Divorcing The CEO To Save My Baby
I went to a private clinic for a routine physical, only to find out I was pregnant.
It was impossible. I took my birth control every single day. But when the doctor tested my pills, they turned out to be high-purity vitamin placebos. My billionaire husband, Denton, had been systematically replacing my medication.
Yet, on our anniversary, he brought my sister Beverly home, demanding a divorce so he could marry her. When I refused to sign a settlement that left me with nothing, he froze my accounts and blacklisted me across New York.
My own father disowned me. When an old friend offered me a job just so I could afford prenatal care, Denton launched a ruthless financial attack to bankrupt his firm.
Then, Beverly got into a car crash. Denton's bodyguards dragged me off the street and forced me into a hospital trauma room. Beverly was hemorrhaging, and I was the only blood match.
I cried and begged Denton to stop, desperately trying to protect my fragile pregnancy without exposing my baby to the monster who controlled my life.
"Please, my body can't handle this. Don't do this to me!"
But he just looked at me with pure disgust and ordered his men to strap me to the chair, forcing the needle into my vein while threatening to kill me if his mistress died.
As I dragged my bleeding, cramping body out of the hospital into the freezing snow, my last shred of hope died.
I touched my stomach and made a vow: I would disappear, and I would make them all pay.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Emma saw the black Maybach parked at the corner of Park Avenue, with Denton's usual driver, Robert, sitting behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the clinic's entrance. A cold certainty washed over her: she was being watched. Instead of walking toward the car, she turned her collar up against the freezing wind and walked three blocks to the subway station.
She swiped her MTA card and descended into the loud, crowded underground platform.
The train roared into the station. She pushed her way into the dense crowd of commuters, ensuring any eyes Denton had on her were completely lost in the rush hour chaos.
Half an hour later, she emerged from the subway in Tribeca. She walked the remaining two blocks to the Chaney family's penthouse.
She pressed her thumb to the biometric scanner on the private elevator. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the top floor.
The main lights in the penthouse were off. The only illumination came from the neon glow of the Manhattan skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Emma hung her coat in the foyer. The moment she turned around, the heavy, pungent smell of Scotch whiskey and cigar smoke hit her face.
She froze. Denton Chaney sat submerged in the deep shadows of the leather armchair in the living room.
He swirled the crystal glass in his hand. The ice cubes clinked sharply against the rim.
He didn't look up. "Where were you this afternoon?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
Emma's heart slammed against her ribs. Her hand instinctively moved to cover her lower stomach.
She forced her breathing to slow down. "I went to Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue. I was looking for an anniversary gift."
Denton let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He tossed a stack of printed credit card receipts onto the glass coffee table.
The papers scattered. There were no transactions from today.
Denton stood up. His six-foot-three frame instantly sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
He closed the distance between them in three strides. His large hand shot out, his fingers gripping her jaw roughly, forcing her face up.
His eyes were pitch black, swimming with pure disgust. "Still playing these pathetic, lying games, Emma?"
His grip tightened, his thumb pressing painfully into her cheekbone. "You think I forgot the yacht? You think I forgot how you bullied Beverly out of the picture just to steal the Chaney name?"
Emma's eyes watered from the pain in her jaw. "I didn't hurt my sister, Denton. I didn't." Her voice was a weak, desperate whisper.
Denton didn't listen. He shoved her face away, his disgust palpable. He threw the remaining whiskey in his glass onto the expensive Persian rug.
"Don't think our anniversary gives you any leverage. This marriage is a contract, and your position in it is temporary," he spat out, every word dripping with venom. He stepped closer, towering over her. "Whatever pathetic scheme you're cooking up to secure your place here, it won't work. I will never let a vicious, manipulative bitch like you stay in this house permanently."
The words acted like a physical blade plunging straight into Emma's chest. She stumbled backward, her heel catching on the rug.
The ultrasound photo in her coat pocket suddenly felt like it was burning a hole through her skin.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She forced the tears back, lowering her head. "I understand."
Her sudden submission seemed to irritate him more. Denton ripped his tie loose, turned on his heel, and walked toward his study.
The heavy oak door slammed shut with a deafening crack.
Emma's knees gave out. She slid down the cold wall, hitting the floor hard.
She wrapped both arms tightly around her stomach, curling into a tight ball. In the pitch-black hallway, she wept silently.
This was why she could never tell him. He would weaponize this child the same way he weaponized everything else in her life. He would call it manipulation. He would call it a trap. And then he would find a way to take it from her—or worse, to make her wish it had never existed.
She pressed her forehead against her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The ultrasound photo pressed against her chest, a fragile secret tucked over her heart.
"I won't let him hurt you," she whispered into the darkness, her voice so low only the baby could have heard it—if the baby could hear anything at all. "I swear to God, I won't let him touch you."
Her mind was completely made up. She would take this secret to her grave.
You may also like
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
9.7
For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again."
8.7
Emerson worked grueling twelve-hour shifts just to keep her five-year-old son, Leo, alive. Her only lifeline was her partner Alden, who was willing to give up his wealthy family to protect them.
But when Leo's bone marrow completely failed, the doctor delivered a death sentence. The only way to save him was a two-million-dollar treatment, or having another child with his biological father.
That father was Finnegan Mcconnell, the ruthless billionaire who had accused Emerson of faking her pregnancy and abandoned her five years ago.
