Divorcing My CEO Husband，The Heiress Takes Her Crown

When my billionaire husband signed the divorce papers, he was certain I’d come crawling back within three days. "Chloe, you're nothing without me." Once, I thought I truly couldn't live without Brandon. He used to be so patient, so generous, giving me everything within his reach. Yet underneath it all ran an obsessive need for control. He couldn't stand seeing me near any other man. Just because the specialist I booked was male, Brandon went into my calendar and canceled an appointment I had waited an entire year for. My chronic stomach condition worsened drastically, landing me in the emergency room. On the day of our engagement party, simply because my private driver was a man, Brandon walked out in a fit of rage, leaving me to become the laughingstock of high society. And the night before the major board election, he blocked the assistant who was supposed to deliver my presentation files, nearly making me miss the voting window and costing me the CEO seat. Back then, I desperately rationalized his actions, telling myself it was just his intense way of loving me. Until I caught a glimpse of a notification on his laptop from his young personal assistant: "Brandon, when I accidentally canceled Mrs. Sterling's doctor appointment before, she didn't throw a fit at you, did she?" In that split second, my stomach plummeted. Keeping my composure, I took a picture of the screen, turned away, and shot a quick text to my family's firm: "Put the Vance Group's bid on hold for our upcoming tender." Remembering the years we had shared, I still wanted to give him one last chance to come clean. Masking my emotions, I forced a playful chuckle. "That little assistant of yours seems awfully clingy. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm taking her off your personal line—you two can stick to official work emails from now on." I reached for his phone, pretending I was about to delete her contact. Brandon’s brows instantly snapped together, and he instinctively shoved my arm away. "Chloe, stop playing these childish games. It doesn't suit you." "Do not cross the line into my business affairs." The shove threw me off balance, and my lower back slammed hard against the sharp corner of the desk. A dull ache flared through my spine. His words hit me like a bucket of freezing water. The playful facade dropped completely. Seeing my face twist in pain, he hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, he simply pulled his hand back, shifting the blame entirely onto me. "Look what you did! You're a grown woman. Stop making such ridiculous jokes!" "So I can't make a joke, but it's totally fine when she 'jokingly' cancels my doctor’s appointment and blocks my work contacts?" I pressed my lips together and stared right into his eyes. The room fell dead silent. The air grew so thick it felt suffocating. There wasn't a trace of guilt on Brandon’s face. His tone remained completely flat, as if discussing the weather. "She's young and still learning boundaries. I apologize on her behalf." "Don't be so petty." My heart felt like it had been dropped off a cliff and shattered on the rocks below. I shook my head in utter exhaustion. In the end, I was the one being labeled "petty." The man who had supposedly loved me above all else had, without my realizing it, shifted his loyalties to someone else. I turned away, a bitter, suffocating laugh trapped in my chest. It was pathetic. I had actually spent months making excuses for him. I had been completely blind. Brandon had no idea how hard I worked on our engagement party. I spent six months planning every detail, from the floral arrangements to managing the press, all because I wanted a beautiful beginning to our life together. Instead, it became my greatest humiliation. He had no idea I had spent half a year preparing for that board meeting, solely to prove to the shareholders that I was capable of leading. And he certainly had no idea how long my stomach ulcers had been tearing me apart, leaving me awake and crying in agony through the dead of night. Yet with a dismissive "she was careless," he expected to wipe away all my pain and humiliation. Perhaps seeing how pale and stony my face had become, Brandon tried to offer a concession. "Alright, look. She's just a kid. I look out for her like a younger sister, that's all." "You're the one who matters to me. How about that designer bag you were eyeing last week? I'll buy it for you. Just drop this attitude." He leaned in, trying to press a kiss against my cheek. I instinctively pulled back, taking a deliberate step away from him. "Save it for your little assistant sister. I wouldn't dream of taking it." A flash of annoyance crossed Brandon's eyes. He sneered, his voice turning harsh. "What exactly do you want, Chloe?" I drew a steady