Divorcing The CEO For My Secret Daughter

For five years, I endured a cold, loveless marriage with billionaire Easton Underwood, playing the role of a lowly, dependent wife.

He gave all his tenderness and protection to his late best friend's widow, Karis, while treating me like an unpaid tenant.

When I risked my life in a mudslide to save Karis's child, Easton wrapped his own coat around Karis and publicly humiliated me. Emboldened, Karis moved into my penthouse, shattered my wedding photo, and threw my dead mother's watch in the trash. Her cousin even stole my engineering team's proprietary flight code for a massive military demonstration. When I warned Easton, he believed their lies and ordered security to throw me out of the building.

He thought I was just a pathetic gold digger who couldn't even keep our premature baby alive four years ago. He never knew I swallowed every insult and financial abuse just to fund our daughter's secret life-support treatments in Switzerland.

But today, the clinic called to say my daughter's lungs had fully healed.

I signed the divorce papers, waiving every single cent. Then, I walked onto the presentation stage, exposed the stolen code in front of two hundred military executives, and crashed his five-hundred-million-dollar defense demo.

"Take your grieving widow and the child you treat as your own. My daughter and I don't need you anymore."

I dropped my company badge into the trash and stepped into my private jet.