After Divorce, I Return As A Stunning CEO

“…Oh yes, Reel! Harder—please, fuck me harder!”

The woman’s throaty moans filled the screen, her hips arching greedily against the man driving into her—Ivory’s husband. Gadreel. His name dripped from the other woman’s lips like honey, shameless and triumphant.

Ivory’s fingers trembled around her phone. The video played on, the sounds of slick, frantic skin and breathless whimpers clawing at her composure. Five years of marriage. Five years of fighting for him—nursing him back from the edge of death, sacrificing every part of herself—and this was how he repaid her. On their anniversary. On her birthday.

A new notification flashed, the text a venomous taunt:

[Do you like your birthday gift, dear sis?]

Evangeline. Ivory didn’t need to see her stepsister’s face to imagine the smirk twisting her lips.

[Just a snap of my fingers, and he comes running back. Did you really think your pathetic devotion meant anything? To him, you’ve always been just a glorified nurse.]

A nurse. A hollow laugh rose in Ivory’s throat. Five years of her life, reduced to that? She hadn’t expected love—their marriage had been a transaction, after all. But respect? Basic human decency? Apparently, even that was too much to ask.

And Evangeline wasn’t finished.

[He’ll divorce you soon. And when he does, I’ll be the one carrying his heir. We could’ve had this happiness years ago if not for you.]

Ivory’s vision blurred with fury. She was the villain here? After everything?

Five years ago, Evangeline had been the one who was supposed to marry Gadreel. Their love story was sweet—until the night of their engagement party, when a tragic accident left Gadreel in a coma. His condition was so severe that even the doctors held little hope for his recovery. Terrified, Evangeline fled the country overnight.

The Ødegaards couldn't forgive such a betrayal. To keep the family, the father begged Ivory to marry Gadreel in Evangeline's place.

No grand wedding, no declarations of love. Ivory became Gadreel's wife, spending years tirelessly nursing him back to health and enduring his ice-cold resentment. For five years, she had endured all this for the family.

And now, Evangeline had the audacity to blame Ivory for stealing him away? How absurd.

Fury burned through Ivory as she dialed the number, ready to tear into the hypocritical witch—but all she got was a busy signal. Coward. She considered calling Gadreel instead, certain the two were together, only to realize with a bitter laugh that she didn’t even have his number.

They had once been inseparable friends as children, but he had already forgotten it. After long years of exile, she returned home only to find Gadreel's heart was completely captured by her stepsister.

Even after recovering, learning she was the one who nursed him for five years, he never spoke to her gently.

"Don’t expect love from me. You know who has my heart. You’ll only ever be my wife on paper."

How foolish she’d been, thinking this marriage could win her father’s pride—or Gadreel’s affection.

Being ignored became their routine. She was nothing but a placeholder, a tool to be used when convenient.

But she refused to be anyone’s second choice anymore.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she shut off the video. Her gaze fell to the birthday cake she’d prepared—vanilla with buttercream roses, untouched. She struck a match, the flame trembling in her grip as she lit the candles.

The glow flickered, casting shadows across the empty room. Never had she felt so utterly alone.

"Happy birthday, Ivory," she whispered. "And happy every day from now on."

As the wax dripped, a quiet resolve settled over her. She leaned forward, extinguishing the flame with a single breath—marking not just the start of a new year, but the end of her anniversary with Gadreel.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and like the crown prince of high society that he was, Gadreel strode in. He flicked on the lights, banishing the darkness that had swallowed the house whole.

His sharp gaze landed on Ivory immediately—still as a statue at the dining table. He took in the untouched feast she’d prepared, then her hollow expression, before turning away without a word.

She expected silence. The disdain in those glacial blue eyes said enough. But as he moved toward the stairs, something in her snapped.

Ivory shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor.

"Aren’t you going to say anything to me?"

He paused, glancing back with narrowed eyes. "What is there to say?"

His voice was Arctic. No guilt. No warmth. Just the unspoken truth: their marriage had always been a transaction.

She swallowed the bitterness clawing up her throat, forcing her voice steady. "It’s our anniversary. And my birthday."

Gadreel’s gaze flickered over the candles, the cake, then back to her. "So?"

So?

The word was a blade twisting in her ribs. She dug her nails into her palm, the pain the only anchor against the dizziness threatening to consume her. Of course. She was nothing to him.

Unaware—or indifferent—to her turmoil, he turned away. "I don’t have time for this."

"Wait!" The plea tore from her before she could stop it.

His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look back.

Ivory forced a brittle smile. "Since I won’t be getting a gift from you today…" She inhaled sharply. "Let me give you one instead."

Gadreel finally turned, his frown deepening. That martyred look on her face—like she’d sacrificed everything for him—made his jaw tighten. No one had forced her into this. She’d gotten the Ødegaar name, limitless wealth, and every material privilege. What more did she want?

"Don’t bother," he said coldly.

But Ivory was done hesitating. "Listen, Gadreel Ødegaar."

Her voice was steel now.

"Consider this my anniversary gift to you." A beat. "Let’s divorce."