Divorcing The CEO To Save My Baby

Emma pushed herself up from the cold hardwood floor, her legs trembling. She walked into the master bathroom.

She turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto her face, scrubbing aggressively until her skin was raw, trying to wash away the exhaustion and the tear stains.

The next evening, Emma sat at her vanity. She slipped into the deep black velvet evening gown that Denton used to love.

She applied a thick layer of concealer under her eyes to hide the sickly pallor of her skin. She fastened a string of pearls around her neck.

In the dining room, the long table was set with a meal prepared by a Michelin-starred private chef. The candles were already lit, casting a warm, flickering glow.

At exactly eight o'clock, the private elevator let out a sharp ding.

Emma stood up. She pasted the perfect, practiced smile on her face and walked toward the foyer.

The doors opened. Denton wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a slightly wrinkled cashmere trench coat.

But what made the blood freeze in Emma's veins was the woman Denton was holding carefully against his chest.

Beverly Rios wore a pure white cashmere shawl. Her face was pale, her expression fragile as she leaned heavily against Denton.

Emma's smile shattered. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

Beverly looked up, saw Emma, and visibly flinched. She let out a tiny, pathetic gasp and shrank back.

Denton's arm tightened protectively around Beverly's waist. He shot a look of absolute, freezing hatred at his wife.

He guided Beverly to the sofa, lowering her onto the cushions as if she were made of spun glass.

Emma walked forward, her throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "Why is my sister back from the clinic in Switzerland?"

Denton turned around. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick stack of documents, and slammed them down onto a silver dining plate.

The cover page bore the logo of Manhattan's most ruthless law firm. Below it, in bold black letters: DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.

Emma stared at the papers. A violent wave of nausea hit her stomach, rising fast in her throat.

Her hand drifted toward her abdomen before she caught herself and forced it back to her side. The baby. The secret. She couldn't show weakness. Not now. Not in front of him.

"Beverly's PTSD requires me by her side," Denton announced, his voice devoid of any emotion. "This mistake of a marriage is over."

Emma swallowed down the bile. Her hands shook as she picked up the document and flipped to the asset division pages.

Her family trust fund. Her joint accounts. Every single credit card attached to her name. All marked with a pending freeze order.

"I've frozen the accounts," Denton stated bluntly. "To ensure you don't hide assets or hire a firm to drag this out."

Beverly squeezed out a tear, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "Denton, please. Don't be so cruel to my sister. She didn't mean to ruin everything."

The sheer audacity of the performance ignited a fire in Emma's chest. She glared at her sister's fake, teary eyes.

Emma slammed the agreement back onto the table. The heavy paper hit the wood with a loud smack.

She lifted her chin and looked Denton dead in the eye. "I am not signing this."

Denton's eyes darkened dangerously. "Don't test my patience, Emma."

"Are you really going to bankrupt your legal wife just to play house with your mistress?" Emma mocked, her voice sharp and biting.

The muscle in Denton's jaw snapped. He lunged forward and swiped his arm across the table.

The heavy silver candelabra crashed to the floor. The candles rolled across the rug, plunging the room into dim shadows.

"Sign it," Denton growled into the darkness. "Or I will make sure you don't have a single cent to survive in this city."