breath and enunciated every single word: "Fire her. Or transfer her to another department." Without a second thought, Brandon snapped back, his brow furrowing deep. "Don't push your luck." "She moved to this city with nothing to build a life from scratch. She worked her ass off to earn this position. If I fire her, where is she supposed to go?" His patience had clearly run out, revealing the cold, unyielding man beneath. "Do it, or we get a divorce," I said, my voice dropping to ice. Our road to marriage hadn't been easy. We had fought through countless obstacles to stand together at the altar. I needed a definitive answer right now. I needed to know who he chose.The moment the word left my mouth, Brandon’s expression darkened. He pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer exasperation. "Are you seriously making an enemy out of a harmless young girl?" "You know her background. Do you really have to bully someone who has nothing?" "Chloe, what is wrong with you?" He fired accusation after accusation, each word slicing into my heart like a dull blade. "Then there's nothing left to discuss. Let's get divorced," I said, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. How had I failed to notice? The way he looked at her had changed a long time ago. He claimed it was just pity, that she grew up poor and worked so hard to survive, which was why he gave her special treatment. He felt bad whenever Bella worked late into the night on pitch decks. He admired her grit. He thought she was so selfless, enduring hardships without a single word of complaint. Whenever he mentioned her, his eyes held an unmistakable spark of admiration—the exact same look he used to give me years ago. Back when everyone in the corporate world thought finance was a boys' club, I was determined to carve out my own path with my own business proposals. I abandoned my family name, pitching innovative strategies with lean budgets. And the very first person to applaud me in that boardroom was Brandon. That night, his eyes had shone with that exact same light. The only difference was that today, that light wasn't for me. Right now, Brandon was looking at me with pure detachment. He looked at me the way an executive looks at a depreciating asset, his voice dripping with condescension: "Chloe, you aren't the pampered Vance heiress anymore. You cut ties with your family, remember? You have no one left except me." "Stop testing my limits." I saw through him completely. Behind his eyes was nothing but calculated arrogance. Somewhere along the line, I had become something disposable to him. The man I had defied my entire family to be with had rotted to the core. A sharp buzz broke the dead silence. Brandon reached into his pocket out of habit to check his phone, and a tender smile naturally softened the corners of his lips. The moment he glanced back up at me, the warmth vanished. He spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact tone: "Bella is working overtime at the office. She's craving that homemade lunchbox you made last time." I parted my lips, struggling to process what I had just heard. He was actually ordering me to cook for his assistant. The truth was, I had never known how to cook. I only learned because Brandon used to have back-to-back executive meetings and skipped meals. I spent hours in the kitchen, cutting and burning my hands repeatedly. And yet, that carefully packed meal I made with burned fingers had been handed straight to Bella without him even tasting a bite. "Alright, let's put this drama behind us. Stop acting jealous over nothing," he said casually. "You're a senior professional. Looking after a junior employee should come naturally to you." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed an apron, tied it around my waist, and gently steered me toward the kitchen. It baffled me how easily he could sweep all my pain under the rug. I was about to snap and throw the apron in his face when my eyes fell on a package of raw offal and pig scraps sitting in the trash prep bin for our broth. A cold, dark idea struck me, and I gave a slow nod. I tossed the tripe, gristle, and pig tails into a pot of boiling water for a quick blanch, barely skimming the scum before jamming the whole mess straight into a lunch container. Snapping the lid shut barely contained the pungent, sickening stench. She wanted my cooking? Then she was going to eat it. Seeing that I was finished, Brandon grabbed the container without a word and headed out the door, not even bothering to glance my way. Let her choke on it. I was done wasting my breath. As I began gathering my things to pack, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from my younger brother, Julian: [Chloe, are you finally taking over the tender project? When are you coming back? These old board members are