Divorced By The Boss I Slept With
Arnetta had been married to a wealthy man for three years, but she had never even seen his face.
After a wild night of drinking, she woke up in a hotel room next to a handsome, ruthless stranger.
He coldly kicked her out, mocking her as just another desperate woman trying to sleep her way to the top.
To her shock, she soon discovered the stranger was Brennan Kirkland—her firm's top-tier client and a legendary Wall Street billionaire.
Hiding her true identity as a corporate spy, she manipulated her way into becoming his executive assistant to steal his data.
During a business dinner, Arnetta received a humiliating text from her absent husband, demanding a divorce and calling her a greedy parasite.
"He is a deadbeat coward who thinks money solves everything," Arnetta spat in anger.
"A man who hides behind lawyers is weak," Brennan agreed coldly.
He had absolutely no idea he was insulting his own actions, nor did he realize the wild, gold-digging wife he despised was sitting right across from him.
The next day, her husband's legal team sent a brutal twenty-million-dollar settlement offer, threatening to ruin her if she didn't take the payoff and disappear.
Staring at the degrading ultimatum, Arnetta's hands shook with blinding rage.
She looked at Brennan, who was busy plotting to destroy his own wife, and a terrifyingly calm smile touched her lips.
She wasn't just going to take the money; she was going to completely destroy him.
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Chapter 3
The private elevator glided upward with a soft, mechanical hum.
Arnetta watched the digital floor indicator climb higher and higher. Her stomach tightened with every passing second. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses, making sure they sat perfectly on the bridge of her nose. She smoothed down the front of her shapeless gray jacket.
The elevator chimed. The metal doors slid open.
Arnetta stepped out. The difference between the junior bullpen and the top floor was staggering. The air up here was cool and smelled of expensive leather and citrus polish. Her cheap heels sank into the thick, sound-absorbing carpet. The walls were lined with modern art encased in glass.
She walked down the wide, silent corridor. At the end of the hall stood a massive set of double walnut doors.
Arnetta approached the doors, her grip tightening on the red Kirkland file.
Before she could reach the handle, a woman stepped into her path.
It was Alexis Ware, Vanguard's senior executive. Alexis wore a sharp, tailored suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a flawless ponytail. She looked Arnetta up and down, her eyes lingering on the cheap gray suit with obvious disdain.
"You are lost," Alexis said, her voice dripping with condescension. "The mailroom is in the basement."
Arnetta did not flinch. She held up the red folder.
"I am not lost," Arnetta said evenly. "I am here to deliver the preliminary modeling for the Kirkland Industries merger."
Alexis scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "A junior analyst? Absolutely not. Hand me the file and get back to your cubicle before I have security escort you out."
Arnetta tightened her grip on the folder. "My manager authorized me to deliver this directly to the client."
Alexis reached out to snatch the file. "I said, give it to me."
Before Alexis's fingers could touch the cardboard, the heavy walnut doors clicked open.
"What is the problem out here?"
The deep, resonant voice sent a violent shiver down Arnetta's spine. Her breath caught in her throat.
Brennan Kirkland stood in the doorway.
He wore a custom-tailored navy suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He had one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket. He looked exactly as he had in the hotel room, radiating an aura of absolute dominance and control.
Brennan's gaze swept over Alexis and landed directly on Arnetta.
Arnetta's spine went rigid. Her fingernails dug into the cardboard folder. She stared back at him through her thick glasses, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Brennan's dark eyes locked onto hers. For two agonizing seconds, the air between them vanished. A flicker of dark amusement crossed his eyes. He recognized her. He knew exactly who she was beneath the terrible clothes.
But his face remained a mask of cold indifference.
"She is a junior analyst, Mr. Kirkland," Alexis said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. "She is confused about protocol. I will take the file."
Brennan ignored Alexis completely. He kept his eyes fixed on Arnetta.
"Bring the file here," Brennan commanded. His voice was flat, betraying nothing.
Alexis reached out again, assuming the order was for her.
Arnetta sidestepped Alexis entirely. She walked straight up to Brennan, stopping mere inches from his chest. The scent of his cologne hit her, bringing back a visceral flash of the hotel bed. Her stomach flipped.
She held the red folder out to him.
Brennan reached for it. As he took the file, his long fingers deliberately brushed against hers.
The physical contact was like a spark of static electricity. The heat of his skin burned against her cold fingertips.
Arnetta yanked her hand back as if she had been burned. She shoved her hand into her jacket pocket, her fingers curling into a tight fist.
Brennan's lips twitched upward into a microscopic smirk. He opened the folder and flipped through her financial models. His eyes scanned the numbers with terrifying speed.
He closed the folder with a sharp snap.
"Alexis," Brennan said, not looking away from Arnetta. "I need a new executive assistant."
Alexis blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Sir, we have a pool of highly qualified candidates from Ivy League-"
"I don't want them," Brennan interrupted. He raised the red folder and pointed the corner of it directly at Arnetta's chest. "I want her."
