Chapter 1

I had just given birth and was still in the middle of my postpartum recovery.

Yet, my husband, Ethan, had just hired his ex-girlfriend—the same woman who had mocked his poverty and slapped him in public seven years ago—to be his personal secretary.

Everyone expected me to storm into his office like a hysterical, drama-filled housewife.

Instead, I calmly sent him a message:

"Fire her, or we get a divorce."

Ethan remained silent the entire night.

The next day, he agreed to fire her.

But that very night, he checked into a luxury hotel.

I later found out that not only had he booked a presidential suite for his ex, but he had also blocked my calls for the first time in our marriage just to be with her.

At that moment, the harsh truth finally hit me.

I had spent seven years helping him build his empire from scratch.

I gave him my family's money, my father's connections, and even risked my own life to give birth to our daughter.

Yet, none of that could ever compare to the woman who had abandoned him without a second thought when he was poor.

Since he couldn't let go of his precious first love, I decided to set them free.

But Ethan seemed to have forgotten one crucial thing: everything he owned today was given to him by me.

Without me, he would still be that broke nobody who couldn't even afford a decent engagement ring.

The moment I heard Ethan had hired his ex as his secretary, I shot him a Snapchat message:

"Ethan, are you a masochist? Have you forgotten how Chloe humiliated you in public?"

My words were cold and sharp. I couldn't help it; I had held this anger in for far too long.

When I first fell for Ethan, it was because of his looks, his high IQ, and his academic drive. After we married, he was a caring husband who kept me emotionally fulfilled and had a remarkably sweet temper.

Gradually, my feelings evolved. What started as a marriage of convenience turned into deep, genuine love.

But just as I was falling deeper, things shattered. During last year's company gala, Ethan got incredibly drunk. When we got home, he grabbed my hand tightly, tears streaming down his face, and mumbled:

"Chloe, do you see me now? Now that I'm a billionaire, you can beg on your knees, but you'll never have me back."

He sobbed, his shoulders shaking like a little boy who had been denied his favorite toy.

It was only then that I realized the man who kissed my forehead every morning, who sent me "I miss you, babe" texts throughout the day, and who held me so passionately in bed, had never actually loved me.

That was the first time I felt the bitter sting of jealousy.

But I couldn't just divorce him back then. I owned forty-nine percent of the shares in his company. Getting a divorce over some irrelevant, pathetic ex-girlfriend felt incredibly stupid.

Besides, I was a woman who always got what she wanted.

So, I tried to make him fall in love with me. I planned romantic getaways, consulted couples' intimacy experts, and initiated spontaneous date nights. I was terrified of childbirth, but because I wanted to solidify our family, I willingly got pregnant.

Yet now, the baby was born, and before I could even fully recover from my C-section, Ethan had brought that woman into his company.

It was laughably pathetic, but the pain in my chest was very real.

Ethan replied to my Snapchat almost instantly:

"It's not what you think, Amelia. My secretary went on maternity leave, so I had to find a quick replacement."

"Chloe scored the highest on both the written exam and the interview. You know me—I keep business and personal matters separate. If she's qualified, I'll use her."

"You're still recovering from childbirth. Just focus on your health. There's no need to stress yourself over someone completely irrelevant."

"By the way, if you're awake, send me a photo of our daughter. I want to see her."

Reading his messages, there was a fleeting second where I almost wanted to believe him.

But then reality kicked in. He was redirecting the conversation.

My heart tightened.

"If you want to see your daughter, fire Chloe first. Only then will I send you the photo."

I sent the message. There was no reply.

It wasn't until four in the afternoon that Ethan finally texted back:

"Sorry, babe. I was in a long meeting."

Tears instantly spilled over my cheeks.

Maybe it was because I was hormonally vulnerable during my postpartum recovery, or maybe it was just a woman's intuition.

But I knew, with absolute certainty, that our marriage would never be the same because of Chloe.

Choking back my tears, I messaged the head of HR at Ethan's company:

"Send me Chloe's resume and background information immediately."