Divorce Make Me A Tycoon, My Ex Meet His Doom
When Christine Woods collapses into a hospital bed from unbearable pain, her husband's response is colder than the IV dripping into her veins: "Stop pretending to be sick."
That same night, a single social media post shatters her marriage--Neil Caffery, intimate with the first love he once claimed was dead.
Three years of marriage. Three years of neglect, indifference, and quiet self-deception.
In that moment, Christine finally understands the truth: she was never a wife--only a substitute.
Not wanting to live as a substitute any longer, she divorced her husband.
After divorce, Christine started her new life, achieving success both in career and love.
Seeing her so radiant and successful, her scumbag husband beg her to come back.
"Hazel, I know I was wrong. Please come back."
However, before Christine could respond, the country's richest man kicked him and held Christine's waist, "Who are you? Stop pestering my wife!"
His voice was cold, his presence imposing.
Christine looked at him and snorted, "When did I agree to marry you?"
"Baby, are you still angry about last night? I promise, I will be gentle next time." The man said, looking at her playfully.
Christine hit his chest playfully, her face turning red.
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Chapter 2
Stone and Sterling Law Firm
"Madam, our attorney, Mr. Thompson, requires appointments booked a month in advance. Without a prior reservation, you'll have to come another day."
"Is there another lawyer here today who specializes in divorce cases? I. it's urgent."
The receptionist looked troubled. "Our other attorney, Ms. Clark, is attending a city meeting today. If you're not in a rush, you could wait. But just so you know, Ms. Clark won't be back until at least eleven."
Christine smiled behind her mask. "Alright. I'll wait on the sofa. Thank you."
The two receptionists couldn't help glancing toward the sofa. Their curiosity was understandable-Christine's glasses, mask, and long sleeves made her stand out rather than blend in.
"Hey, look at her long sleeves. Could she be wearing sunglasses because of that?"
"Because of what?"
"Domestic violence. Think about it-prominent figures wouldn't have trouble booking appointments, but ordinary people wear glasses to hide family shame, right?"
"Oh. that's awful. I'll ask Ms. Clark how soon she might be back."
Just as the receptionist felt a surge of sympathy for Christine, a tall figure leaned over the counter.
"Which office is Henry Thompson in?" The man's deep, magnetic voice echoed above them.
The receptionist looked up and began to explain, "Mr. Thompson requires appointments booked a week in advance. Without one, it's impossible-"
But when she recognized the man's sharp, handsome features-holy crap, this guy was way too. way too handsome.
His eyes carried a hint of coldness, his nose was straight and prominent, and his face was chiseled like a sculpture-utterly flawless. The black suit hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist, making both receptionists blush.
The man tilted his head slightly. He didn't look at them, instead casting a faint glance toward the purple silhouette on the sofa.
His voice was cool. "Tell him Edward is here."
Overwhelmed by his intense aura, the receptionist stammered, "Y-Yes, sir!"
Christine felt an inexplicable, burning gaze pierce the back of her neck, as if it could scorch through her skin.
By the time she turned to investigate, all she saw was the receding silhouette of a man in a crisp suit.
The young woman who had greeted her earlier with polite yet haughty professionalism was now leading that figure inside with utmost reverence.
Christine let out a self-deprecating chuckle. So this is the person with the appointment, she thought.
It wasn't that she couldn't afford a good lawyer. It was just that the lawyer she knew in New York was also known to Neil. And the partner at Stone & Sterling Law Firm-where she had come today-was said to be from Los Angeles. She trusted her friend's judgment.
Christine had braced herself for an afternoon appointment with Ms. Clark, but fifteen minutes later, the receptionist approached her with a radiant smile.
"Miss Woods, our esteemed attorney, Mr. Thompson, happens to be available today. Please follow me to the consultation room."
Christine raised her delicate eyebrows slightly and smiled faintly. "Alright. Thank you for showing me the way."
She gently pushed open the conference room door, revealing a refined and elegant man inside.
"Miss Woods, please have a seat. My apologies for keeping you waiting."
The man pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose and extended his hand, showing no airs whatsoever.
"I've just been informed that you're here today to consult about a divorce case, correct?"
Christine removed her sunglasses for the first time that day, catching the fleeting look of astonishment in Henry's eyes.
"Yes, Mr. Thompson. I want a divorce-the sooner, the better."
Henry nodded in understanding. "May I ask, Miss Woods, what are your grounds for divorce?"
"My husband cheated. I can't confirm physical infidelity, but emotional cheating is confirmed."
"Oh?" Henry seemed genuinely surprised. Even among Los Angeles's elite socialites, her looks stood out. He hadn't expected her husband to cheat.
"Do you have evidence? Photos, recordings, or videos?"