driving me insane. I can't run this place without you.] [We need you to push this deal across the finish line.] He had asked me to return to the family conglomerate multiple times over the past couple of years, but I had always turned him down. Brandon’s company was expanding back then, and I wanted to be by his side. Not anymore. I was done living in the shadows. I typed back a single message: "I'll be there soon."I glanced down at my watch. Three in the morning. Brandon wasn't coming home tonight. Early the next morning, the sound of revving engines and cheerful chatter echoed up from the driveway, cutting through the quiet house. When I walked downstairs, Brandon was busy directing a crew of movers, bringing boxes into the foyer. He was actively hauling my personal belongings out the front door to clear space for Bella’s things. Bella stood on the porch holding a large dog on a leash, looking at Brandon with that familiar, starry-eyed admiration. Pet hair floated through the sunlight. I immediately covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve. "What is she doing here?" Brandon finally glanced over, his tone so casual you would think moving a coworker into our marital home was the most normal thing in the world. "A pipe burst in her apartment. The landlord can't fix it right away." "So she had nowhere else to go except our house? What about a hotel? Corporate housing? A CEO can't afford a single hotel room?" My sharp questions caught him off guard. Brandon opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Bella chimed in abruptly, a smug little smirk playing at the edge of her lips. "Chloe, company housing doesn't allow pets, so I had to beg Brandon for a place to stay." "Just for a week! Once the waterproofing is done, I'll move right out." Seeing me covering my face, she tilted her head with fake innocence. "Are you afraid of dogs, Chloe?" "Don't worry, Buster is super gentle." With that, she casually let go of the leash. Free of restraint, the massive dog bounded straight toward me. The air seized in my throat. Panicking, I ducked behind Brandon, the familiar constriction tightening in my chest. "Get her and that dog out of here right now," I wheezed, fighting for air. "I'm deathly allergic to dog hair." I caught the flash of disbelief and disgust across Brandon’s face. "Allergic to dogs? You'll make up any pathetic lie just to kick someone out, won't you?" My eyes burned, a heavy pressure building behind my temples, but not a single tear fell. How could he possibly pretend not to know? Our medicine cabinet had been stocked with antihistamines all year round. Once, when we were walking in the neighborhood, an off-leash dog had brushed past me. I had sneezed violently and broken out in hives. The very next day, Brandon had arranged for local animal control to sweep the area and set up feeding stations miles away just so a stray would never come near our street again. He used to remember everything. That didn't stop him from conveniently forgetting now. Brandon reached out and affectionately patted Bella’s head, a fond smile breaking out on his lips. "Always so clumsy. Hold onto the leash properly." Bella stuck her tongue out playfully, leaning into his touch. "Well, you're always too sweet to stay mad at me, Brandon." I cleared my throat, raising my voice to an icy pitch: "Brandon, get her and that dog out of this house." "This is my home." Impatience flashed in his eyes. He looked at me as if I were a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. "She’s already going through a hard time. Do you really have to be this cruel?" I was completely done arguing with him. Red, blotchy hives were already erupting along my arms, itching like crazy. I turned toward the pile of boxes Bella had brought in, grabbed a nearby aluminum baseball bat from the umbrella stand, and smashed it down with all my strength. Glass bottles and ceramic containers shattered inside the boxes, crack after crack ringing through the foyer. "If you don't move it out, I'll smash every single piece to dust." Brandon gasped, lunging forward to grab my wrist in a vice grip. "Have you lost your damn mind?!" "I gave you a choice," I snapped, wrenching my arm free from his hold. Bella let out a sharp cry of pain from behind him, clutching her forearm dramatically. "A glass shard... I think it cut my arm." Brandon didn't even have time to yell at me. He immediately rushed over, gently guiding Bella up the stairs toward the master bathroom to disinfect her tiny scratch. I had zero interest in sticking around to watch their domestic drama. I grabbed my purse and called an Uber straight to the urgent care clinic to treat my allergic reaction. Before I walked out the front door, I uploaded the video I had discreetly recorded on my phone and sent it directly to a prominent business