Desperate for the medical fees, Emerson submitted her designs to Finnegan's company.
Instead of advancing the money, Finnegan tore her portfolio to shreds and trapped her as a prisoner in his estate.
To force her complete submission, he systematically destroyed her reality. He framed Alden with federal charges, leaving him facing twenty years in prison.
Alden's mother stormed into the pediatric ICU, violently strangling Emerson against the wall.
"Beg Finnegan to let my son go! You are a curse!"
Even Emerson's own adoptive mother showed up at the hospital, just to publicly mock her dying child.
Emerson was suffocating in despair. Finnegan already had a beautiful new wife and a five-year-old daughter—absolute proof he had been cheating while she was pregnant and alone.
He had his perfect family. Why did he have to hunt her down and sever every lifeline she had left, just to watch her drown?
With her son's heart monitor fading and Alden locked in a cell, her pride finally shattered.
Emerson walked into the top-floor executive office and dropped to her knees at the devil's feet, but the desperate mother looking up at him was preparing for a devastating revenge.
7.9
I woke up in a burning warehouse, twelve years after my supposed death. My body had been reset to its physical prime, the deep burn scar on my wrist completely gone.
Through the smoke, my eldest son, Kennard, rushed blindly into the flames. He was screaming the name of the very woman who had orchestrated this trap—Brittnie.
When I tackled him out of the way of a falling steel beam, he didn't recognize my youthful face. Instead, he pinned me to the concrete and nearly crushed my windpipe.
"How much did she pay you to carve up your face to look like a dead woman?"
He hissed the words at me, treating me like a sick corporate spy. For a decade, a bizarre narrative "script" had brainwashed my son, forcing him into pathetic devotion to Brittnie. She had drained his wealth, turned my daughter against him, and hollowed out our family empire.
Whenever Kennard tried to resist her, the mind control punished him with agonizing migraines, driving him to smash his own hands against the wall just to cope with the pain.
Hearing him quietly sobbing outside my locked door, my heart shattered. How could this invisible force torture my brilliant son and turn my family into puppets for a D-list actress?
I dragged him to the hospital for a DNA test.
When the results confirmed my maternity at 99.999%, the cold billionaire collapsed to the floor, weeping in my arms like a lost child.
I wiped his tears and smiled ruthlessly. It was time to take back my empire and burn Brittnie's life to the ground.
9.0
Grace's engagement to Dillan Hayes was nothing but a cold business transaction to secure funding for her family's company.
But when Dillan violently shoved her into a marble bar over his ex-girlfriend, leaving her bleeding, Grace didn't hesitate.
She called 911, had her fiancé arrested on the spot, and broke off the engagement.
Returning to the Albert estate, she expected chaos, but not absolute betrayal.
Her family didn't care that she had just been physically assaulted.
They were in a sheer panic because her cousin Ashly had just fled the country, abandoning a terrifying arranged marriage.
The groom was Hudson Turner, a man known across Manhattan as a disgraced, violent psychopath, paralyzed from the waist down in a severe crash.
To save themselves from the Turner family's wrath and financial ruin, Grace's aunt and father ordered her to take Ashly's place.
"You eat from this family, you live in this house! It is time you paid us back!"
Her father even threatened to freeze her bank accounts and faked a heart attack to force her compliance.
For three years, Grace had single-handedly kept the family business afloat while they squandered the profits.
Now, they were throwing her to a monster without a second thought, expecting her to rot as a crippled man's miserable nursemaid.
But they picked the wrong sacrifice.
Grace ruthlessly extorted a legal severance from her family, taking her shares and cutting all ties forever.
She walked straight into Hudson Turner's private gallery to propose a mutually beneficial, cutthroat business marriage.
However, when the prenuptial was signed, the "paralyzed" billionaire placed his hands on his wheelchair.
Slowly, deliberately, Hudson stood up to his full, imposing height of six-foot-three.
"The wheelchair is a necessary illusion for my enemies," Hudson stated calmly. "But it will never be an illusion between you and me."
9.0
For years, I exhausted myself trying to be the perfect, obedient heiress of the ultra-wealthy Carlisle family.
But my reward wasn't their love. Instead, I was abruptly branded a fake, thrown out of the estate, and sent to a brutal black-site prison to take the fall for someone else's crimes.
My cold CEO brother, Julian, didn't lift a finger to save me. My carefully selected boyfriend, Connor, sold me out without a second thought.
In that maximum-security cell, I was stripped of my dignity. I ate moldy, insect-infested bread, and my soft hands were covered in thick, ugly scars from fighting off murderers.
I watched inmates get beaten half to death over a single cracker, while my so-called family continued their pristine, luxurious lives on the outside.
"She's just a parasite, let her rot."
I died in that dark cell, completely abandoned. The sheer exhaustion of trying to please them, of trying to be flawless, washed over my final moments like a physical sickness.
I didn't understand why my absolute loyalty was repaid with such ruthless cruelty.
Then, water rushed out of my lungs in a violent, burning surge.
I opened my eyes to the pristine blue pool of the Carlisle estate, my body completely unscarred. I had reverted to being fifteen again.
This time, I was done playing the perfect daughter. If my fate was a prison cell, I was going to spend my remaining freedom tearing their perfect world apart.