AFTER THE DIVORCE, EX-HUSBAND SHOCK THE WORLD

The sound of breaking glass ripped through the Greenwood mansion like thunder.

Crystal shards scattered across the marble floor as Gibson Ridge staggered backward, whiskey dripping from his tailored suit. His wife, Deborah, stood across the grand dining table, chest heaving, eyes burning with rage.

“You’re pathetic, Gibson!” she spat, her diamond necklace glinting beneath the chandelier. “Do you think your sweet words and cheap loyalty are enough for me? You were lucky to even stand beside me at the altar.”

The room was silent except for the echo of her cruelty. Servants stood frozen at the edges, eyes darting nervously between their employers, too terrified to move.

Gibson’s jaw clenched. His tall frame was steady, but his hands trembled with a fury he barely contained. He had walked into this house believing in love, in family, in loyalty. Now he stared at the woman he had given his soul to, and saw nothing but betrayal.

“I gave you everything,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, trembling with the weight of his breaking heart. “My life, my loyalty, my name. You had my daughter, my blood. And this… this is how you repay me?”

Deborah’s lips curled into a cruel smile. She flicked her perfectly manicured fingers toward the long mahogany table, where a stack of divorce papers sat waiting like a coffin lid.

“Spare me your sentimental nonsense,” she sneered. “You gave me nothing but a dull life and a reputation I’m ashamed of. Sign the papers, Gibson. Sign them, and take your trash out of my house.”

The words my house echoed louder than the slap she hadn’t yet delivered. Her voice carried the arrogance of a Greenwood, heir to the most powerful family empire in the state.

Gibson’s nostrils flared. “And Clara?” he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade. “I won’t leave without my daughter.”

Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “Clara stays here. She belongs with me, not with a useless liability like you.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze. Then Gibson took a step forward, fists balled at his sides. “If you think I’ll walk away from my daughter, you’re more foolish than I thought.”

Deborah laughed, cold, merciless. “You can’t even take care of yourself, Gibson. What makes you think you can care for a child? Guards!”

Two black-suited men appeared from the shadows of the hallway, massive and intimidating, their expressions blank. They moved toward Gibson like wolves circling prey.

Gibson’s heart thundered. He looked back once, toward the staircase where a small face peeked between the rails. Clara. His daughter’s wide eyes glistened with tears as she clutched her teddy bear, watching her parents’ world collapse.

His voice broke. “Clara… daddy’s here.”

Deborah snapped her fingers, and the guards lunged. The first fist struck Gibson’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. He stumbled but roared in defiance, throwing a punch that sent one guard reeling into a glass cabinet.

The second guard grabbed him from behind, locking his arms. Gibson thrashed like a lion, but a knee slammed into his ribs, then another into his stomach, forcing him to the ground. Clara screamed from the stairs, “Daddy!”

“Get her out of here!” Deborah shrieked. A maid rushed forward, scooping Clara into her arms as the little girl kicked and cried, her voice piercing through Gibson’s haze of pain.

Deborah stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble like a countdown to execution. She crouched beside Gibson’s battered face, her perfume intoxicating and poisonous all at once.

“You’ll regret crossing me,” she whispered, her voice silk over steel. “You’ll regret ever thinking you were enough for me.”

Her fingers tapped the divorce papers still lying on the table. “Sign it, Gibson. Or you won’t live to see another sunrise.”

Blood trickled from his lip as he dragged himself to one knee. He stared up at her with eyes that blazed like wildfire, pain and fury boiling together.

Slowly, defiantly, he took the pen from the table. His signature slashed across the paper like a blade. He dropped the pen, his voice a promise etched in stone:

“You have no idea what you’ve just done, Deborah. You’ll regret this. I swear it.”

Her smile widened, venomous and victorious. “Take him out,” she ordered.

The guards dragged Gibson through the mansion doors, his body battered, his dignity shredded. Clara’s cries echoed down the hallway, each sound stabbing his chest deeper than any blade.

Outside, the night was merciless. The guards beat him until he could no longer fight, his body collapsing onto the dirt like a broken doll. One whispered, “End it here?”

Deborah’s voice rang cold from the doorway. “No. Throw him away. Trash belongs on the street.”

A final kick landed on his ribs, and the world faded into black, As consciousness slipped away, headlights cut through the darkness. An unknown vehicle screeched to a halt.

Two shadowy figures stepped out, lifting Gibson’s broken body into the car. The guards didn’t stop them. They didn’t care. To them, Gibson was already dead. But he wasn’t dead, Not yet. And when he rose again, the world would tremble. MOVE