Alexis's eyes widened in shock. "Mr. Kirkland, she is a junior analyst with zero administrative experience. She is entirely unqualified for-"
"I decline," Arnetta cut in, her voice sharp.
Both Brennan and Alexis looked at her.
"I am an analyst," Arnetta said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I belong in the analytics department. I have no interest in being an assistant."
Brennan took a slow step forward. The sheer physical presence of him forced Arnetta to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He lowered his voice so only she could hear.
"You don't get to decline," Brennan whispered, his tone laced with a dark threat. "You work for me now. Or you don't work in this city at all."
Arnetta's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap the arrogant look off his face. But the mission flashed in her mind. Ira needed her on the top floor. She needed access to Vanguard's core secrets.
She swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation. She forced her tense muscles to relax.
"Fine," Arnetta said through gritted teeth.
Brennan straightened up, his expression instantly shifting back to a cold, corporate mask. He turned to Alexis.
"Get my legal team on the phone immediately," Brennan ordered.
Alexis scrambled to pull out her tablet. "Yes, sir. Regarding the merger?"
"No," Brennan said, his voice turning vicious. "Regarding my divorce."
Arnetta stood perfectly still, her face blank.
"Tell the lawyers to draft the most aggressive settlement possible," Brennan continued, his tone dripping with venom. "That wild, party-girl wife of mine has been bleeding my accounts dry for three years. I want her cut off. Completely. Make sure she walks away with absolutely nothing."
Arnetta listened to him tear into his wife. She felt absolutely nothing. She had no idea that the greedy, wild woman he was describing was her. She just thought he was a miserable, cruel man taking his anger out on a woman he hated.
"I want the papers on my desk by tomorrow," Brennan finished. He turned on his heel and walked back into his massive office, leaving the door open.
Alexis let out a long, stressed sigh. She turned to Arnetta, her eyes filled with venomous hatred.
"Don't think you've won anything," Alexis hissed. "He will chew you up and spit you out in a week."
Alexis pointed a perfectly manicured finger down the hall.
"Your desk is in the corner outside his door," Alexis ordered. "Get to work."
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8.0
Elva used a spare key card to quietly enter the hotel penthouse, only to find her boyfriend of two years panting heavily on the king-sized bed with her own cousin.
Instead of showing remorse, her cousin shamelessly mocked her background, while her ex aggressively lunged at her to destroy the photographic evidence she had just captured.
"You think you can just walk away? Warren already made the deal. By next week, you're being shipped off to marry that fifty-two-year-old crippled freak from the Ramirez family!"
Her ex spat the words to threaten her, and the nightmare only escalated when Elva returned to her uncle's estate, where Warren confirmed he was indeed selling her off for a business connection.
Her family eagerly joined the abuse, threatening to permanently freeze her late mother's trust fund and even plotting to secretly drug her morning milk so she couldn't fight back when the groom's family arrived.
They looked at her like a pathetic, orphaned burden they could bleed dry, fully expecting her to drop to her knees, cry, and accept her miserable fate without a single word of defiance.
But they had no idea that just hours ago, Elva had already signed a marriage certificate with Bronson Ramirez, the undisputed billionaire king of the dynasty, and she was stepping into the living room ready to watch their greedy world burn.
9.1
Alysia lay on the freezing operating table, moments away from donating her kidney to her brother's fiancée.
But as the anesthesia set in, a violent shock tore through her brain, awakening agonizing memories of a thousand brutal deaths across a thousand past lifetimes.
She suddenly realized her family's true plan. Her brother and his fiancée weren't just taking her organ; they were secretly plotting to declare her mentally unfit post-surgery to steal her entire trust fund.
When Alysia abruptly stopped the procedure and exposed the fiancée's kidney failure as the result of severe drug abuse, her family's reaction was chilling.
Her father didn't care about the truth or the law. He ordered his bodyguards to lock Alysia up until she agreed to the surgery, while her brother threatened to freeze her assets and seize her late mother's penthouse.
"You have no heart, Alysia. You don't deserve the Kent name," her aunt spat in disgust.
For lifetimes, she had kept her head down, taking the blame and sacrificing everything for a family that viewed her as nothing more than a disposable blood bag and a financial pawn.
The resignation that had clouded her eyes for so long vanished, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
Ripping the IV from her hand and leaving her family in stunned silence, Alysia walked straight out of the hospital.
She had exactly forty-six hours to find a husband to secure her inheritance, and she knew exactly which ruthless billionaire CEO to target to help her burn the Kent family to the ground.
9.7
For three years, I believed I had the perfect, flawlessly submissive wife.
But right as I was about to sign a fifty-million-dollar divorce settlement to make her go away quietly, I suddenly heard a sharp, ecstatic voice echoing inside my skull.
"Freedom! Long live freedom! I finally shook off this absolute bastard!"