Christine pulled out her phone and showed Henry the saved chat screenshots and Sofia's IG posts.
His brows furrowed deeply. "Miss Woods, I'm afraid this evidence alone isn't sufficient to prove your husband's emotional infidelity."
Christine's palms clenched involuntarily. "Mr. Thompson, then how can we prove it?"
Henry returned the phone to her. "Screenshots of chat logs only prove he was with this woman at a specific time. His sister's social media posts and comments serve merely as supplementary evidence. The most direct proof would be your husband personally admitting to the affair-whether emotional or physical."
"For instance, a handwritten apology letter. Or capturing intimate acts between your husband and the other woman-these would constitute direct evidence of infidelity."
A bitter smile rose in Christine's chest. An apology letter.
How could Neil ever apologize to her?
Even if she divorced him, he would probably still believe she was the one at fault.
As for photos-she had none.
Henry glanced at her pale face and seemed to think of something before continuing. "As long as you can prove that the breakdown of your marriage was solely caused by your husband's actions, this divorce lawsuit is certain to be won."
"However, if your demand is for him to leave with nothing, that may be difficult. Generally, infidelity does not affect the division of marital property unless he deliberately concealed, transferred, or sold off joint assets. That said, the court will order compensation for emotional damages."
"Based on the evidence you've provided so far, I believe more direct and compelling proof is still needed."
Divorce with nothing-Christine had never harbored such expectations.
She wondered if Neil had been guarding against her from the very beginning. He didn't hold direct shares in his family's company but managed it as CEO. Aside from the apartment they purchased after marriage, his only valuable assets were a few sports cars.
However, when they married, Neil's father, Gavin, had offered ten percent of the company's shares as a dowry to curry favor with her father. Christine had always treasured this, keeping the agreement locked in a safe.
Back then, she had taken it as proof of Neil's love and never bothered to transfer the shares.
But when someone truly loves you, what need is there for proof?
If he loves you, you'll feel it-there's no need to search for evidence with a lantern.
Now that she was determined to divorce him, she was going to claim that ten percent.
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson. I understand. I'll gather more evidence and file for divorce as soon as possible."
Every extra day spent with Neil felt unbearable. She only wanted to distance herself from him-never to cross paths again for the rest of her life.
Henry escorted her to the elevator, causing the front desk staff to look at Miss Woods with newfound respect.
He then strode back to his office with light steps and glanced at the man lounging on the sofa.
"Huh. You sure know how to dump work on me the moment you show up."
"Mr. Robinson, do you even know my minimum hourly consultation rate?"
Edward tugged at the corner of his lips. "Finished talking?"
"Finished. She's gone."
"Is she really getting a divorce?" the man asked abruptly.
Henry's interest was piqued. He teased lightly, "Edward, who is she that you care so much about?"
Edward's expression darkened. His long fingers rubbed the silver ring on his index finger as his aura turned ruthless.
"Mind your own business."
Henry: ".Damn."
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7.8
Alexis signed the divorce papers, leaving her with no assets, no alimony, and just the clothes on her back.
To forget her abusive husband Carlos, she got drunk and bought a high-end gigolo for the night with her last 800 dollars.
But the man she slept with wasn't an escort. He was Jarrett Hughes, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And while she was gone, her ex-husband was busy destroying her entire life.
Carlos framed her with fake photos of her cheating to justify the penniless divorce.
Then came the real nightmare.
Carlos and her own aunt secretly drained her family's corporate accounts, driving her father to jump off a building.
At the hospital, her grieving mother blamed her for the tragedy, violently attacking her in the ER.
To top it off, her cousin Josie—who was secretly sleeping with Carlos—held her father's ashes hostage.
"Crawl on your knees and pick it up, or the ashes go in the river," Josie sneered, throwing cash into the freezing slush.
Stripped of her marriage, her father, and her dignity, Alexis sat bleeding in the snow.
She couldn't understand why the people she loved most had coordinated such a brutal slaughter against her.
But Carlos and Josie made one fatal mistake.
They didn't know the "gigolo" Alexis had accidentally bought was the most powerful man in New York.
Alexis looked at the towering billionaire standing behind her, a vengeful fire burning in her eyes.
"I need you to get my father's ashes back," she said, pulling him into a kiss right in front of her ex-husband. "I don't care what it takes."
7.7
On the third anniversary of our marriage, Adrian Griffin had a new face in his passenger seat.
This time, I, Audrey Lawson, didn't storm over to tear them apart. I didn't scream or demand explanations.
I simply went home and poured the dinner I had spent the entire afternoon preparing into the trash.
The housekeeper tried to stop me. "Mrs. Griffin, you worked all afternoon on those dishes..."
