everything changed. Loud, sudden, and sharp, like a storm tearing through everything I once touched.

The first thing she did was to order the maids to redecorate the entire villa.

Every wall and every curtain, except my room.

She didn't touch that. Maybe out of pity. Or maybe she just didn't care enough.

I watched it all happen in silence.

The housekeeper, who used to talk down to me like I was a stray, suddenly became her lapdog. His voice was sugar-sweet now.

"Yes, Ms. Brooks."

"Of course, Ms. Brooks."

"I'll handle it right away, Ms. Brooks."

And Finn just stood behind her the whole time. Cold. Quiet. Watching.

"All of it," he said, nodding once. "Do whatever Madeline wants."

That's all.

My peaceful morning was shattered, along with whatever little peace I'd tried to keep for myself.

When I stepped out of my room and looked over the second-floor railing, I saw them downstairs: Finn, Madeline, the maids, the furniture movers. I didn't say a word.

But Finn… he looked up. Met my eyes.

And for a moment, I saw something in his stare.

Complication. Like I was a problem he didn't want to solve.

I held his gaze, expressionless, then turned away.

"Madeline!" Henry's voice suddenly rang out, breaking the silence. He ran up to her like a puppy, tugging at her sleeve. "Can we get rid of this sofa? Jillian picked it out. I always hated it!"

Madeline laughed lightly and brushed his hair back.

"Of course, sweetheart," she said. "If you don't like it, we'll change it. You get the final say now."

I watched as the movers dragged it away.

They had no idea how many hours I spent tracking down the exact fabric, sourced from a specialty factory that only made hypoallergenic materials.

Henry had sensitive skin. Always sneezing, itching, reacting to dust and bacteria. That sofa was my way of protecting him.

But sure. Toss it. Like it meant nothing.

It was just one more little piece of myself being thrown away.

But I didn't stop them.

I'd already given them everything. My heart, my pride, my years.

And in my last life, I nearly gave them my life.

The next morning, the villa looked like a different house.

Brighter. Louder. Alive.

Henry's voice echoed down the halls, laughing, shouting, chattering about school.

Finn's low voice followed, gentle and teasing. "Don't run around too much, Madeline. Just sit with me for a bit."

Everywhere I went, I heard their voices.

The maids, now beaming as they greeted her: "Good morning, Ms. Brooks." "Your dress looks lovely today, Ms. Brooks."

And at night…things felt off.

I expected to hear those shameless moans coming from Finn's room. But when I walked past once and couldn't help peeking in, I realized Madeline wasn't sleeping in the same room as him.

What was even stranger? One stormy night, I actually caught Madeline trying to convince Finn to sleep with her. And he turned her down, in the gentlest way possible.

Maybe he was just waiting until I was truly gone before giving in. Or maybe it never had anything to do with me in the first place.

What a considerate, gentle mafia man…

Pity that his tenderness was reserved for Madeline alone.

One afternoon, I tried to escape to the garden, my last little corner of quiet.

But even there, I wasn't safe.

I heard whispers from two maids near the rose bushes.

"Mr. Gallagher treats Ms. Brooks like royalty," one of them giggled.

"Yeah," the other sighed. "He never looked at Mrs. Gallagher like that."

"I feel bad for her," the first one added. "Even Henry's calling Madeline Mom now."

"Think he's gonna kick her out soon?"

"Oh definitely. Let's bet on how long she lasts."

I smiled bitterly and whispered under my breath, "Don't waste your money. You'll all lose."

They didn't know. I was already divorced.

Back in my room, I sat by the window, waiting for my lawyer's call.

The property division was complicated. Finn's assets could take weeks to sort out. Maybe longer.

But what really bothered me was how quiet the house had become again.

They were gone. For days. No voices. No laughter. No orders being barked.

Then I found out why.

They were at Henry's school camping trip.

Finn. Madeline. Henry.

The happy little family package.

And Madeline made sure I'd see the photos and videos.

One video hit me the hardest.

In the video, Henry stood beside Madeline, grinning wide. A classmate asked him, "Hey, Henry, where's your mom? And who is this lady? She's so pretty!"

"You mean that maid who used to pick me up before?" he said. "Oh, you mistook for it. And this is my mom!"

The other kid laughed. "Whoa, you're so lucky! Your mom and dad are both so good-looking. They look perfect together!"

Perfect together.

I held the phone tight. My hands shook.

"Maid," huh?

I got up slowly and walked to the kitchen. Reached for a glass of water.

The glass slipped from my hand. Shattered on the floor.

I squatted to pick up the shards, my hands trembling. I didn't even feel the sharp edge that cut my palm. I just… broke.

I sat there, on the cold tile floor, surrounded by broken glass. And I cried.

Not for Finn. Not for Henry.

Not even for Madeline.

I cried for the woman I used to be.

The one who thought love could be earned with enough loyalty. Enough sacrifice. Enough pain.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and whispered to myself,

"It's okay. The maid is leaving soon anyway."