I snapped my head up, only to see Iris sitting across the table, her delicate shoulders trembling as she sobbed into her hands, looking like a shattered woman losing her entire world.
It wasn't a hallucination; I could actually hear her inner thoughts. The realization hit me like a physical blow. My fragile, heartbroken wife was a calculating hypocrite who mentally cursed me out while physically begging me to stay. When I later dragged her out of a nightclub where she was partying half-naked, I heard her true thoughts about our intimacy—she considered our nights together a mere "complimentary clause" in our business contract. Even the loving, home-cooked French dinners I cherished were exposed through her mind to be microwaved Michelin-star takeout.
For three years, I had prided myself on being a dominant, attentive husband, yet I was played for an absolute fool. How could she fake every single tear, every single touch, with such terrifying perfection while viewing me as nothing more than an ATM?
Looking at her cowering on my penthouse floor, clutching an anniversary Birkin bag she secretly planned to sell for a Porsche, a dark rush of power blinded me.
I wasn't just going to let her walk away with my millions anymore; I was going to use my new ability to rip off her mask and utterly destroy her.
8.9
For three years, Alana acted as the sole tactical brain for the Dawnbreaker squad, keeping them alive despite being labeled a useless "Dud" Conduit.
But right before the crucial Ascension Trials, squad leader Cash handed her a corporate sponsorship contract. The condition? She had to become the "private companion" to a greasy corporate heir just so the squad could get high-tier gear.
When she refused, the teammates she had bled for unanimously voted to kick her out.
"You're just window dressing, a liability."
They revoked her safehouse access, burned her belongings, and the academy advisor even tried to force her into a state-sanctioned breeding program. They left her to freeze in the slums, betting she would desperately crawl into the rich man's bed.
What they didn't know was that her inability to summon an Eidolon wasn't a lack of talent. Her teammate Dallin had been secretly sabotaging her rituals for years, crippling her potential just to keep her chained as their free tactician.
Stripped of everything and pushed to the absolute brink, Alana's despair morphed into a deadly resolve.
Using a million-credit black market loan and a forbidden blood matrix, she forcibly anchored an Apex-Tier cosmic wolf disguised as a harmless silver pup.
When her ex-squad tried to publicly humiliate her and burn her new "pet" alive in the cafeteria, a flash of silver light severed Dallin's hand instantly.
Looking at her screaming former teammates, Alana finally smiled.
9.3
For five years, I was Ashton Miller's invisible partner, his loyal fiancée, pouring my life into building his empire from the shadows. Tonight, the Bronze Deer exhibition, my masterpiece, was finally opening at the Met, a testament to our shared future.
Then, Bianca, a third-tier actress, stepped into the spotlight in *my* custom Vera Wang wedding dress. My blood ran cold as Ashton's arm circled her waist, his whispered words promising to make her the "new queen of the city."
Five years of trust and sacrifice crumbled. I was a blood bag, drained and discarded. When I publicly exposed their lies, Ashton cornered me backstage, his face twisted in fury, threatening to ruin me, to blacklist me forever. I ripped off his engagement ring, tossing it at his chest. "We're done," I said, walking out as his enraged screams echoed.
The man whose empire I secretly built called me a parasite, his mistress feigning tears, painting me as delusional. My guilt vanished, replaced by freezing, absolute hatred for the man who twisted reality to erase my existence.
Standing in the New York rain, I finally pulled out the military-grade encrypted phone hidden for five years. The line clicked open instantly, a low, gravelly voice asking, "Is it you?" Before I could answer, Archer's voice hardened: "Give me the location. I'll be there in ten minutes. Who touched you? I want his life."
9.3
For three years, Dara endured endless humiliation to be the perfect wife to billionaire Donavon Monroe.
But on their third anniversary, which was also her birthday, Donavon coldly threw divorce papers on the dining table.
He wanted her gone for his returning childhood sweetheart, completely ignoring the blistering burn on Dara's hand—a cruel injury intentionally caused by his brother just hours ago.
When Dara tearfully reminded him how she had bled and almost died to save his life three years ago, Donavon looked at her with pure disgust.
"I have zero interest in looking at the ugly scars you picked up in whatever slum you crawled out of."
He accused her of fabricating a savior complex just to secure a ring, perfectly content to let his mother and brother treat her like a glorified maid.
Dara's heart completely shattered.
She had sacrificed her life and dignity for a ruthless capitalist who viewed her as nothing but disposable trash.
With her last shred of pride, she signed the papers, ready to leave this suffocating nightmare forever.
But that night, a freak lightning storm struck the estate.
When Dara opened her eyes the next morning, she felt incredibly heavy and her center of gravity was completely wrong.
She looked in the mirror and saw Donavon's cold, chiseled face staring back at her in absolute terror.
They had swapped bodies.
Now, she held the absolute power of the Monroe empire, and Donavon was finally going to experience his family's vicious abuse firsthand.