I wiped my hands, my voice flat. "It's cold. I don't want it anymore."
Not the food. Not the man I had once given up my career to marry.
I took out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago. Without hesitation, I signed my name-slowly, carefully, stroke by stroke.
Then I began packing my things. Clothes. Jewelry.
And the honors that were rightfully mine.
Adrian had no idea that every award-winning design Griffin Group had received in the past five years had come from my hand.
He had built his reputation in the industry on my work.
I dialed a number that had lain dormant for three years.
"Professor, I'm back."
From this day forward, I would reclaim everything that belonged to me.
9.7
For three years, I played the role of a devoted, naive wife to billionaire Conrad Whitney. I hid my true identity and foolishly believed in our fairy tale.
Then he handed me a harsh divorce agreement, ordering me to sign and walk away with absolutely nothing. He was leaving me to marry Cindy, the fragile woman he claimed had saved him from a fire.
He expected me to cry and beg. Instead, he watched coldly as Cindy and her family illegally transferred my father's trust fund. When I confronted them at the hospital, Conrad shielded her, calling me a greedy, toxic viper. He mocked me, completely blind to the fact that Cindy was a fraud. He truly believed I was just a pathetic, useless housewife who would be utterly destroyed without his money and status.
I looked at the man I had actually dragged out of that burning debris with my own soot-covered hands. My trauma, my sacrifices, and my love had all been reduced to a joke by his sheer arrogance and a few fake tears from a manipulative liar.
I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed the papers, drugged his wine, and left a crumpled one-dollar bill on his unconscious chest with a sticky note mocking his terrible service.
Then, I picked up my encrypted phone. It was time for the world's top surgeon, Dr. Hades, to return, and for Conrad to finally see the god he had just thrown away.
8.3
Adaline Whitmore becomes the price for her father's betrayal when she is forced to live under the roof of the ruthless billionaire Ronan Frost, the man who lost everything because of her family.
But neither of them knows one truth. She is the same girl who once saved him years ago.
As everything begins to change and secrets come to light, the line between punishment and desire fades. Now Ronan must choose between his need for revenge and the woman quietly stealing his heart.
9.8
When I woke up on the muddy bank of the freezing river, I unlocked a brutal, unfiltered preview of my actual future.
For the past six months, I had been the town's ultimate joke, chasing after a city boy who looked at me like a diseased insect. Everyone thought I jumped into the river because he rejected me.
But the nightmare didn't stop there. In the future I foresaw, my entire family was destroyed. My eldest brother was handcuffed and dragged into a squad car. My second brother died in a pool of blood on the asphalt. My parents passed away from sheer grief and humiliation, and our farm was foreclosed.
Meanwhile, Bart Hawkins—my family's sworn enemy, the boy everyone accused of pushing me, but who actually jumped in to save my life—became a billionaire tech mogul. I ended up starving to death in a damp, moldy basement, completely alone.
I finally understood that I was just a pathetic, tragic side character meant to drag my family into hell. My own sister-in-law, Felicie, had been stealing our food and money, laughing at my misery behind my back.
But right now, my mother was still alive, my brothers were safe, and the farm was ours.
When Felicie walked into my bedroom, playing the devoted sister-in-law with a bowl of clear, meatless broth while a stolen roasted chicken thigh leaked grease through her apron pocket, I didn't play along.
"What's in your pocket, Felicie?"
This time, I was going to tear that horrific future apart with my bare hands.
9.0
Carli followed an anonymous text to a dark garage, only to find her fiancé of seven years tangled with another woman in his Porsche.
She smashed his window, threw her engagement ring at his face, and walked away.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. Her own family sided with the cheater. Her father slapped her across the face so hard she bled, demanding she hand over her late aunt's trust fund.
"If you don't do exactly as you're told tonight, I will freeze every credit card in your name," her father roared.
Forced to attend the exclusive Gutierrez family gala, Carli watched her ex-fiancé parade his cheap mistress to humiliate her, while her stepsister tried to publicly ruin her.
Suddenly, a violent screech echoed as the massive crystal chandelier above them snapped from the ceiling.
In a split second of pure instinct, Vaughn shoved his mistress to safety and threw himself to the ground, completely abandoning Carli to be crushed.
Staring up at the plummeting glass, Carli felt the crushing reality that her entire life had been surrounded by monsters.
But the fatal impact never came.
A massive force yanked her into a hard chest, shielding her body entirely from the explosive shrapnel.
Carli opened her eyes to find Fletcher Gutierrez—the ruthless billionaire king of Wall Street and the masked stranger from her reckless one-night stand—bleeding heavily over her.
Feeling his warm blood on her hands, Carli knew the game had just changed.