tabloid. If Brandon Vance refused to understand plain English, I wasn't going to spare his reputation.By the time Brandon tracked me down, I was curled up on the sofa in my private penthouse, sipping red wine and watching a movie. Without saying a single word, he snatched the wine glass from my fingers and threw the dark liquid straight into my face. "Do you have any idea how much damage your little publicity stunt just cost the company?!" he roared. I calmly wiped the sticky wine from my cheeks, a faint smirk playing on my lips. "You had the guts to do it, but you don't have the guts to own it?" "Treating your assistant better than your own wife—what, am I not allowed to be angry about that?" Without missing a beat, I picked up the heavy crystal decanter from the table and shattered it right against the wall next to his head. The rage in his eyes flared brighter, burning with venom. "That's not the only thing you did." Bella peeked out from behind him. Only then did I realize she had followed him inside. She was cradling a small ceramic urn against her chest, her shoulders trembling violently, her eyelids swollen and raw. "Chloe, I know you hated Buster... but how could you poison him?" I crossed my arms over my chest, fixing her with a deadpan stare. Bella shakily cracked open the lid, revealing gray ashes inside. "Buster ate chocolate and died," she sobbed, looking at me with fearful, victimized eyes. "If you hate me, come after me... why did you have to kill an innocent dog?" A sharp laugh escaped my throat. I couldn't even stand to be in the same room as a dog, let alone get close enough to feed one chocolate. Bella collapsed against Brandon’s shoulder, weeping uncontrollably. Her tears soaked through his expensive lapel, completely breaking his resolve. "My late mother gave me Buster before she passed... he was the last piece of her I had left," she cried. Brandon’s face softened with intense heartache. He gently stroked her hair, murmuring soft comforts. "I'll make this right for you. I promise." He turned back toward me, his eyes colder than I had ever seen them. "Apologize to her. Now." I rotated my wrist, took a slow, deep breath, stepped forward, and delivered a vicious slap across Bella’s face. The crack echoed sharply through the room. "You killed your own pet just to frame me? Despicable." Bella clutched her burning cheek, staring at me in absolute shock before turning pitiful eyes back toward Brandon. I turned around, pulled an official divorce settlement from my designer handbag, and tossed it onto the coffee table between us. "Sign it." "You two can live happily ever after. I am officially done playing along." Brandon gritted his teeth, the words practically tearing from his throat. "Brilliant, Chloe. Absolutely brilliant. You think you can survive out there on your own?" Despite his threatening tone, his hands remained clenched tightly at his sides, refusing to reach for the pen. Bella’s eyes flickered with annoyance, and she quickly piped up from behind him. "Brandon, Chloe can't even help you secure the Vance Group tender anymore. All she does is cause you endless headaches." The tender. Right. Even though I had distanced myself from the Sterling family, I still held voting shares and influence. In the early days, I had used my family’s network to feed him high-profile contracts. Over time, he had convinced himself that all those doors opened solely because of his own genius. Brandon let out a bitter, mocking laugh, the contempt in his gaze laid completely bare. "You want a divorce? Fine. You've got it." Bella hurriedly thrust a Montblanc pen into his hands. Brandon signed his name with a harsh, aggressive stroke, his voice dripping with utter certainty. "Let's see how long you last before you come crawling back to me." He stared at me intently, desperately searching my face for any hint of regret, panic, or lingering attachment. I met his gaze in complete silence. No temper. No tears. Just profound, hollow peace. As I wheeled my suitcase past him toward the private elevator, Brandon finally snapped, barking down the hallway: "Don't you dare come begging for my help!" Three days later, at the Sterling Group’s high-stakes procurement conference, I put on a tailored power suit I hadn't worn in years. I sat dead center at the head of the boardroom table, waiting for the bidding corporate representatives to enter. Brandon walked in shortly after, followed by Bella, who was struggling to carry a massive stack of pitch documents. The moment they stepped through the double doors and saw me sitting in the chair, their pupils constricted in sheer shock. I opened the folder before me and spoke in a crisp, detached voice: "Due to recent executive scandals and ethical concerns, the Sterling Group has officially revoked the Vance Corporation’s eligibility to bid."